Ponniyin Selvan - 1 | Fresh Floods |Chapter - 7 | Of Mirth― and Consequences

Ponniyin Selvan - 1

Fresh Floods |Chapter - 7 | Of Mirth― and Consequences

The moment he heard the words “succession to the throne,”

Vandhiyathevan decided that he would listen to the entire

conversation. What were these men about to discuss regarding the

succession? What right did they have to do so, anyway? No, his duty

was clear: he would have to do some eavesdropping himself, and

there was no better place for it than his current location.

Azhwarkkadiyaan could go hang himself; who cared what became of

him?

Something was about to happen here: something mysterious and

disquieting enough to ruffle the realm, if possible. For quite some

time now, Vandhiyathevan had been plagued by the niggling

suspicion that the Kadambur Palace was the nerve-centre of strange

happenings: Azhwarkkadiyaan’s odd little speeches; the palace

sentries’ heavy-handedness; Sambuvaraiyar’s belligerent welcome

— if, indeed, it could be called that—the Devaralan’s frenzied call for

sacrifice ... all of these had sparked a discomfort in him that could

not be alleviated. Now here was a God-given opportunity to rid

himself of conjectures, and find out exactly what was happening.

Why on earth would he waste it?

Ah, not even his beloved Kandamaaran could find it in himself to

confide about the evening’s activities—here he was at this

clandestine meeting, having persuaded his friend to sleep in an

isolated balcony! Vandhiyathevan would be sure to give him a piece

of his mind, tomorrow.

By this time, Pazhuvettarayar had begun to speak; the Vaanar

warrior concentrated on every word.

“My purpose in journeying here is to give you news of great

import; it is also the reason for why Sambuvaraiyar has gathered us

all. King SundaraChozhar’s state of health is extremely precarious. I

have made enquiries of the royal physicians; they are all decided in

their opinion: there is not much hope—his days are numbered.”

Pazhuvettarayar paused. “It behooves us now, to come to a decision

on a future course of action.”

“What do the astrologers say?” came a voice from the midst of

the gathering.

“Why consult them about this?” put in someone else. “Haven’t we

all seen a comet late at night, for a while now?”

“The astrologers’ prognosis is merely to postpone the inevitable

by a few weeks,” answered Pazhuvettarayar. “Whatever the

outcome, it is upon us to decide the heir to the Chozha throne—”

“What would be the use of contemplating such a thing?” asked a

hoarse voice. “AdithaKarikalar was announced Crown Prince more

than two years ago, was he not?”

“True—but I should like to know which of us, if any, were

consulted before such a peremptory decision was taken. All of us

here have pledged body and soul to the Chozha dynasty for more

than a hundred years; our clans go back centuries, and have been in

service to the Empire for more than four generations. My great

grandfather sacrificed his life in the Thiruppurambiyam battle; my

grandfather in the conflict at Velur; my father in the battle at

Thakkolam. Everyone here has lost a valued family member, our

sons even, guarding this Empire—today, the war raging in Eezham

has our youngsters standing shoulder to shoulder, destroying our

foes. And yet—none of us were asked for our opinions when it came

to choosing the successor to the throne. You will recall that even

King Dasarathar called for a council to choose the Crown Prince for

Ayodhya; he sent for his ministers, commanders, aides, generals

and feudal lords, convened a mandhiralosanai and made sure their

concerns were heard. SundaraChozha Maharaja, on the other hand

—”

“... may not have asked our advice, it is true—but our illustrious

Treasurer is not quite correct to presume that none were consulted.

After all, PeriyaPiratti, the noble Sembian Mahadevi, and IlaiyaPiratti,

the honourable Kundhavai Devi were both taken into his confidence,

were they not?” asked a faintly mocking voice. “Can Pazhuvettarayar

honestly claim, now, that SundaraChozhar made an arbitrary

decision about his heir?”

A wave of mirth flowed over the audience.

