The first foe!

Azhwarkkadiyaan breathed a silent, deeply heartfelt prayer of thanks to the little owl that had just fluttered blindly through the canopy above. The men gathered in the small, shadowy clearing had promptly assumed the sudden rustle of leaves was entirely the bird’s doing.

“Adei, how dare this stupid bird startle us?” exclaimed one of the conspirators, his hand flying to the hilt of his weapon. “Slay the wretched thing at once!”

“No, let it be,” advised Ravidasan, his voice low and steady in the gloom. “Let us keep our swords and knives sharp for other, worthier purposes—such as beheading our enemies and hacking away their very roots. What have owls and night-birds ever done to us, after all? They are, in fact, our friends. Unlike the rest of the world, they remain awake through all the dark hours of the night, do they not? Just like us.”

While Ravidasan delivered this little speech, Azhwarkkadiyaan crept forward on noiseless feet. He moved toward the dark, looming silhouette of a towering marudha tree. It was an ancient giant, well over a hundred years old, and its heavy roots sprawled out over the forest floor like the sleeping limbs of a dragon. Between these gnarly roots lay deep, shadowed crevices, and beneath the main trunk was a rather cosy, cavernous hollow. Azhwarkkadiyaan made the very best of this natural hidey-hole. Pressing his back against the damp, sweet-smelling wood, he strained his ears and eavesdropped for all he was worth.

“Where gold is concerned, we are secure,” Ravidasan was saying, “at least as long as Thanjavur’s royal treasury continues to patronise our efforts. All we need, now, is the courage to fulfil our pledge, and the iron strength to keep our secret until the work is finally done. Hear me well: we must split ourselves into two groups. One will leave for Ilankai; the other will journey towards Thondai Mandalam and bide their time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And remember—both tasks must be completed at exactly the same time. If there is the slightest lapse or delay after our first foe’s demise, the second target will be instantly put on the alert. We can never allow that to happen. Now, tell me—which of you is prepared to take on the task in Ilankai?”

“I will!”

“No, let me go!”

Several eager voices clamoured at once in the dark.

“We shall decide that by and by, at our next gathering in Pandiya Nadu,” Ravidasan told them. “But there are a few practical matters that must be settled before we get to it. Which would be the best route to Ilankai?”

“Kodikkarai is an excellent option, should we choose the sea-route,” suggested someone.

“Perhaps. But travelling there in the first place would be deeply perilous,” Ravidasan countered. “A great many enemies abound in those parts, not to mention every spy in the land. It would be far better to journey down towards Sethu instead, cross the sea, and land at Maathottam or somewhere nearby. Those who opt for the Ilankai mission must be prepared to row a boat or a canoe, and to swim competently in the open ocean. Which of us here can manage that last part?”

“I can!”

“So can I!” came the enthusiastic replies.

“Our very first task upon reaching those shores would be to call upon King Mahindan,” Ravidasan continued. “Nothing of consequence can be decided without an audience with him. Therefore, it is absolutely essential that at least one of those journeying to Ilankai speaks the Sinhala language. Ah—but where is our Soman Saambavan? Has he not arrived yet? Did anyone here see him earlier?”

“Here I am,” came a voice from the shadows, startlingly close to where Azhwarkkadiyaan was hiding.

Nambi practically jumped out of his skin. He plastered himself against the rough bark of the tree, mourning, not for the first time, his rather rotund physique, which simply refused to let him conceal himself anywhere with ease. He was just in time to notice two more figures step into the faint circle of torchlight. Peering cautiously around the edge of his tree, Azhwarkkadiyaan recognised them instantly. They were, indeed, the very same men he had spied whispering under the arasu tree on the banks of the Kollidam river.

“Welcome!” exulted Ravidasan. “I was beginning to worry that you might have fallen into danger—that perhaps you would not arrive at all. Which path did you take, and from where?”

“We took the path along the Kollidam,” explained Soman Saambavan, brushing a few stray leaves from his shoulders. “But a pack of jackals surrounded us on the way, and we had quite a difficult time escaping them.”

“I can understand a man fearing lions and tigers,” mocked one of the gathered men, “but why be terrified of a few scruffy jackals? What great deeds can we expect from men who falter at the sight of them, pray tell?”

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong,” Soman Saambavan replied smoothly. “A man can confront ferocious lions and tigers, for they attack alone, face-to-face, and a brave warrior might easily get the better of them. But jackals, now—those wretched animals always hunt in large, cowardly packs, and find their strength in numbers. Was that not exactly how those Chozhas hunted down our illustrious king, when they caught him all alone? Would he ever have lost his precious life if he had not been mown down by a pack of scavenging cowards?”

“We shall hunt down and destroy those dastardly jackals,” Ravidasan growled, his voice thick with a dark oath, “right down to the very last little pup. And behold—here are the tools for their destruction.”

He gestured to a heap of gold coins that sat glinting warmly in the flickering torchlight. Soman Saambavan bent down, picked one up, and inspected it with care.

“The emblem of a leaping tiger on one side,” he noted softly, “and a palm-tree on the other!”

