CHAPTER 42

THE POISONED DAGGER

“Careful, Sathrugna!”

The sudden warning stopped the spy in his tracks, as he stretched out a hand to take the knife. “Handle the blade with great caution,” warned Mahendra Pallavar, still in the guise as Vajrabahu. “How careless of you, Gundodhara, to carry it about in our waistband! That thing need not enter your heart to kill – all that is needed is a pin-prick from its tip. The poison would have entered your bloodstream, and you would have been dead in the space of a muhurtham.”

“Ayyo!” exclaimed Gundodharan.

“Be that it as it may – tell me quickly, where did you leave the bikshu?”

“God be praised,” Gundodharan shuddered, not answering the Emperor’s question.

“God be praised indeed!” barked Sathrugnan, looking furious. “His Grace is the reason your deplorable tardiness hasn’t compromised our mission. By rights, we ought to have been halfway to Kanchi, by now. Answer Pallavendrar without wasting any more of his time!”

Gundodharan, it seemed, had not quite recovered from his recent scare, yet. “What – what must I tell him?” he quavered. His body still shook.

“Damn it all – what has come over you today, Gundodhara? Answer the Emperor at once, or this dagger enters your chest!” Sathrugnan raised his hand.

“Master, it hardly matters if I, an insignificant human, die of a knife-attack,” answered Gundodharan. “But truly, it is the Grace of the Lord with the Blue Throat that the Crown Prince escaped its poison!”

“What!” Even Mahendra Pallavar, the man with the heart of a lion, was badly shaken at this pronouncement. “Was this poisoned dagger meant for Maamallan?”

“Yes, My Liege. I spied the bikshu take aim at our Prince’s back at least five or six times, with this very knife – yet I stayed silent, because of your command. Or else –” and Gundodharan ground his teeth with barely controlled fury.

***

Indeed, it is the bounty of an eternity of penances done by Thamizhagam, the result of God’s Grace, that Prince Narasimha Varmar did not fall prey to a poisoned blade, that night.

Even as Maamallar and Sivakami sat under the Magizham tree, lost in the exchange of hearts through honeyed Thamizh words and soft, velvety glances, the bikshu stood concealed behind their boulder, aiming the poisoned dagger at the Prince. However, hesitation crept over him. Perhaps it was the sight of Sivakami, beside the Prince, that stayed him? Was it the thought of the knife inadvertently piercing her, that stopped him from throwing it?

That was when a cobra, the ornament most favoured by Lord Shiva, slithered over the rocks. Sivakami and Maamallar left their shadowed seats, and sat down on boulders that were completely in the open, drenched by the light of a pearly moon.

The bikshu promptly sought another hiding place, and concealed himself.

Gundodharan, watching the scene unfold from behind another boulder, felt the unquenchable urge to creep up behind the bikshu, and strangle him to a slow, torturous death. He throttled down this desire and stayed in his place – in obedience to Emperor Mahendra Pallavar’s strict orders.

That evening, as the Emperor, Sathrugnan and Gundodharan crossed the Varaha River in their make-shift raft, they had spotted the bikshu standing atop a boulder on the opposite banks, peering around the area.

The Emperor turned to Gundodharan. “I am now about to entrust to you, a mission that is more important than anything you have carried out, so far. Listen very carefully. There is no room for even the smallest error. Follow this bikshu every single moment, Gundodhara. Never let him out of your sight. Never let him suspect that you are his shadow. Sathrugnan and I have something that needs to be done on the opposite bank; we will return to this spot when we are done, and wait for you. Meet us here when the moon is directly overhead, and inform us what you learnt about the bikshu’s movements. Remember: you must never let him suspect that you are following him; never appear in his eyesight –”

The Emperor paused. “Understood, Gundodhara? Will you carry out my instructions faithfully?”

“I will, Sire,” promised the younger man, and set his sights on the bikshu.

