Ponniyin Selvan - 1 | Fresh Floods |Chapter - 9 | Conversations by the Wayside

Ponniyin Selvan - 1

Fresh Floods |Chapter - 9 | Conversations by the Wayside

Much of Vandhiyathevan’s life had been spent in the arid lands

north of the River Paalaaru. Swimming in a river, therefore, was a

skill unknown to him. Once, stationed as a sentry on the banks of the

Vada Pennai, he had stepped into its swirling waters for a quick dip.

Too late, he realized his mistake and ignorance in even attempting it:

the wicked current grabbed hold and simply pulled him under.

Vandhiyathevan thrashed round and round, limbs paralyzed by the

sheer force of the water. Fatigue settled over him like a stifling

blanket. Just as he decided that he was done for and the Vada

Pennai was going to be his watery, unmarked grave—a sudden swirl

caught him, and practically threw him out. Vandhiyathevan praised

every deity he had ever heard of as he washed upon the shore in an

exhausted heap, and made a miraculous escape.

Lying on his bed in a balcony of the Sambuvaraiyar palace that

night, he was conscious of the same, helpless feeling—caught

unawares in a crippling whirlpool. Except that this time, it was not a

river—at least not in the literal sense—but an enormous, vicious

royal conspiracy. Would he be able to escape this one’s clutches the

same way?

What he had learnt, eavesdropping on the meeting that night,

almost overwhelmed him. It had been only a few years after all,

since the Chozha empire shook off endless onslaughts from external

factors; for a while now, its people had been able to breathe easy,

unafraid of invasions. Crown Prince AdithaKarikalar was responsible

a good deal for this state of affairs: a soldier through and through, an

expert in war strategies, and almost a Chanakya when it came to

battling enemies, he utilized Chozha armies and resources to their

fullest, and released ThondaiMandalam completely from the

shackles of RettaiMandalam’s King Krishna. That had taken care of

foes from without.

What though, of the enemies who threatened the empire from

within? Weren’t they a great deal more dangerous? What would be

the result of this battle that had erupted within Chozha factions?

Ah, weren’t the samrajyam’s own warriors, ministers, lords and

officials a part of this terrible conspiracy? The reputation, resources

and power that the Pazhuvettarayar brothers commanded—was

there anyone else, except perhaps the Maharaja, who could rival

them? And what of the other kings and lords present? Each was

powerful in his own right, lord of considerable territories and manpower. Not to mention their fame in battle, as well. Was this the first

time they had gathered? Or had there been other clandestine

meetings, with Madhuranthakar hiding away in closed palanquins?

Ah, Pazhuvettarayar’s marriage at such a late date had had its uses!

Until that evening, not the lightest doubt had invaded

Vandhiyathevan’s mind about the succession. AdithaKarikalar was

the undisputed Crown Prince, the choice of both King and country; it

had never occurred to him that there might be competition from other

quarters. Like most citizens, he knew of Madhuranthakar of course,

and had heard tales of Kandaradhithar’s son immersing himself in

worship and saintly pursuits. Not for an instant had he entertained

the suspicion that Madhuranthakar might have an actual claim on the

throne—or that he might consider himself a contender for it.

But—to quote someone in the meeting itself—what was right, as

per the dictates of justice and fairness? Was AdithaKarikalar the

lawful heir to the throne—or Madhuranthakar?

The more Vandhiyathevan mulled over it, the more did he feel

that both claims had equal merit. If they did decide to contest each

other’s rights, who would win? And what would be his own position, if

it came down to a pitched battle?

Ah, the dreams Vandhiyathevan had cherished when he first set

out from Kanchi! The castles in air he had built, hoping to ascend to

a great position in the empire under the aegis of the Crown Prince—

why, at one point, he had even nurtured hopes of winning back the

Vaanar’s ancient kingdom, and restoring them to their former glory!

And now—now the very branch he had chosen, to clamber onto a

magnificent tree, seemed about to splinter.

Vandhiyathevan tossed and turned in his bed for a long time,

plagued by doubts and conjectures. The fourth jaamam had arrived

and with it dawn, when he finally succumbed to sleep a second time.

