The Mandhiravadhi

Somewhere in the distance, the loud and festive blare of ekkalams (long, curved brass horns) rose to the high heavens. Perigais thundered out a steady, rhythmic beat that echoed around the old stone walls of the fort. Human voices rose above the din, shouting out cries of victory and welcome. The heavy fortress gates opened and closed with a mighty crash, and the very ground seemed to tremble under the clip-clop of horse hooves and the heavy, stomping tread of elephants.

Vandhiyathevan was quick to notice the sudden change in Nandhini. The sounds outside had clearly caught her attention. As if confirming it, the maid who stood guarding the entrance jumped up, looking a little startled, and tiptoed over to her mistress.

“Amma, it looks like the master has returned—”

“I know. Go back to your place.” Nandhini dismissed her quietly and turned her attention back to Vandhiyathevan. “The Dhanaadhikaari (the Lord of the Treasury) has entered Thanjavur, it seems. He will naturally seek an audience with the Emperor first, to ask after his health. Then he will confer with the Commander, and after that, he will arrive here, straightaway. You must leave before he does. Now—what message do you bring from Azhwarkkadiyaan Nambi?”

“Ammani, that staunch Vaishnavite claims that you are his sister,” Vandhiyathevan began, deciding on a bold gambit. “Is that true?”

“You doubt it, do you? And why?”

“How on earth could anyone believe that a beautiful parrot and a hideous monkey were born to the same mother?”

Nandhini gave a gentle, musical laugh. “He’s right in a way, you know—we did grow up together, part of the same family. He was as affectionate towards me as if I were his very own younger sister. It is a pity that I have been such a disappointment to him!”

“Oh well, in that case—here is the message he wished me to deliver: that Krishna Bhagavan awaits you. The brave and devoted Vaishnavites of this world still wait, with great eagerness and piety, to see the glorious sight of you wedding Lord Kannan.”

“Hasn’t he given up that particular fantasy yet?” Nandhini heaved a deep, quiet sigh. “If you ever happen to see him again, kindly tell him this from me: I am not worthy enough for a beautiful fate like that of the devout Andal, who married the Lord Himself. Ask him to tear out all memories of me from his heart.”

“That, I won’t accept for a moment, my lady.”

“What won’t you accept?”

“That you are not worthy of Andal’s destiny. That poor girl had to sing, dance, string up various flowers into fragrant garlands, weep floods of tears, and practically beg God to marry her. But that wouldn’t be the case with you. All Krishna Bhagavan has to do is set eyes on your lovely face, and he would give up his wives Rukmini and Sathya Bhama, leave his beloved Radhai, abandon all the Gopika women he usually runs behind—and lift you straight up onto their thrones!”

“Ayya, you seem quite adept at mukasthuthi (flattery),” Nandhini said, looking up at him through her lashes. “I’m afraid I don’t really favour such tactics.”

“Kindly enlighten me about the meaning of the word mukasthuthi, Ammani.”

“Flattering someone straight to their face, of course.”

“In that case, would you please turn around and sit with your back to me?”

“Whatever for?”

“I shall then be able to flatter your back, won’t I? Surely there’s nothing untoward about expressing appreciation that way.”

“You are uncommonly clever with your words.”

“Now who’s adept at mukasthuthi?”

“Why don’t you turn around and show your back to me, as well?”

“Be it a battlefield or the company of fair women, my queen,” Vandhiyathevan said with a grand flourish, “I make it a point to never show them my back. You may flatter me to my face, by all means.”

Nandhini broke into a merry peal of laughter. “Say what you will, but you are a magician, a mandhiravadhi. Do you know how long it has been since I laughed aloud?”

“A very dangerous thing to do, however, my lady—making you laugh aloud, I mean. Lotuses bloom with laughter in their ponds—and bees fall unconscious at their beauty!”

“Not just a magician, then. Are you a poet, too?”

“Praises don’t flatter me; insults don’t faze me either.”

“Insult?”

“You called me a poet just now, didn’t you?”

“What of it?”

“I’ve been called ‘monkey-face’ when I was a boy. Today is the first time I’ve been called so after a long while, and by your coral lips, no less.”

“They called you that? And who were these wonderful wits?”

“Never mind them. None of them are alive now.”

“Be that as it may—I’m not one of them. All I meant was that you seemed able to sing verses quite well.”