“Indeed. Fresh Chozha gold, stamped with the Pazhuvettarayar’s own emblem. I, as you can see, have kept my promise,” announced Ravidasan. “And what about you? I expect Idumbankaari has some news to share with us?”

“I certainly do, and I am quite ready to tell it.”

Idumbankaari stepped forward and began his tale. “I have followed your instructions to the letter. I am now employed within the Kadambur household as a servant. But it was only yesterday evening that I stumbled upon something of real importance. The Sambuvaraiyars hosted a grand banquet last night, and a great many powerful lords were present—the elder Pazhuvettarayar, Vanangamudi Munaiyarayar, the Mazhapadi Mazhavaraiyar, and others of their ilk. The Velan Dance and the Kuravai Koothu were performed to the beat of the drums, and the oracle delivered a few wild predictions that will aid our mission wonderfully. All the guests believed that Pazhuvettarayar’s young queen had accompanied him inside her closed palanquin. During the midnight meeting, Pazhuvettarayar brought them the news that Emperor Sundara Chozhar was gravely ill, and not likely to survive much longer. Then, every man there decided that Aditha Karikalar did not deserve to be crowned king, and that they should elevate Madhuranthaka Thevar in his place. Some of the lords, however, entertained doubts about the pious prince’s willingness to ascend the throne. Pazhuvettarayar simply smiled, declared that they would receive Madhuranthakar’s answer from his own lips, and threw open the curtains of the palanquin. And out stepped the prince himself! He was very eager to claim the crown, I assure you.”

“So, they are falling all over themselves to crown a man who travels hidden in a closed palanquin, just like a woman?” Ravidasan let out a sharp laugh. “Excellent! Everything is moving to aid our plan. It suits our purposes perfectly to have unrest brewing among the Chozhas. No one will ever suspect us while they are busy fighting amongst themselves, will they? You have brought us marvellous news, Idumbankaari. But tell us—how did you manage to learn all this? How did such a lucky circumstance come about?”

“They placed me as a sentry by the gates, while they sat plotting their precious royal affairs at midnight. I stood guard, right enough—but I used my eyes and ears as well.”

“And did you manage to learn anything more while you stood there?”

“Yes. I learned that someone else was watching the midnight meeting and soaking up all he could—perched right on top of the fort-wall!”

“Ah.” Ravidasan’s voice tightened. “And who was he?”

“A stout Vaishnavite fellow with a top-knot.”

“Him!” Ravidasan hissed. “And what did you do? Did you turn him over to the Sambuvaraiyar’s guards?”

“No. You see, I thought he might be one of ours. I even wondered if you had sent him to keep watch.”

“A very grave mistake,” Ravidasan said coldly. “He is certainly not one of ours. That short, stout meddler who wanders the land picking quarrels with every Saivite he meets. His real name is Thirumalaiyappan, though he goes about calling himself Azhwarkkadiyaan.”

“Yes, that’s him. I only realised my error this very afternoon.”

“Did you? And how?”

“One of young Kandamaaran’s childhood friends arrived at the fort last night as well, though I learned he had nothing to do with Pazhuvettarayar’s secret meetings. He just went to bed in a corner and slept the night away. This morning, I knew that the young master was due to escort this friend down to the banks of the Kollidam, so I made sure to cross his path a few times. My little ruse worked perfectly—he asked me to accompany him. He stopped on the north bank, but ordered me to cross the river and hire a horse for his friend. I asked his permission to visit my aunt in Kudandhai along the way—which is how I bought the time to come here and meet you.”

“This is all very well and good,” Ravidasan interrupted impatiently, “but how did you learn the truth about that Vaishnavite?”

“He clambered into the ferry just as it was about to leave the north bank, and got into some sharp, clever banter with Kandamaaran’s friend. Something about the way he spoke made me suspicious. I still wondered if he might be part of our group. He was loitering about on the south bank later, and I fancied he might be waiting for me. I approached him and showed him our secret sign, but he merely stared—he did not recognise it at all. That was when I understood he had nothing to do with us.”

“You did what?” Ravidasan’s voice rose in genuine horror. “Ah, what a grievous, unforgivable mistake! You should never have shown him our secret sign. Never! Listen carefully, my friends—our tasks are laid out in both Kanchi and Ilankai, for that is where our primary enemies reside. But there is one man wandering this earth who is far more dangerous than either of those princes—a man who would destroy us in a heartbeat. And that is Thirumalaiyappan, the spy who calls himself Azhwarkkadiyaan. He has sworn to ruin us and our mission; he will do everything in his earthly power to spirit away our beloved protector, our queen, from us. Should any of you ever meet him—at any time, in any place—do not hesitate for a single second. Take your knives and plunge them straight into his heart. Should you have no weapon, use your bare hands and strangle the life out of him. Poison him if you can; fling him into a rushing river to make a meal for the crocodiles; sweet-talk him to the edge of a cliff and shove him to his death! Treat him exactly as you would a poisonous snake, a scorpion, or a stinging insect, and crush him mercilessly under your boots. It would be best of all if you could actually manage to sacrifice his blood to Goddess Durga or Kannaki Amman (the fearsome goddess of vengeance and justice). Do not hesitate, and do not pity him for even a moment—for he will continue to hinder us at every turn, as long as he draws breath!”