The result of all this was that he did not wake up early; not even

when the sun’s red-hot rays scorched him the next morning. It took

Kandamaaran’s good-natured slap to bring him to awareness;

Vandhiyathevan jerked awake, startled out of his wits.

“Slept well?” enquired the Kadambur prince, after the usual

practice of hosts. Then he volunteered, “I did come here late last

night—but you were so immersed in your worship of Kumbakarnan

that I didn’t have the heart to disturb your penance,” he grinned.

It took a great deal of forbearance for Vandhiyathevan to clamp

down the words that bubbled up his throat, but he did. “I remember

lying down here after the KuravaiKoothu, but nothing else. Ah, it

looks like almost a jaamam has passed since daybreak—I must start

at once. Kandamaaraa, do instruct your men to saddle my horse!”

“Well, here’s a good one! What do you mean, you have to leave

at once? There’s no hurry; stay a while, perhaps ten days.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, my friend. I’ve had news that my uncle is in a

very bad way, in Thanjavur—apparently, he’s on his deathbed,”

Vandhiyathevan rattled off, perjuring his soul without a qualm. “I must

set off at once if I ever hope to see him.”

“In that case, you must promise to stop here, on your way back.”

“By all means. Now, please let me take my leave.”

“Such haste! Do but settle down for a while, until at least morning

meal. I’d like to accompany you as far as the Kollidam.”

“But—how can you? With so many important visitors vying for

your attention—”

“No one here is more important to me than you –!” Kandamaaran

bit his lip, and paused. “It’s true that we’re entertaining esteemed

guests at the moment, but they have my father to play host and the

palace officials, besides. I couldn’t talk to you for even a while last

night. I was hoping we might, on our way to the Kollidam. I shan’t

rest until we do—and I’m coming with you, no matter what!”

“I’ve no objection, in that case,” Vandhiyathevan acquiesced. “Do

as you please.”

A naazhigai later saw the two friends canter off on their horses

from Sambuvaraiyar’s palace. Their pace was slow; the morning,

mellow and peaceful. So engrossed were the young men in

reminiscing their past that neither paid any attention to the rustling

west wind, showering them with clouds of dust.

“I may have stayed at your palace just for a night, Kandamaaraa

— but it’s done me a world of good,” Vandhiyathevan remarked

casually, after a while. “I’m a little disappointed about just one thing,

though. All those endless descriptions you gave of your sister’s

remarkable beauty on the banks of Vada Pennai—and I could barely

catch a glimpse of her, last evening! All I could see when she

peeped from behind her mother, was an eighth of her face. My

friend, I’m frustrated! Thamizh girls ought to behave with decorum

and a proper degree of bashfulness—but your sister has a little too

much of them, I tell you!”

Kandamaaran’s lips trembled with the urge to speak—but not a

word came out.

“Never mind, though,” Vandhiyathevan prattled on. “You’ve

invited me to stay for a few days on my journey back home, after all.

Be sure that I’ll take every opportunity to remedy these shy silences!

Your sister wouldn’t think of hiding behind her mother’s back when

she’s known me for a while, would she? By the way—what did you

say her name was?”

“Manimekalai.”

“Ah, a truly sweet name! Now, if she were only as pretty and

good-humoured as her name suggests—”

Kandamaaran cut in, at this point. “My friend, I beg of you—forget

my sister. Forget what I said about her as well. Don’t ever bring her

up, again!”

“Good God, this is a turnaround! What on earth happened to last

evening’s speeches about offering me a son-in-law’s welcome?”

“I don’t deny that I said a great many things—but do ignore them,

for my sake. Things … have changed. My parents have decided to

give her in marriage to someone else. Manimekalai has accepted, as

well.”

Well done, my girl, mused Vandhiyathevan. It did not seem

difficult either, to guess the identity of the probable groom—who else

but the royal Madhuranthakar, occupant of a closed palanquin, would

do for them? It was obvious that they were garnering as many

profitable alliances as they could, for the prince. Ha,

Pazhuvettarayar’s cunning surpassed all! “So you’ve decided on one

of your royal guests as her husband? To tell the truth, Kandamara,

I’m neither disappointed nor surprised. I expected something of the

kind—”

“You did?”

