Conversations by the Wayside

Vandhiyathevan had spent most of his life in the dry, sun-baked lands north of the River Paalaaru. Swimming, as a consequence, was something of a mystery to him. Once, while keeping watch on the banks of the Vada Pennai, he had waded into its swirling waters for a quick, cooling dip. Too late, he realised the folly of a plainsman taking on a river: the wicked current simply grabbed him and pulled him under. He thrashed about, round and round, his arms and legs paralysed by the sheer, cold force of the water. A heavy exhaustion settled over him like a thick blanket. Just as he gave himself up for lost, convinced the Vada Pennai would be his unmarked, watery grave, a sudden rogue eddy caught him and practically spat him out onto the mud. Washed up on the shore in an exhausted heap, Vandhiyathevan praised every deity he had ever heard of for his miraculous escape.

Lying on his bed in an upper balcony of the Sambuvaraiyar palace that night, he was acutely conscious of the very same helpless feeling. Once again, he had been caught unawares in a crippling whirlpool. Except, this time it wasn’t a river of water—it was an enormous, vicious river of royal conspiracy. Would he be able to scramble out of this one’s clutches quite so easily?

What he had overheard at the clandestine gathering that night almost overwhelmed him. It had only been a few years, after all, since the great Chozha empire had finally shaken off endless onslaughts from external enemies. For a little while now, its people had been able to breathe easy, unafraid of sudden invasions. Crown Prince Aditha Karikalar was largely responsible for this peaceful state of affairs. A soldier through and through, an expert in the dusty strategies of war, and almost a Chanakya (the ancient master of statecraft) when it came to battling enemies, he had utilised the Chozha armies and resources to their absolute fullest. He had completely released the northern territories of Thondai Mandalam from the heavy shackles of King Krishna of Rettai Mandalam.

That had taken care of the foes without. But what of the enemies who threatened the empire from within? Weren’t they, perhaps, a great deal more dangerous? What would be the result of this quiet, bitter battle that had just erupted among the Chozha factions themselves? Ah, the empire’s own seasoned warriors, its trusted ministers, local lords and high officials were all part of this terrible conspiracy. Consider the sheer reputation, the immense resources, and the deep-rooted power commanded by the Pazhuvettarayar brothers. Was there anyone else in the land, except perhaps the Emperor himself, who could rival them? And what of the other chieftains and lords who had been present in that dark hall? Each was powerful in his own right, lord of considerable territories and swathes of manpower. Not to mention their well-earned fame on the battlefield. Was this the first time they had gathered? Or had there been other, shadowy meetings in the dead of night, with Prince Madhuranthakar trundling along, hidden away in closed palanquins? Ah, the elder Pazhuvettarayar’s marriage at such an advanced age certainly had its uses!

Until that evening, the lightest shadow of a doubt had never crossed Vandhiyathevan’s mind regarding the Chozha succession. Aditha Karikalar was the undisputed Crown Prince, the proud choice of both the King and the country. It had simply never occurred to him that there might be competition from other quarters. Like most citizens, he knew of Madhuranthakar, of course. He had heard the fond tales of the late King Kandaradhithar’s gentle son immersing himself entirely in temple worship and saintly pursuits. Not for an instant had he entertained the suspicion that Madhuranthakar might hold an actual claim to the throne—or worse, that he might consider himself a willing contender for it.

But then—to quote a voice from the meeting itself—what was right, according to the strict dictates of justice and fairness? Was Aditha Karikalar the lawful heir to the golden throne, or was it Madhuranthakar? The more Vandhiyathevan lay there mulling over it, listening to the soft rustle of the night wind, the more he felt that both claims held equal merit. If they did decide to fiercely contest each other’s rights, who would ultimately win? And, more pressingly, what would be his own precarious position if it all came down to a pitched battle?

Ah, the sweet dreams Vandhiyathevan had cherished when he first rode out from Kanchi! The splendid castles in the air he had built, hoping to ascend to a position of great honour in the empire under the protective wing of the Crown Prince. Why, at one dizzying point, he had even nurtured fond hopes of winning back the ancient kingdom of his ancestors, the Vaanar clan, and restoring his family to their former, faded glory! And now? Now the very branch he had chosen, hoping to clamber up into the magnificent Chozha tree, seemed about to splinter beneath his weight.

Vandhiyathevan tossed and turned on his comfortable bed for a long time, thoroughly plagued by doubts and gloomy conjectures. The fourth jaamam had arrived, bringing with it the pale promise of dawn, when he finally succumbed to sleep a second time.

The inevitable result of all this restless fretting was that he did not wake up early. Not even when the sun’s red-hot rays slanted across the balcony and scorched him the next morning. It took Kandamaaran’s good-natured slap on the shoulder to bring him back to awareness. Vandhiyathevan jerked awake, quite startled out of his wits.

