Ponniyin Selvan -1 | Fresh Floods |Chapter - 6 | A Meeting at Midnight

Ponniyin Selvan -1

Fresh Floods |Chapter - 6 | A Meeting at Midnight

A royal banquet was on the agenda once the KuravaiKoothu and

Devaralan’s frantic dance came to an end; the Sambuvaraiyar clan

well-nigh outdid itself.

Vandhiyathevan, sitting down to the feast, found that the food

turned to ashes in his mouth. None of the dishes spread out for the

guests’ edification delighted him. His body was exhausted; he felt a

mixture of worry, confusion and a vague disquiet that he was hard

put to explain. Still, he could hardly ignore his friend, and listened

with a very creditable assumption of enthusiasm as Kandamaaran

who, brimming with justifiable pride at the honoured guests, listed

every single one of them.

Aside from Pazhuvettarayar and host Sambuvaraiyar, there was

Mazhavarayar, known by his proud title of MazhapadiThennavan;

MummudiPallavarayar was present as well. Kandamaaran took care

to whisper about other renowned guests in Vandhiyathevan’s ears,

and point them out subtly: ThanthongiKalingarayar;

VanangamudiMunaiyaraiyar, DevasenapathiPoovaraiyar,

AnjaathaSingam, or the Lion-hearted Mutharaiyar,

RettaiKudaiRajaliyaar and even the KolliMalai Peru NilaVelaar,

amongst others.

None of these men could be termed ordinary in any sense of the

word; it was no easy task to gather them under one roof, either. All

were rulers of their own dominions, large or small as the case may

be—or had earned the status of kingship through their valorous

deeds and service to the country. The word “Raja” or “Arasar” had,

by continuous usage, morphed into “Araiyar;” it was the norm in

those days to refer to the chiefs of important clans, or those equal to

such chiefs in stature, by that prestigious title—a nod to their ruling

capabilities; sometimes, “Araiyar” was added to their respective

seats, as well. In truth, these warriors were treated more as kings

themselves rather than chieftains, or feudal lords.

Not for nothing were they awarded such privileges. Princes and

kings born in royal families, lounging in luxury, and enjoying every

comfort were not the only ones to be addressed with respect; their

titles would serve no meaning if they could not defend themselves or

their people.

The men assembled in Sambuvaraiyar’s palace were all warriors

of repute; sporting numerous scars on their battle-hardened bodies

as evidence of distinguished war service. Each had proven himself,

time and again, as capable of guarding his fort and country with his

life, if necessary. All had pledged their unconditional support and

submission to Pazhaiyarai city’s SundaraChozhar, ruling their

territories under his suzerainty. Some occupied positions of great

authority in the Empire as well, and carried out their respective

duties in administrative or other capacities.

By rights, Vandhiyathevan’s heart ought to have been leaping

with wild joy at the sight of such august personages at the same

banquet—but he felt not the slightest enthusiasm.

Why are so many of these kings gathered here, he wondered,

more than once. Why now? Vague suspicions and conjectures

cropped up in his mind, confounding him.

The sense of disquiet had not abated by the time he finished his

meal and retired to the isolated space Kandamaaran had shown him

to, for the night. Sambuvaraiyar’s royal palace was swamped with

esteemed guests; it meant that Vandhiyathevan was allotted a mere

mandapam in one of the upper balconies, open to the elements.

“Sleep well—you must be exhausted. I’ll join you here, once I’ve

seen our other guests to their rooms,” Kandamaaran assured him,

before leaving.

-

Drowsiness assailed Vandhiyathevan the moment he set his

head on the floor; Nithradevi swept him into her arms almost at once.

And yet—not even the Goddess of sleep can exercise much

control over the mind. The body might be at rest; the eyes closed in

repose, but thoughts that crawl in the subconscious choose these

moments to reveal themselves. Dreams rise, shaking off the

suppression of a conscious mind, looping unconnected thoughts,

fears and experiences to form surprisingly disturbing pictures.

Far away, in the distance, a jackal began to bay. One multiplied

into ten, hundred, and a thousand—raising their voices in a howl that

made his skin prickle in terror. And that was not all; they were

approaching him, step by excruciating step. In the deep, stifling dark,

their little eyes smouldered in their faces like bright, red embers of

burning coal.

There was only one way of escape; Vandhiyathevan turned in the

opposite direction—and stopped abruptly. A thousand shrieking

hounds accosted him, their sharp teeth practically dripping with the

urge to tear him apart. Their eyes gleamed, spitting sparks of fury in

the pitch blackness.