“Ah, you laugh! —how you can find it in yourself to be amused at

this pathetic situation, I shall never quite understand. My heart burns,

my blood boils; I am moved to wonder at the purpose of my pitiful

existence on earth! The Devaralan demanded the sacrifice of a royal

whose dynasty has flourished a thousand years—do me a favour, all

of you, and offer me up to Durga! My clan has made Chozha Nadu

its home for more than a thousand years; you may all cleave my

head from my body with your swords; the Goddess is bound to be

pleased with my blood—and my soul will find some measure of

peace!”

Pazhuvettarayar came to a stop, finally, chest heaving, voice

shaking with as much frenzied emotion as the possessed Devaralan

that evening.

Silence reigned for a while. The west wind whirred through the

courtyard. Trees outside the fort swung madly in the stiff breeze,

their branches rustling and whispering against the fort walls.

“The King of Pazhuvoor must pardon our thoughtless speeches

and laughter—ridicule was very far from our minds; such was not our

intention. You are our peerless leader, and each one of us here is

willing to deem your smallest wish, our command,” supplicated

Sambuvaraiyar, at his humblest. “Yours is the right to lead us; yours

is the path we seek to follow. Pray accept our apologies, my lord.”

“I beg your pardon as well, for having lost my temper. Do, but

listen: this time, a hundred years ago, VijayalayaChozhar reduced

the Mutharayar dynasty to dust and captured Thanjavur; he ranged

himself on the side of the Pallavas and destroyed the Pandiyan

armies in the Thiruppurambiyam Battle. Ever since, the Chozha

Empire has grown by leaps and bounds—I doubt if it possessed the

territories it does today, in the times of great Emperor Karikalar, who

raised the banks of the Kaveri. Today, our magnificent samrajyam

stretches from the tip of the Kumari, to the banks of the River

Thungabhadhra and Krishna. We have Pandiya Nadu, Naanjil Nadu,

ThondaiMandalam, Paagi Nadu, Gangapadi, Nulambampadi,

Vaithumbar Nadu, Seetpuli Nadu, Perumpaanappadi, Kudagu Nadu,

the birthplace of Kaveri, paying tributes as our vassals. Even Chera

Nadu, which has a history of never submitting to others,

acknowledges our suzerainty. Our glorious tiger flag flutters in all

these countries, proclaiming our superiority; by rights, Eezham in the

south, Vengi and RettaiMandalam in the North ought to have fallen

to their knees, before our onslaught. As to why they have not—

surely my friends here are aware of the reasons?”

“Indeed. There are only two: one is AdithaKarikalar, the

MaathandaNaayakar of the Northern Chozha Forces; the other is his

young brother, the Commander of the Southern Armies,

ArulmozhiVarmar—”

“Mazhavarayar speaks the truth. All the kings I knew favoured

time-honoured methods of choosing their generals or commanders;

warriors who had excelled in wars and sported their scars proudly,

with years of experience at their backs were usually deemed most

suitable to lead armies; such was the custom in our Empire too, for

the last hundred years. But now—now, we have the Crown Prince,

quartered with vast armies in the North, supposed to reap victories

against Vengi and RettaiMandalam—and what does he do, instead?

Squats on his hind-quarters in Kanchi, building a palace of gold. I

ask you, respected members of this gathering, scions of

Thamizhagam’s oldest and most valiant families—which of the rulers

of this land has ever built himself a golden palace? Not even

Paranthaka Chakravarthy who vanquished Madurai, Eezham, and

now resides in resplendent glory in the heavenly abode of Kailasam,

ever wished such an extravagant residence for himself. What he did

accomplish, was to present the Chidambaram Temple with a roof of

gold. But witness, if you please, the lofty aims of our revered Crown

Prince! Apparently, the hoary palaces of the Pallava Emperors are

not quite suited to the status of the heir to the throne; he builds a

palace of gold and embeds diamonds and precious stones into its

walls! Not a single measly copper coin of the treasures he carried

away from Nulambampadi, Gangapadi or Kudagu has made it back

to the Chozha royal treasury—”

“The Golden Palace is complete, then?”

“I have reliable information from my spies that work is, indeed, at

an end. SundaraChozhar has received quite a few missives from our

Prince as well. Apparently, his beloved and dutiful firstborn wishes

his father to reside in his obscenely opulent edifice, for a while.”

“Is the Maharaja to stay in Kanchi?” asked a worried voice.

