CHAPTER 30

MAMALLAR’S SPECULATION

Just as the pot raft was about to smash into smithereens on the rocky shore, Sivakami tried to stand up in it, staggering to keep her balance, screaming. The next instant, she was thrown off the pot raft, and into the foaming water.

A thousand brilliant flashes of lightning dazzled her, before darkness swept in. There was a strange ngoiii sound that insisted on buzzing in her ear for an eternity. Vaguely, for the first time in what seemed to her like hours, the faintest sensation touched her. Her feet seemed to scrape on sand. Memory rushed in within seconds: the pot raft they had been bobbing in, on the floodwaters, the imminent crash of the raft on the shores … at that instant, she remembered that she was still in the water, struggling to breathe.

Ah!

A thought flashed through her mind with the speed of lightning. Mamallar was with me too, wasn’t he? Wouldn’t he have drowned like me, too? We fell into the water together … couldn’t we have died, holding onto each others hands?

At that very instant, a hand seemed to touch her own. The next moment, it gripped her fingers tight. Ah … that was Mamallar – there could be no doubt about it.

I am truly fortunate, she thought. It seems my last wish is going to come true …am I really going to leave behind this horrible world filled with treachery and betrayal? Will I be holding onto Mamallar’s hand when we finally enter the gates of heaven? But – what’s this? There’s something underneath my feet … like stones. Pebbles. I can stand. And there’s light …

The water came down and down: it came to her neck, then to her chest … and finally, to her waist. But its force hadn’t abated yet; it still crashed through them all, trying to throw them off their feet. Sivakami flailed about, trying to keep her balance in the rushing waters. Something else caused her a great deal of discomfort too – water kept pouring off her nose and mouth, and she gasped, struggling to breathe Through it all, however, she was aware of Mamallar holding her hand in a firm grip, standing in the rushing floodwaters; she could see Ayanar, her aunt and Gundodharan a little further away, trying in vain to keep above the water. She saw her parrot Sukarishi fluttering above them, madly screeching in consternation, while Rathi, having, somehow, swum out to the edge of the shore, now had its head on the ground, but couldn’t seem to be able to push itself out of the swirling waters.

The floor underneath where the pot-raft had crashed had been hollowed out by sheer force of the floodwaters … but almost nearby, the floor flattened out and the waters were left behind, as the land rose in a gentle slope. This made it easy for the dishevelled survivors to clamber onto the shore, and safety.

The moment they were all on dry land, Gundodharan set up a yell. “Good god! It’s all gone!”

The others stared at him, horrified. “What?” asked Ayanar, finally. “What’s gone?”

“The aval bundle’s gone,” said Gundodharan, mournfully.

A shout of laughter greeted this doleful announcement. Then, the men and women separated, to squeeze the water out of their wet and soggy clothes. Mamallar grabbed the opportunity to speak to Gundodharan, as they sought some privacy. “You’re so worried about losing your bundle of aval,” he whispered urgently. “But what are we going to do now? We’ve lost our pot-raft, haven’t we?”

“To tell the truth, my lord, I’m rather glad we were wrecked here, of all places” answered Gundodharan. “If we’d just floated on, we’d have been washed away into the sea, wouldn’t we?”

“All the same, we could have saved the raft. If you’d just paddled a little harder …”

“If a pot-raft is what you require, surely we can make arrangements for a few pots at that village I see in the distance? But why do we even need one, now? Far better that we stay here, until the waters go down.”

“Wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing to do, now. Do talk sense! I’ve left my army miles away and got myself stranded here, in the middle of nowhere – and you want me to stay here for an eternity, is that it? I was hoping to help these people to somewhere safe, and then join my men in that raft we all came in …”

“What would be the use of that, my lord? Where would you go in this roaring flood and harsh weather? What would you do? Are you sure your army would still be where you left them? I’m sure the banks of the river Thenpennai must be underwater, by now.”

“All the more reason why I should leave. For God’s sake … what must Paranjyothi and the others think …?”

“Think? They’d think about your safety, of course. They’d be hoping and praying that you’re safe and sound. You needn’t worry about them at all – by now, they’d have received news about the lake breaking its banks.”