Vandhiyathevan shuddered, barely able to string a thought

together as he contemplated his terrible fate, caught between

slavering hounds on one side and a pack of jackals on the other. But

then—oh, thank God, there appeared a temple almost in front of him.

Vandhiyathevan shook off his terror, practically flew into it, and

locked the doors behind him.

When he turned to finally take in his surroundings, he found that

his refuge was a Kali temple. The fierce Goddess seemed to be at

her terrifying best, teeth descending in fangs; tongue hanging out in

bloodthirsty fashion. Before Vandhiyathevan could do little more than

gape at the statue, a priest danced out from behind it. He gripped a

fearsome scythe in his hands. “So—finally arrived, have you? Come

here!” And he sidled closer—closer—closer to our young man. “You

are a prince, are you not? Recite your family history!” he demanded.

“How long did your ancestors rule? The truth—now!”

“The—the Vallavarayars of the Vaanar clan ruled for three

hundred years,” Vandhiyathevan stammered. “We lost our kingdom

because of the Vaithumbarayars, in my father’s time.”

“You are not a sacrifice worthy of the Goddess,” roared the priest.

“Leave!”

Abruptly, Kali’s form changed into that of Krishna. A couple of

young women danced around the idol, garlands in their hands, and

Andal’s melodious pasurams on their lips. Vandhiyathevan almost

smiled, mesmerized at this appealing performance, when he heard

someone else singing behind him: “Kandom, kandom, kandom ...”

He turned and saw AzhwarkkadiyaanNambi. No, not the man—

but just his head, stuck on the temple’s balipeedam!

Unable to stomach this truly hideous scene, Vandhiyathevan

turned abruptly, and struck his head on a pillar. The misty wreaths of

dreamscape dissolved—but he happened to see something else that

seemed to bind the terrible strands of a nightmare with reality.

The Kadambur fort wall circled the palace at a little distance, and

a head was stuck on it, directly opposite the balcony Vandhiyathevan

lay in. And yes, it happened to belong to Azhwarkkadiyaan. This

time, though, Vandhiyathevan was sure that the sight was neither a

nightmare, nor the product of an over-active imagination: no matter

how many times he blinked or shook himself, the head remained in

place. It was equally obvious that this time, said head was attached

to a stout body; Nambi’s fingers clutched the edges of the wall in a

death-grip. His eyes were focused downwards, observing something

below him.

What on earth was he watching, face furrowed with

concentration? Something was terribly wrong here.

Azhwarkkadiyaan could not have arrived out of the goodness of his

heart; he had some nefarious intention tucked away; some evil plan

in mind, Vandhiyathevan was sure.

And wasn’t it his duty, as Kandamaaran’s dearest friend, to save

Kadambur from harm? What kind of a man was he to loll about in

bed, when the people who had offered him such a magnificent feast

were about to be wounded?

Vandhiyathevan sprang up, tucked his sheathed sword into his

waistband, and began walking towards where he had seen

Azhwarkkadiyaan’s head.

His makeshift bed had been in a corner of an upper balcony, well

away from passages in use; Vandhiyathevan had to pass through,

skirt around and walk by a great many corridors, pillars, the tops of

mandapams, benches and sthubams, to find his way to the fort wall.

He had been walking for a while along one such eternally

meandering passage when he heard voices.

Vandhiyathevan paused. He tiptoed towards a pillar, concealed

himself behind it, leant forward and gazed down.

Below him lay a narrow courtyard, enclosed on three sides by

towering walls. Ten or twelve men were seated within. The fort wall,

rising high, failed to let in the half-moon’s pearly rays—but a

strategically placed iron lamp managed to shed some light.

The courtyard’s occupants were none other than Kadambur’s

esteemed guests; Vandhiyathevan had seen these men—kings,

lords and officials of the Empire—at the banquet barely hours ago.

Obviously, they had foregathered this late to discuss matters of great

importance; Azhwarkkadiyaan was probably doing his best to

eavesdrop on their conversation. His position was strategically

advantageous; the fort and palace walls met in such a way that he

could see the gathering below and listen to their speech, but the

reverse was not true. Ah, Azhwarkkadiyaan was clever indeed—no

doubt about it.

But he had reckoned without the Prince of Vallam, the valiant

Vandhiyathevan! No one could palm their clever tricks off him, least

of all this stout scoundrel! He would catch the wily Nambi by the

scruff of his neck, stop him from spying on people, march him

straight to his hosts and—but how?