“Think, my friend—an orphan is hardly the first choice for parents

with hopeful daughters. I have neither home nor country; my

ancestors may have ruled these parts once, but they’ve been dust

on the ground for years. I’m not surprised that no girl wishes me for a

husband—”

“Stop, please—! If you truly think I and my parents would

descend to such lowly conduct—but we wouldn’t. And it isn’t what

you think, either. There are reasons for our decision. You’ll realize

how important they were, soon enough. I’m afraid I can’t say any

more— but I hope to, some day.”

“You’re very mysterious all of a sudden, Kandamaaraa. What’s

happened?”

“Forgive me—I know I’m talking in riddles, but it can’t be helped.

Do believe me when I say that you’re as much my friend now, as you

were before. When it’s time, you’ll be the first person I shall open my

heart to! Trust me to do the right thing until then. Know that I’ll never

betray you, whatever the cost.”

“I’m happy to hear it—but I fail to see the point of all this talk of

betrayal and trust. You do realize that I depend on my own sword

and spear for my protection, and not others?”

“Soon, there will come a time when you’ll need to use that very

sword and spear in battle. And by God’s grace, we will stand

shoulder to shoulder on the same side, and who knows, your

ambitions might be fulfilled as well—”

“Battle? Do you expect there to be one in the near future? Or

were you, perhaps, intending to join the war in Eezham?”

“Eezham? Good God, you’d laugh to know the spectacle they’re

making of themselves, there! Do you know that Chozha forces

require food and grains to be sent to them, from here? Ridiculous, is

what I say—but that’s not what I’m talking about. No, don’t try to get

anything more out of me. Stay patient; you’ll know everything in due

course.”

“As you wish. You needn’t tell me anything you don’t want to,”

soothed Vandhiyathevan. “And there’s the Kollidam, at last.”

The river did indeed grow visible with every step; within

moments, the friends had arrived on its banks.

The month of Aadi had arrived in a truly auspicious fashion; the

river almost broke upon land as waters rushed by. So vast were the

river’s dimensions that trees on the other side looked like tiny

bushes. Red-brown waters thundered past, swirling and dimpling,

the currents causing deep whirlpools, frolicking on their eager way to

join the sea in the east. Vandhiyathevan stared at the sight,

bewitched, listening to the floods trying to break the banks and the

deafening sound of crashing water.

A boat bobbed alone in the ferry; two men stood in it as well, oars

in their hands. They had a passenger already and by the looks of it,

he seemed to be a man steeped in Siva worship.

One of the boatmen craned his neck and peered at the

newcomers. “Master, would you be wishful of coming with us?”

“Not I, just him,” answered Kandamaaran. “Wait a moment.”

The friends descended from their steeds. Vandhiyathevan

clucked his tongue in dismay. “Ah, what a fool I am—how will I get

my horse into this boat?”

“Unnecessary—here are two men, behind us. One will take your

horse back to Kadambur. The other will accompany you in the boat,

and procure another for you on the opposite bank.”

“Such forethought, Kandamaaraa! I’m impressed. You’re a friend

indeed.”

“You might have believed the Kollidam to be along the lines of the

smaller Paalaaru or Pennai, perhaps. It probably didn’t occur to you

that you couldn’t just walk your horse across.”

“Indeed. I crave pardon for having underestimated your Chozha

country’s magnificent rivers. Ha, would you just look at these

thundering waters? Why, it seems more an ocean!”

It was time for farewell; the friends embraced each other warmly.

Vandhiyathevan walked along the shore and climbed into the boat.

One of Kandamaaran’s men did so, as well. Everything appeared to

be in readiness; the boatmen lowered their oars into the water.

Abruptly, a voice called out to them, from afar. “Stop! Stop the

boat!”

The men paused in their rowing. The one who had shouted

approached the banks, running helter-skelter. Vandhiyathevan

recognized Azhwarkkadiyaan the moment he set eyes on the

heaving, gasping figure.

It seemed his co-passenger had, as well. “Row, row away at

once,” he yelled. “I will not stay in this boat an instant if that

Vaishnavite gets into it!”

Vandhiyathevan, though, would not hear of it. “Stay, if you please.

There’s plenty of space—we may as well take him along.”

His motives were not all altruistic. In truth—he wanted, very

much, to pick Nambi’s brain about last night’s mysterious

happenings.