As their clothes aired, Gundodharan managed to give Mamallar a detailed account of everything that had befallen him. He began from the day Emperor Mahendra Pallavar had had his suspicions about Naganandhi in Ayanar’s house and bade Sathrugnan watch over the sculptor’s residence, and related events right until the brawl he himself had had with the Buddhist monk on the banks of the Thiruppaarkkadal, the night before. He narrated about how he’d heard a commanding voice ring out, and all about how he’d pushed the old monk off, taken the pot raft, and come to them.

Narasimhar listened to all that Gundodharan had to tell … and felt his respect for his father’s judgement and enormous presence of mind, increase manifold. He lauded Gundodharan’s quick thinking as well.

“Only one thing you did bothers me no end,” the prince objected. “You oughtn’t to have pushed that old monk from the raft …why did you commit such a sin?”

“Sin? That wasn’t a sin – I did a really good deed, for once in my life. He isn’t a Buddhist monk at all – he used to be a soldier at Kanchi’s southern gates, my lord. Naganandhi’s poisoned words made him don useless disguises and come to this end… I shouldn’t have stopped with just pushing him into the water; I ought to have thrown the biggest boulder I could find at his head!”

“If that was your intention, why didn’t you just kill Naganandhi as well?”

“My lord … I would have. I fully intended to bash that foul monk’s head in – but that voice I heard … that voice commanded me to stop fighting, and I couldn’t ignore it. That’s why I settled for pushing the man into the broken embankment. For all you know,” Gundodharan said hopefully, “that Bikshu might have just fallen in and drowned, couldn’t he?”

“No, Gundodhara, no! That monk doesn’t deserve such a kind fate. Have you forgotten that Sivakami and Ayanar owe every danger they were in to him …?”

“My lord, forgive me, but a word of warning: it would be much better if we didn’t talk to them about the Bikshu or his machinations. They wouldn’t understand anything, and would be saddened without cause.”

Mamallar assented to this. “Couldn’t you guess who commanded you to stop fighting on the banks of the lake?”

“I did, my Lord.” And Gundodharan darted a look at Mamallar from underneath his lashes. “But I’m afraid I don’t possess courage enough to tell you. Pardon me.”

Suspicion had taken root in Mamallar’s mind that the voice had belonged to Emperor Mahendra Pallavar; Gundodharan’s hesitation confirmed it. Realization dawned on him that the other man harboured the same suspicion.

Delight, shame and agony pricked his heart with excruciating sharpness. If it had indeed been Mahendra Pallavar who had warned Gundodharan, then there need be no fear of Mamallar’s army; they would have been taken to safety. On the other hand … this move on the Emperor’s part indicated a decided lack of trust towards his son – and hadn’t he, Mamallar, behaved in a way calculated to confirm that distrust? Hadn’t he, in fact, left his men in the lurch and come haring after others, and getting caught in the floods, to boot? How would he ever face the Emperor, now?

At the same time, another thought raced through his mind: What did it matter, anyway? He could bear any discomfort, all the harsh words in the world; any disappointment and despair … anything. Anything at all. For this single day, these moments of exquisite happiness, he could put up with anything. He would spend all his years just basking in the pleasure these memories brought him, wouldn’t he?

Wouldn’t that be more than enough to compensate every misfortune that befell him?

Gundodharan took a look at the prince’s face, lost in thought. “My lord,” he began gently, shaking Mamallar from his reverie. “What’s happened has happened – there’s no sense in dwelling on the past.”

“What else can I think of? There’s nothing to dwell on but our plight, Gundodhara. We’re caught in this flood; now we’ve got to find a way to escape …”

“My lord, let’s find shelter, first. We can’t very well spend the night in the open, can we? What if we’re caught in the rain, again?”

“Where do you think we can stay?”

“I see a village in the distance – I shall go and make enquiries, shall I?”

Mamallar nodded. “Do so.”

“Mamalla! Mamalla!” Sukarishi’s screech reached his ears. The prince followed the bird’s voice, and saw Sivakami seated under a Maghizha tree, alone.

He sat down beside her.