He would have to jump into the courtyard and walk across it to

get to Azhwarkkadiyaan—and he could hardly do so without

attracting the attention of the warriors gathered. God knew there

were dangers enough in attempting that.

Sambuvaraiyar’s morose words, “I see no reason for your friend’s

arrival today!” echoed in his ears. These men, these pillars that

upheld Chozha Nadu in every way, were keen on discussing gravely

important matters of state; that they wished to do so in secret, was

obvious from their location. His sudden arrival in their midst would

rouse all their worst suspicions. It would be impossible to explain his

real motives; Azhwarkkadiyaan would be long gone, by then. He,

Vandhiyathevan, would be chastised as the spy; the one to suffer the

ignominy of an interrogation. And, in truth, what possible answer

could he give, should they ask him about his nocturnal wanderings?

There would be only one possible outcome: Kandamaaran would be

put to the blush. Ah, there he was, seated at the periphery of the

crowd! He too, seemed to be a part of this discussion. No matter;

Vandhiyathevan would ask him all about it, in the morning.

His attention wandered, at that moment, to a closed palanquin

that sat towards one side. Ah, wasn’t this the one that had followed

Pazhuvettarayar on his way to Kadambur? The lady within—the one

who had pulled aside the screen with her silken, golden hands—

where was she, in this sprawling palace? Hadn’t Kandamaaran

mentioned that the old man didn’t even dare leave her in the

anthappuram? Ah, such was the case when men married so late in

life—and it was a thousand times worse when the bride happened to

be ravishingly beautiful. Men such as Pazhuvettarayar were reduced

to the pathetic state of dragging their wives along wherever they

went; so tortured were they, by wild suspicion and doubts. Now here

was this grand old warrior, reduced to the disgrace of being

hopelessly infatuated by a pretty young woman; he was little better

than a slave to her beauty. And she was no Rathi, Menakai or the

celestial Rambhai, at any rate; Vandhiyathevan hadn’t forgotten his

revulsion when he’d caught sight of her. God knew what the great

Pazhuvettarayar saw, in this supposed beauty. Even worse was

Azhwarkkadiyaan’s fascination with her; why else would he

eavesdrop so desperately on this gathering, if not for the palanquin’s

presence?

But then, who knew what their relationship was, to each other?

Perhaps they were siblings—or lovers? Had Pazhuvettarayar,

perhaps, taken her by force? He was certainly capable of such

cavalier treatment. If so, that would explain Azhwarkkadiyaan’s

preoccupation with the lady; possibly, he was seeking an opportunity

to speak with her. Ah, what did any of this matter? Sleep beckoned;

there was nothing to be gained by poking his nose into affairs that

did not concern him.

Just as the young man decided that his bed looked more inviting

by the moment, a stray word from the conversation below, reached

him. Someone had mentioned his name.

Vandhiyathevan paused—and listened to the speech with all his

ears.

“The young man who arrived today, claiming to be your son’s

friend—where has he been quartered? It is of the utmost importance

that not a whisper of our conversation tonight reaches him.

Remember, his master is the MaathandaNaayakar of the Northern

Chozha Forces; the last thing we need is for word of our plans to

leak. Should any of us suspect that boy of the slightest knowledge of

our meeting—make sure that he does not leave this fort. In fact, it

would be better if he is silenced, once and for all ...”

Our readers may well imagine Vandhiyathevan’s sentiments,

upon this speech. He decided, then and there, that he was going

nowhere, and settled down to listen to the rest. AdithaKarikalar

happened to be the Commander-in-Chief of the Northern Chozha

Forces; the firstborn of King SundaraChozhar and heir apparent to

the Empire. What was their objection to Vandhiyathevan’s serving

under him? And what were they discussing, that the crown prince

could not know of, at any cost?

“Vandhiyathevan is fast asleep in a balcony above-stairs,”

Kandamaaran’s voice floated up to him, defending his friend. “Not a

word of our conversation is bound to reach him. He isn’t the kind that

pokes his nose into business that doesn’t concern him, anyway.

Even if he should get wind of our meeting, somehow, I’ll make sure

that he doesn’t prove a hindrance to your plans. You may rest easy

—he’s my responsibility.”

“Such faith in your friend, Kandamaaraa! —touching indeed. For

your sake, I am glad of it; we know nothing of him, after all. These

warnings are necessary; we are about to speak on a supremely

confidential subject; one that will decide the fate of this very Empire.

Our purpose in gathering here is to discuss the succession to the

Chozha throne. Remember—the slightest whisper of our meeting

would end in disastrous consequences for all of us!” warned

Pazhuvettarayar.