“Slept well?” enquired the Kadambur prince, with the cheerful hospitality of a good host. Then he volunteered, with a wide grin, “I did come up here late last night—but you were so deeply immersed in your worship of Kumbakarnan (the giant brother of the demon king Ravanan, famous in our legends for his prodigious, unshakeable slumbers) that I didn’t have the heart to disturb your penance.”

It took a great deal of forbearance for Vandhiyathevan to clamp down on the sharp words that bubbled up in his throat. But clamp down he did.

“I remember lying down here after watching the kuravai koothu, but absolutely nothing else,” he replied mildly. “Ah, looking at the sun, it seems almost a whole jaamam has passed since daybreak. I must start at once. Kandamaaraa, my friend, do instruct your men to saddle my horse!”

“Well, here’s a good one!” laughed Kandamaaran. “What do you mean, you have to leave at once? There’s no earthly hurry. Stay a while. Perhaps ten days.”

“I’m afraid I simply can’t, my friend. I’ve had distressing news that my uncle is in a very bad way in Thanjavur—apparently, he’s on his deathbed,” Vandhiyathevan rattled off smoothly, perjuring his soul without the slightest qualm. “I must set off at once if I ever hope to see him alive.”

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

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

“Such terrible haste! Do but settle down for a short while, at least until we’ve had our morning meal. I’d like to ride with you as far as the River Kollidam.”

“But—how can you manage that? With so many vastly important visitors vying for your attention—”

“No one here is more important to me than you!” Kandamaaran bit his lip suddenly, and paused. “It’s true that we’re entertaining highly esteemed guests at the moment, but they have my father to play host, and a small army of palace officials besides. I couldn’t talk to you for even a quiet moment last night. I was hoping we might catch up 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 gracefully. “Do as you please.”

A naazhigai later saw the two friends canter out on their horses from the grand gates of Sambuvaraiyar’s palace. Their pace was easy and unhurried; the morning air was mellow and peaceful. So entirely engrossed were the young men in reminiscing over their shared past that neither paid much attention to the dry, rustling west wind, which playfully showered them with little clouds of red dust.

“I may have stayed at your palace for just a single night, Kandamaaraa—but it’s done me a world of good,” Vandhiyathevan remarked casually, after they had ridden a mile or so. “I am a little disappointed about just one thing, though. You gave me all those endless, glowing descriptions of your sister’s remarkable beauty back when we were stationed on the banks of the Vada Pennai. Yet, I could barely catch a fleeting glimpse of her last evening! All I could see, when she bravely peeped from behind her mother, was perhaps an eighth of her face. My friend, I’m quite frustrated! Tamil girls ought to behave with decorum and a proper degree of bashfulness, certainly—but your sister has rather too much of them, I must tell you!”

Kandamaaran’s lips trembled with the sudden urge to speak—but not a single word came out.

“Never mind, though,” Vandhiyathevan prattled on, pretending not to notice his friend’s discomfort. “You’ve kindly invited me to stay for a few days on my journey back home, after all. You may 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 once she’s known me for a while, would she? By the way—what did you say her lovely name was?”

“Manimekalai.”

“Ah, a truly sweet name! Now, if she were only as pretty and good-humoured as her name suggests—”

Kandamaaran abruptly cut in at this point, his voice tight. “My friend, I beg of you—forget my sister. Forget everything I ever said about her, as well. Please, don’t ever bring her up again!”

“Good God, this is quite a turnaround! What on earth happened to last evening’s grand speeches about offering me a son-in-law’s welcome?”

“I don’t deny that I said a great many foolish 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 dutifully accepted it, as well.”

Well done, my girl, mused Vandhiyathevan inwardly. It did not seem too difficult, either, to guess the exalted identity of the probable groom. Who else but the royal Madhuranthakar, the secret occupant of that closed palanquin, would do for them now? It was glaringly obvious that they were gathering as many profitable, blood-tied alliances as they possibly could for the prince. Ha, the elder Pazhuvettarayar’s cunning truly surpassed them all!

“So you’ve decided on one of your illustrious royal guests as her husband?” he asked gently. “To tell the truth, Kandamaaraa, I’m neither disappointed nor terribly surprised. I expected something of the kind—”

“You did?” Kandamaaran looked taken aback.

“Think about it, my friend. A wandering orphan is hardly the first choice for parents with hopeful, pretty daughters. I have neither a home nor a country to call my own. My ancestors may have proudly ruled these very parts once, but they’ve been nothing but dust on the ground for years. I’m not at all surprised that no high-born girl wishes me for a husband—”

“Stop, please!” cried Kandamaaran, genuinely distressed. “If you truly think I and my parents would descend to such lowly, calculating conduct… well, we wouldn’t. And it isn’t what you think, either. There are very grave reasons for our decision. You’ll realise how important they were, soon enough. I’m afraid I cannot say any more right now—but I hope to, some day.”

