CHAPTER 49

CELEBRATIONS IN KANCHI

Maamallar and Commander Paranjyothi, who had started out from the banks of the Varaha River at almost midnight, were soon on their swift way towards the city of Kanchi. Once in every two kaathams along the rajapattai, horses were stabled in readiness, as well as meals and comfortable rooms made available at strategically located royal viduthis. In addition, a hundred soldiers awaited their commands at each rest-house; this facilitated the dropping off of the soldiers already accompanying Maamallar during the previous leg of the journey, and replacing them with a new group for the next.

Such forethought for his comfort and safety was an enormous surprise to the Crown Prince. Of course – who but the Emperor could have conceived of, and carried out such an excellent plan? Not for the first time, pride filled his heart at his forebear’s excellent strategy, and he could not help but lavish praise about it, to Paranjyothi.

“But what, then, is so surprising about it?” countered the Commander. “One may plumb the depths of the greatest oceans in the world – but gauging the depth of our illustrious Sathru Mallar’s stratagems! Ah, that’s an impossible task indeed. I had the felicity of learning a great deal about his tactics when I accompanied him everywhere for eight months. That, Your Highness,” he said meditatively, “is why I’ve never felt the least inclination to go against any of the Emperor’s orders.”

The Commander went on to elaborate the dazzling war tactics and ruses used by the Emperor during the Pallava army’s eight-month sojourn on the banks of the Vada Pennai, to keep the hungry hordes of Vathapi at bay.

For some reason, though, these found no favour with Maamallar.

“No matter how you extol such tactics, Commander – I find nothing praiseworthy in stalling our enemies, fooling them into dithering about and then making strategic retreats, as you call them,” Maamallar said derisively.

“There are moments when one must retreat, Your Highness – but there are also times when launching a blistering attack is the right move,” explained Paranjyothi. “Did you notice something? The Emperor commanded you to stop pursuing Dhurvineedhan beyond Then Pennai; I remember that you were extremely depressed at his orders. But Dhurvineedhan didn’t make his escape, did he? The Emperor had made arrangements for that eventuality too. He gave commands for Thirukkovilur’s Kottam Chief, Anandha Mazhavarayan to cut the traitor off on the other side of the Then Pennai, didn’t he? Not all of Dhurvineedhan’s efforts to hide away inside a Jain monastery could save his sorry hide – he now languishes in the Mazhavarayan fort, as a prisoner. My Lord, history tells us of kings who won great victories with enormous armies at their disposal – but I have never yet heard of any ruler who managed to emerge victorious, with forces as meager as ours!”

“Indeed, how could anyone doubt the valour of our men? Each Pallava warrior is equal to at least ten Chalukyas, aren’t they?” declared Maamallar. “The Pullalur battle was an excellent example.”

But it was extremely galling to the Crown Prince that his father chose to fight his battles, not by dint of sheer bravery, but with so-called strategies and ruses – and no argument the Commander placed in its favour could reconcile him to it, or make him think of it as commendable.

The friends traveled ceaselessly for half a night and a day, and reached Kanchi’s gates as the sun sank in a fiery ball to the west.

Paranjyothi remembered an autumn evening, nine months ago, when he reached these very gates in the company of Naganandhi. On that occasion, Paranjyothi had wriggled into the city courtesy a small opening in the enormous fortress gates; this time, though, such an entry was unnecessary.

The moment they arrived, it was as though the place suddenly came to life. Trumpets blared out in welcome, from the large alcoves within the fortress walls; conches blew their victorious songs in jubilation; humans raised their voices in ecstatic celebration from within the fortress walls.

The gates were thrown open with a thunderous crash.

Inside – an extraordinary sight met the new arrivals.

Soldiers stood to attention in orderly ranks along the wide avenues of Kanchi, as far as the eye could see. Along the sides of the streets stood the city’s residents, jostling for view. Young women leaned over the richly carved balustrades and pillars, decked out in their best ornaments and attire. Beside them stood large baskets, overflowing with fragrant blossoms of jasmine, mullai and konrai: do we even need to explain why they stood in readiness, with handfuls of flowers and wide smiles of welcome?

The Crown Prince was being given a rapturous welcome, upon his victory in the recent battle, of course.