This was why Gundodharan had not acted upon his desire to throttle the bikshu, and tamped down on his anger.

When Aayanar, Sivakami and Maamallar had left the boulder-strewn area, and walked back to the village, the bikshu followed them, concealing himself behind bushes and trees on the path. Unbeknownst to him, so did Gundodharan.

Didn’t we see Aayanar offer to learn about the men thronging the temple, when the trio reached the village? The few minutes alone offered Sivakami and Maamallar another opportunity to exchange sweet glances, and renew their pledge to each other. The couple stood under a tree, very near a corner of the temple wall. At the other end stood the bikshu, concealed – and had another opportunity to aim the dagger. He did not, however, have an opportunity to actually throw it. The reason? Sivakami was in his line of sight, and Maamallar stood beyond her. The bikshu waited for the moment they would change places.

Gundodharan watched the scene unfold, from within a small, fenced garden that lay directly opposite the temple. Every instinct in him yearned to stop the bikshu as he saw the monk aim his dagger again and again.

Just as he decided that he could wait no more and was about to spring on the bikshu, a sudden movement stopped him. Commander Paranjyothi and his men had seen the Crown Prince, and were even now hastening towards him.

The bikshu slunk back.

Gundodharan watched as Paranjyothi towed the Prince away, and Aayanar and Sivakami as they followed. A while later, he also caught sight of the bikshu approach the temple wall slowly, and stand underneath it. And then, the monk did something completely unexpected.

He grabbed hold of the tree branches that spread over the wall, heaved himself up on it, and jumped into the temple precincts.

                 

The next instant, Gundodharan stood under the tree, by the temple wall, where the bikshu had been a moment ago. He cast his eyes around – and his heart leapt into his mouth.

A little distance away, a small snake seemed to be slithering away.

Gundodharan jumped back in alarm, and stared at the snake. Surprise filled him, for it had not moved at all. He looked keenly at it – and then gave a relieved chuckle. For it was not a snake at all, but a small dagger, with a handle intricately carved to resemble a cobra. Gundodharan swiftly secreted it into the folds of his waistband, and craned his neck above, searching for a way up the wall.

The rustle of tree branches from beyond the wall reached him. A sudden suspicion darted in Gundodharan’s mind, and he slipped back into the darkness. The next moment, the bikshu’s head appeared above the wall. It did not take long for the bikshu to scale it, and jump lightly down to the ground. At once, he bent down and peered around him, as though searching for something.

Gundodharan, who had a good idea of what the bikshu was looking for, took the opportunity to clamber stealthily over the wall, and jump down on the other side. He found that he had landed beside the madaippalli, the temple’s kitchens. He slid behind the building, concealing himself.

A while later, the bikshu climbed into the temple again, and began to search the ground underneath the panneer tree, by the wall.

The search was obviously fruitless; the bikshu stood straight, exhaling sharply. It sounded like the hiss of a fearsome cobra in the silent night. Even the usually intrepid Gundodharan shuddered at the sound.

The bikshu spent some time alternating between standing under the panneer tree, and pacing the stone-paved corridor. From time to time, he looked out as well.

Shouts of jubilation, war cries and assorted snatches of loud conversation from the assembled villagers combined to form an uproar beyond the wall, rising and falling by turns.

It was almost midnight, by the time the commotion subsided, and the doors guarding the sanctum sanctorum were firmly locked and barred. The bikshu Naganandhi rose from his place under the tree, and began pacing the long praharam.

The monk noted that the madaippalli’s doors stood open; Gundodharan saw him slip inside.

He made his decision in an instant. He slipped on silent feet towards the madaippalli, closed the door, locked and barred it from the outside as quietly as he could.

His job done, Gundodharan clambered over the temple wall outside, and hastened towards the Varaha River, where boats waited in readiness to take Maamallar and Paranjyothi to the opposite banks.

We saw, in the previous episode, that he reached the banks just in time to see the Prince and his company leave Mandapapattu.