“I do possess some little ability in that direction, I confess—but only against my enemies, my lady. That they may die through my word, if they cannot embrace death with my sword!”

“Great Lion among Lesser Poets! You haven’t told me your name yet.”

“My own name is Vandhiyathevan. Vallavarayan happens to be my title.”

“Of royal descent, then?”

“None other than the hoary old dynasty of the Vaanaadhiraayars, my lady.”

“And what of your kingdom now?”

“The sky above; the earth below. Today, you see, my lady, I am an Eka Chakradhipathi (the sole Emperor of the whole world) and all that I survey.”

Nandhini spent a few long moments subjecting Vandhiyathevan to a careful, quiet scrutiny. “It is not quite an impossible task, after all,” she said finally. “You could recover your ancestral lands, you know.”

“But how can that be? Surely there’s no way of regaining anything that has vanished into the stomach of a tiger? They’re all part of the Chozha empire now, aren’t they?”

“I can, however, make it possible for you to retrieve them.”

“Pray do not, Ammani. I’ve never been particularly enamoured of ruling kingdoms. But what little ambition I might have cherished vanished completely when I saw Emperor Sundara Chozhar today. To live a life like that, dependent on others even for a morsel of food, day after day—I would rather be an independent man, master of myself, even if I never know where I am to get my next meal.”

“Precisely my opinion!” exclaimed Nandhini. Then, she seemed to remember something. “Why, by the way, are Chinna Pazhuvettarayar’s men pursuing you?”

“He entertained grave suspicions regarding my person, you see—not unlike your own loyal maid.”

“Indeed? What about?”

“For one thing, how did I come by the palm-tree signet ring?”

The faintest shadow of nervousness flitted across Nandhini’s beautiful face. “And—where is it now?” she asked, a little breathlessly.

“Here, my lady. Surely you didn’t think I would lose it?” Vandhiyathevan held out his hand and showed her the insignia.

“How did he know that you had it?”

“I had entertained a great desire to seek an audience with Emperor Sundara Chozhar, you see—and I used this ring to gain entry into the palace. Later, of course, the Commander demanded to know how I had gotten my hands on it…”

“And your answer?” Her voice betrayed her sudden terror.

“Certainly not your name, my lady. Only that Periya Pazhuvettarayar had given it to me—in Kadambur.”

Nandhini released a deep, slow sigh. Her face and voice seemed to lose some of their panic. “Did he believe you, do you think?”

“Not fully, I suppose—else, why would he send his men after me? Perhaps he wished to produce me before Periya Pazhuvettarayar, and see if he could wring the truth out of me that way?”

“You need have no fears about the Elder,” Nandhini smiled slightly. “I shall see to it that he doesn’t make a meal out of you.”

“Your ladyship’s influence over the Lord of the Chozha Treasury is renowned all over the world, Ammani. But I have a great many urgent tasks to accomplish outside this fort, which is why I crave your indulgence in helping me escape.”

“Urgent tasks, you say? What sort?”

“Too many to list them all, my lady. Conveying your answer to Azhwarkkadiyaan Nambi, for instance. What may I tell him?”

“To forget that he ever had a sister named Nandhini.”

“I could tell him that, I suppose—not that it would be possible.”

“What wouldn’t be possible?”

“Forgetting you, of course. I’ve only seen you twice so far, and I would be hard put to root you out of my memory. How do you expect a man who has known you all your life to do the same?”

Subtle shades of triumph blossomed across Nandhini’s fair countenance. She cast her exquisite eyes on Vandhiyathevan’s face, the sharp gaze spearing his heart like a little lance. “And why, pray, were you so eager to seek an audience with the Emperor?”

“Who wouldn’t wish to see for himself a man who is famed for his looks? I have heard of kings who desired, more than anything, to be the greatest in courage and nobility, to expand their empires and fame; they ask their subjects to pray for the same. And yet, do you know what humble petition the Buddhist monks lay at the feet of Lord Buddha, when it comes to Sundara Chozhar?

‘… Sundara Chozhar vanmaiyum vanappum Thinmaiyum ulakir sirandhu vaazhkenave!’

Vanappu! Beauty, you see. Naturally, I wished to see the king who is praised as much for his looks as for his valour and strength, this Manmadhan of the Kali Yugam, for myself. It has been my ambition for many months now.”