There were two reasons for Kanchi’s elation: Senapathi Kalippagai’s men had just returned from battle in the north; the city, which had seen an exodus of people in the recent weeks and begun to seem deserted, suddenly wore a festive look as its numbers swelled with the influx of a hundred thousand men. The second was news of Maamallar’s dazzling victory in the Pullalur battle, and the mood, as a result, was euphoric. Such a warrior, and their Prince was returning to the city at last; what could be more important to every last resident of Kanchi than giving him a triumphant welcome?

The moment the huge draw-bridge was let down, Maamallar rode over it into the city; Paranjyothi and his men followed. The minute they were within, the drawbridge was raised, and the gates closed.

The instant Maamallar set his horse’s hoof within the city’s precincts, warriors who had hitherto held their rishaba flags low, suddenly raised them into the sky – and the simultaneous action, throughout the city, was a magical sight. To the waiting population, it could mean only one thing: that Kumara Chakravarthy had entered the city, at last. News of his arrival spread like wildfire as people shared it among themselves, and the city echoed with a din like several oceans, their waves rising up and crashing onto the shore.

Senapathi Kalippagai waited at the city gates to welcome the Prince, along with Kanchi’s ministers, the ministerial cabinet and various other officials. Maamallar and Paranjyothi descended from their horses, whereupon the chief minister placed a garland of exquisitely woven, golden konrai flowers, around the Prince’s neck.

“Vaazhga!” pronounced Kalippagai, with enthusiasm. “Long live the warrior who forced Dhurvineedhan’s retreat in Pullalur! Long live our valiant Maamallar!”

Instantly, a thousand voices took up the jubilant chant, and sent it heavenwards. “Vaazhga! May victory always be ours! Jaya Vijayi Bhava!”

By rights, such euphoria should have gladdened Maamallar’s heart – but his face did not show a hint of delight. A strange emptiness seemed to have taken residence within him – a vacuum that he could not really identify. Obviously, the Emperor had been behind all of these celebrations; he had sent word ahead of his son’s arrival and arranged for such a welcome.

To tell the truth, such an uproarious reception when the enemy was almost at Kanchi’s gates, seemed sadly out of place. What was the necessity for all this?

A sudden urge took hold of Maamallar’s heart – he had to see his father at once. Prince and Commander set their horses galloping towards the royal palace.

Upon entering the palace and crossing the front rooms and nila mutram, he encountered Bhuvana Mahadevi with her aides and attendants, at the entrance of the Queen’s Chambers, standing in readiness to greet him. Her face bloomed at the sight of her brave son, returned victoriously from the battlefield; she set about welcoming him with the traditional aarathi, and a speedy ritual to cast off the evil eye from his beloved person. “Child, my heart is filled to overflowing with pride at your exploits – and so are the people of Kanchi! But you seem strangely unhappy,” she said, when these were done. “You seem out of spirits – perhaps the long journey has exhausted you?”

“It has, yes,” acknowledged Maamallar. “But that isn’t the only reason. To tell you the truth, Amma, I’m not happy with these celebratory antics – the battle at Pullalur is hardly worthy of such merit. The Ganga hordes were a mere pond, when compared to the vast, massive ocean that’s the Vathapi army. And even then, I wasn’t completely responsible for our victory there – my father played a great part in it. Speaking of whom – where is he, Amma?”

“But, my child – I was hoping to ask you,” responded the Pallava Empress. “And here you are, asking me about him. Have you not met your father? I believed he was accompanying you!”

The realization dawned upon Maamallar that Mahendra Pallavar was not in Kanchi, at all.

Why had the Emperor, who set out before him, not yet arrived? What if he was delayed by unforeseen circumstances? What danger had befallen him? And what if Vathapi’s colossal forces surrounded Kanchi before the Emperor came home? Wouldn’t the enormous responsibility of the Empire devolve upon Maamallar? Not to mention taking charge of, and leading the war against Pulikesi?

Maamallar’s heart seethed with various conjectures that rose one after the other.

Bhuvana Mahadevi’s news might have perplexed Maamallar, but it did not seem to have had the same effect on Paranjyothi. If anything, it seemed that the Commander of the Pallava armies had been expecting such tidings.