“You’re being very mysterious all of a sudden, Kandamaaraa. What on earth has happened?”

“Forgive me—I know I’m talking in silly riddles, but it simply can’t be helped. Do believe me when I say that you’re as much my dearest friend now as you were before. When the time is finally right, you’ll be the very first person I shall open my heart to! Just trust me to do the right thing until then. Know that I will never, ever betray you, whatever the cost.”

“I’m very happy to hear it,” said Vandhiyathevan, smiling. “But I fail to see the point of all this heavy talk of betrayal and trust. You do realise that I depend solely on my own good sword and spear for my protection, and not on the whims of others?”

“Soon, there will come a time when you’ll need to use that very sword and spear in a great battle. And by God’s good grace, we will stand shoulder to shoulder on the same side. And who knows, those bright ambitions of yours might just be fulfilled as well—”

“Battle? Do you expect there to be a war in the near future? Or were you, perhaps, intending to sail south and join the fighting in Eezham?”

“Eezham? Good God, you’d laugh to know what a sorry spectacle they’re making of themselves down there! Do you know that the grand Chozha forces actually require food and grains to be sent to them all the way from here? Ridiculous, is what I say. But no, that’s not what I’m talking about. And don’t try to get anything more out of me! Just stay patient; you’ll know everything in due course.”

“As you wish. You needn’t tell me a single thing you don’t want to,” soothed Vandhiyathevan. “Ah! And there’s the mighty Kollidam, at last.”

The great river did indeed grow visible with every trotting step; within moments, the two friends had arrived upon its sandy banks. The wet Tamil month of Aadi had arrived in a truly auspicious fashion. The swollen river almost broke upon the land as its muddy waters rushed by.

So vast were the river’s dimensions that the tall trees on the opposite shore looked like tiny, blurred bushes. The red-brown waters thundered past, swirling and dimpling, the fierce currents carving deep, hungry whirlpools, frolicking on their eager, unstoppable way to join the sea in the east.

Vandhiyathevan sat on his horse and stared at the sight, utterly bewitched. He listened to the swollen floods tearing at the banks, mesmerised by the deafening, continuous roar of the crashing water.

A single, sturdy wooden boat bobbed at the ferry crossing. Two tough-looking men stood inside it, gripping long oars in their hands. They already had one passenger waiting patiently, and by the thick smears of holy ash on his forehead, he seemed to be a man deeply steeped in the worship of Lord Shiva. One of the boatmen craned his sunburnt neck and peered up at the newcomers.

“Master, would you be wishful of crossing with us?” he called out over the roar of the water.

“Not I, just my friend here,” answered Kandamaaran. “Wait just a moment.”

The friends slipped down from their saddles. Vandhiyathevan clucked his tongue in sudden dismay. “Ah, what a fool I am. How on earth will I get my horse into this little boat?”

“Quite unnecessary,” smiled Kandamaaran. “Look, here are two of my men, riding up behind us. One will take your fine horse back to Kadambur to rest. The other will accompany you in the boat, and procure another sturdy mount for you on the opposite bank.”

“Such marvellous forethought, Kandamaaraa! I’m highly impressed. You are a friend indeed.”

“Well, you might have believed the mighty Kollidam to be along the modest lines of the smaller Paalaaru or the Pennai, perhaps. It probably didn’t occur to you that you couldn’t just roll up your dhoti and walk your horse across.”

“Indeed, it didn’t. I humbly crave pardon for having underestimated your Chozha country’s magnificent rivers. Ha, would you just look at these thundering waters? Why, it seems more like an ocean!”

It was time for farewell. The two friends embraced each other warmly in the morning sun.

Vandhiyathevan walked down the muddy shore and clambered carefully into the bobbing boat. One of Kandamaaran’s men hopped in after him. Everything appeared to be in readiness; the boatmen braced their legs and lowered their heavy wooden oars into the foaming water.

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

The men paused in their rowing, holding the boat steady against the current. The fellow who had shouted came pelting towards the banks, running helter-skelter through the dust.

Vandhiyathevan instantly recognised Azhwarkkadiyaan Nambi the moment he set his eyes on the heaving, gasping figure. It seemed his Shaivite co-passenger had recognised him, as well.

“Row, row away at once!” the man yelled, clutching his rudraksha beads. “I will not stay in this boat for a single instant if that argumentative Vaishnavite gets into it!”

Vandhiyathevan, however, would not hear of leaving the poor man behind. “Stay the oars, if you please,” he told the boatmen smoothly. “There’s plenty of space. We may as well take him along.”

His motives, it must be said, were not entirely altruistic. In truth, he wanted very much to pick the shrewd Nambi’s brain about the dark, mysterious happenings of the night before.