“He must be a vastly cunning creature for you to deliver such a horrible death sentence, Ravidasar,” one of the men muttered. “Who on earth is he?”

“Who, you ask? A Chozha spy, utterly unmatched in his skills and treachery.”

“Yes, but—whose spy?”

“Now that is something I have been wondering about for quite a while myself. I once speculated that he might be spying for Emperor Sundara Chozhar, or perhaps for Prince Aditha Karikalar, but that does not seem to be the case. Now, I suspect he might be working for that old hag sitting in Pazhaiyarai, the Periya Piratti.”

“Truly? Ah, but isn’t she supposed to have dedicated all her remaining time to Siva worship and temple renovation? Why would such a pious lady need the services of a spy?”

“It is all a pretence, I tell you,” Ravidasan scoffed. “That woman play-acts with her devotion to Siva Peruman just as much as that Vaishnavite does with his precious Thirumaal. What sort of demon turns a vengeful enemy against her own son? Why, her own brother, the Mazhavaraiyan, does not see eye to eye with her anymore, and has joined forces with the Pazhuvettarayar, hasn’t he?”

“Ravidasar, are there any others roaming about like this top-knotted devil?”

“I have my suspicions about a certain astrologer living in Kudandhai. He lures people in under the guise of predicting their futures, and then carefully picks their brains, or so I have heard. Remember—none of you must ever set foot within his home. He is sure to trick you into revealing something.”

“And who do you suppose he spies for?” asked one of the men.

“That I have not been able to discover yet,” Ravidasan admitted with a small shrug. “Perhaps he answers to the false prince over in Ilankai. But no matter—the astrologer is of little account. I do not count him as a true danger. It is the Vaishnavite I am worried about. As I said, crush him without a shred of remorse the instant you see him!”

Cold perspiration drenched Azhwarkkadiyaan as he stood huddled behind the massive trunk of the marudha tree. Listening to this terrifying, cold-blooded speech, he found himself quaking with a very real terror. Was he even going to escape this dark clearing with his life? Somehow, the possibility did not seem to exist at that particular moment.

And then, as if the forest gods had decided to play a cruel joke upon him, something drifted into his nose. Fine forest dust, or perhaps the pollen of a night-blooming flower. He felt the sudden, overpowering, undeniable urge to sneeze.

Nambi tried desperately to stop it. He pinched his nose; he even stuffed a corner of his upper cloth up his nostrils—all to no avail. Sneeze he did. It was only a tiny, muffled sound, a mere squeak in the dark. But the west wind was no longer whirring through the foliage. The forest had gone utterly, deathly still. Not even the leaves of the ancient trees murmured.

Azhwarkkadiyaan’s hastily suppressed sneeze, therefore, fell perfectly upon the men’s ears.

“I hear something moving behind that marudha tree,” said Ravidasan at once, his voice turning to ice. “One of you—take a torch and go see what it might be.”

Someone obligingly stepped forward, pulling a flaming brand from the ground. Azhwarkkadiyaan could hear the dry leaves crunching as the man walked slowly, deliberately toward his hiding place. The yellow light of the torch began to glow steadily brighter against the bark of the tree. Ah—he was almost there. In a moment, the light would fall directly upon him, and—and what next? If Azhwarkkadiyaan ever managed to escape this terrifying ordeal…

His heart was fluttering madly against his ribs. Nambi glanced wildly around him, looking in vain for some miraculous means of escape. Nothing seemed to offer a way out. He looked up—and in the gloom, he glimpsed a giant furry fruit bat hanging upside down from one of the lower branches, wrapped in its leathery wings, seemingly lost in deep penance.

An idea tickled his fertile brain, and he came to a swift, desperate conclusion. To think was to act. Azhwarkkadiyaan reached up, grabbed the large, sleepy bat firmly in his hands, and waited.

The very instant the scout stepped around the edge of the tree, lifting his torch—Nambi threw the screeching, flapping bat directly into the man’s face.

The torch tumbled from the man’s hands to the forest floor and began to smoke and dim. The poor scout, who had just received a face full of leathery wings and sharp claws, floundered backward, swatting at his own head and slurring a string of unintelligible, panicked phrases: “Ei—ei—what—where—ahhh!”

There were sounds of many feet thundering toward the commotion, and Azhwarkkadiyaan decided that this was his moment. He abandoned the safety of his hollow, ran for all he was worth, and melted seamlessly into the dense, forgiving darkness of the forest.

“What is it?”

“What happened?” came a barrage of confused questions from the clearing. The man who had sustained the bat-attack began to recount his terrifying adventure in breathless detail.

For quite a while after he had made good his escape, their overlapping, angry voices continued to echo in Thirumalaiyappan’s nervous, ringing ears.