“Indeed; the Chakravarthy is a very vain man. And his precious daughter is even more conceited—”

“His daughter? Who would that be?”

“That supercilious, arrogant little idiot who lives in Pazhaiyarai—Ilaiya Piratti Kundhavai Devi, I mean.”

Vandhiyathevan, you lucky wretch, the young man murmured to himself. Here is the ruse you sought, manifesting itself before your very eyes. Use it wisely and well, my man.

Up until now, Nandhini had been reclining on her couch, the very embodiment of languid grace. Now, suddenly, she sat up straight. “Ayya, I have a proposal. Will you agree to it?”

“Pray tell me, Ammani.”

“Let us make a pact, if you will: aid me and in turn, I will assist you. What do you say?”

“My lady—you are the queen of the Dhanaadhikaari of the Chozha empire, who happens to be one of the most powerful personages in the land. There is nothing in this country that you cannot accomplish. I, on the other hand, possess not the slightest bit of influence. How would it be possible for me to aid you in any way?”

Wondering if these words were heartfelt or mere lip-service paid by a talented courtier, Nandhini trained the power of her lovely eyes on him, searching, it seemed, right into his very heart. Vandhiyathevan gazed right back at her, not fazed in the least.

“I find myself in sore need of a trustworthy aide. A loyal and dedicated man. If I were to offer you employment in this palace—would you accept?”

“I’m afraid I have accepted the very same commission under yet another lady. If she refuses my services for some reason, then I shall be delighted to offer them to you.”

“Another woman? Who on earth is she, that she dares to compete with me?”

“The one that you addressed with such fondness, a few moments ago: Ilaiya Piratti Kundhavai Devi.”

“Impossible—lies, lies, all of it! It can’t be—I won’t believe it. You’re playing some sort of joke on me—!”

“My queen, so many people have confiscated and read this olai that it can’t make any difference if you do, as well.” And Vandhiyathevan proffered the palm-leaf Aditha Karikalar had written to Kundhavai.

Nandhini took the olai, held it under the soft glow of the lamp, and read the contents without a word. As she finished, her eyes flashed like lightning, shooting sparks of sheer wrath that, to Vandhiyathevan, resembled a ferocious cobra’s forked tongue slithering through its fangs. Despite himself, he shivered in the warm room.

“Ayya,” she turned to the young man, her face and form suddenly full of majesty. “You wish to escape this fort with your life intact, don’t you?”

“Yes, Amma. Which is why I seek your gracious assistance.”

“Perhaps—but on one condition.”

“Pray tell me.”

“Deliver your olai to Kundhavai—but her reply, whatever that might be, must be delivered to me. Do you agree?”

“A very dangerous stipulation, my lady.”

“You prided yourself on never being afraid of peril just a while ago, didn’t you?”

“True—but then, running headlong into danger must entail some sort of reward, mustn’t it?”

“Reward? So, you wish for an incentive, do you? You’ll certainly get one. The prize that you might never have conjured up, not in your wildest dreams. The reward that even Periya Pazhuvettarayar, the most powerful man in the Chozha empire, has awaited desperately for years—performed a veritable penance for, in fact, but to no avail. Should you choose to accept this commission, such a remuneration will be—yours.”

And Nandhini fixed her exquisite eyes upon him again, her limpid gaze carrying every promise of breathless romance. She was employing the divine mohanastram (the magical, invisible arrow of enchantment), calculated to fell any man worth the title with devastating effect. Poor Vandhiyathevan stood rooted in front of her, dizzy beyond comprehension.

Be still, my heart—be strong, he mumbled to himself, disjointedly. Do not forget yourself—or take leave of your senses!

And, as though to lend him assistance from the night itself when he most needed it, an owl cried out just at that moment, in its most hideous, grating voice. Once—twice—thrice—the hoots came, regularly. The hairs rose up on Vandhiyathevan’s arms. His skin prickled in the cool breeze.

Nandhini gazed at the garden beyond, looking in the direction of the hoots. “It looks like the real mandhiravadhi has arrived,” she murmured softly. Then, she turned to Vandhiyathevan again. “Not that I need his services anymore—but I shall speak to him anyway. Who knows? He may aid you in your escape, somehow. Now, follow my instructions, and conceal yourself in the darkness.”

And she pointed in the direction exactly opposite the one her maid was stationed in.