“Never fear. My trusted brother and I, together, shall make sure

that such an eventuality will never come to pass. None can enter the

Thanjai fort without our express approval, seek an audience with the

King or present any kind of olai to him. I have, in fact, made sure that

two or three such palm-leaves have been successfully intercepted.”

“Ah! Long live Pazhuvettarayar! Praise be to his strategies!” rose

several voices in a shout. “May his valour rise to greater heights!

Truly, you are a Chanakya among us!”

“There is more, my friends. If you thought the Crown Prince off

his royal mind—wait until you listen to the antics of Prince

ArulmozhiVarmar, sent to fight in Ilankai. Reflect, if you please, on

the methods of waging war: on our own experiences thus far and on

traditions that have been in place for a hundred years. Should we

ever march into an enemy’s lands, our armies seize what food they

can from the surrounding areas; our rewards are the loot plundered

from their treasuries—and they are the chief source of payment to

our soldiers. The surplus must be transferred to the royal treasury in

the capital. But listen to Prince ArulmozhiVarmar’s high-flown

sentiments, if you please: he believes that plundering conquered

land is a despicable act, and wishes for food to be sent from

Thamizhagam! The good God above knows that I have sent more

than ten shipments of grains and pulses—”

“What idiocy is this!” “Such foolishness!” rose outraged voices.

“Such things have never been heard of!” “Why must we put up with

this injustice?”

“Do but listen to ArulmozhiVarmar’s odd explanation for his

outlandish conduct: he refuses to seize local sources as that would

lead to discontent and misery among the populace. Our battle, he

believes, is with Eezham’s rulers; the people should not be made to

suffer for his sake. Once he has vanquished them and their armies,

he would much prefer to secure their approval and happiness, before

he establishes his rule over them!”

“I have seen and heard many unnatural things in battle, but to

acquire the goodwill of the people about to be invaded ...” mumbled

one member of the gathering, disbelief evident in his voice. “What

does he wish us to do—fall at their feet?”

“Witness the result of these hare-brained tactics: both our princes

have ensured that the treasury and granaries are almost empty. And

I am placed in the uncomfortable position of heaping taxes on you, to

make good the deficit! Such is my duty, after all—and if it were not

for the fact that the Empire’s fate weighs heavily on my conscience, I

would have resigned this revolting post years ago!”

“Never—never! The Pazhuvoor King is the only reason the

Empire has not crumbled into dust, by now; your iron will and

conscience ensures our protection. But have you not sought an

audience with the King, regarding such pressing concerns?”

“A thousand times have I tried—only to be repulsed categorically.

Should I ever require His Majesty’s advice, I am, if you please,

supposed to bow down to the superior guidance of PeriyaPiratti or

IlaiyaPiratti! I tell you, the King has lost the will or ability to think for

himself—at no moment does he seek our opinions in vital matters.

His beloved Sembian Mahadevi stands in the role of a mentor; her

words are as holy as the Vedhas, to him. That, or he wishes us to

seek the opinion of his beloved daughter Kundhavai—he believes

her understanding to be most superior, and capable of addressing all

our concerns. I! —I and other ministers who have grown grey in our

service, are expected to stand at attention in front of this chit of a girl

—a sheltered girl whose dainty feet have not stepped beyond

Kollidam in the North and River Kudamurutti in the South—and beg

her precious indulgence! Have you ever heard of women being

allowed such free rein in matters of state, in any kingdom? How long

do you expect me to bear such insult to my name and fame? But

there is a way out: you could come to a unanimous decision and

demand my resignation; I should be very glad indeed to free myself

from these stupid affairs, and consign myself to my home—”

“Never! The Pazhuvoor King must not even think to utter such

terrible words,” Sambuvaraiyar called out. “The Chozha Empire

stands today on the shoulders of thousands of warriors,

strengthened by the blood of four generations of our men; nothing

will induce us to see it ground into dust in our lifetime!”

“My friends and compatriots—I rest my case,” finished

Pazhuvettarayar. “Our Empire is now governed by females; we have

a veritable Alli Rajyam on our hands. How do we rectify this terrible

state of affairs?” He paused. “What do we do?”