Spinning Worlds

He had taken a wife at a ripe old age—and a ravishingly young one, at that. People were bound to gossip, of course, and bandy about ribald comments regarding his latest escapade. Periya Pazhuvettarayar was not entirely unaware of the disparaging whispers that fluttered around his nuptials, nor was he ignorant of the people who made them. That the princess, Kundhavai Piratti, was among his detractors had come to his attention well enough. But no one had ever made it their business to repeat her exact words quite so blatantly. Now that he had heard them straight from the lips of his beloved Nandhini, the old lord’s wrath knew no bounds. His heart thudded furiously against his ribs. Flames of sheer fury scorched him from within, much like the boiling heat of an ironsmith’s forge. His heated breath came in heavy, shuddering sighs, finding no other outlet for the burning hatred inside him. And Nandhini’s hapless tears only served to fan the flames of his towering rage.

“Is that what she said of me, my heart’s dearest? Did that wretched witch truly call me an old buffalo?” he ground out, his teeth gnashing together. “Well, she shall know my wrath, that little pest. I shall crush that slender body of hers like a frail vine beneath a buffalo’s terrible hooves! Just see if I don’t! I shall… I shall…” He stuttered to a halt, too blinded by anger to form a coherent thought. His face was twisted in such absolute fury, it was a countenance too harsh to even look upon.

Nandhini drew upon her considerable charms to soothe him. “Nadha—my husband, I knew you couldn’t bear to see me slighted in any way,” she murmured in a voice like soft rain, twining her delicate fingers, as gentle as flower petals, around his iron digits. “And yet, how can one ever conceive of a magnificent lion, a beast trained to splinter a wild elephant’s brawny skull on a gory battlefield, lowering himself to fight with a little cat? For Kundhavai is exactly that—a spitting feline. But she is powerful in magic. That is how she has everyone dancing to her tunes across this Chozha Empire, with her dark spells and clever trickery! There is only one way she can be overpowered, and that is with a magic strong enough to counter her own evil ambitions. If you object to this, my lord, you have only to tell me,” she said, letting out another soft, heartbreaking sob, “and I shall leave this palace this very day—”

At her tears, the fierce flames of his fury began to die down, and in their place rose waves of undeniable passion and a desperate ardour. “No, my dearest, pray do not even utter such a thing,” he pleaded. “You may consort with a thousand magicians if you so wish, but do not leave me, my heart! You are as life to me—nay, you are my very life. What would this pitiful body be, devoid of your life-giving love, my beloved one? Ah, my spirit burns every moment I am away from you, every time those endless fasts and rituals of yours force us apart. I die even as I draw breath, my love. Tell me, how may I gain your true affections? You know so many tricks and spells—will you not grant me just one, so that I might please you?”

“But why would you need such pathetic aids, Nadha?” she asked, her voice tender. “Pray, leave such paltry devices to me, a feeble woman. Your valiant hands, used to swords, spears, and the glory of battle, need never have recourse to such things.”

“Ah, my body thrills at the very sound of your voice. When those coral lips address me as ‘Nadha’, I can scarcely bear the exhilaration. Your radiant face strips me of every last semblance of sanity. I carry swords and spears, you say, and I must fight as a warrior. And so I do. I destroy my foes with every weapon I possess. But alas, they are entirely useless to me now! How do I wage battle against Manmadhan, my beloved one, with mere scraps of metal? Of what use are my trusty knives in this pretty latha mandapam? For it is you who hold all the weapons in this particular war of hearts. Why do I need tricks and charms, you ask? I shall tell you: to assuage the terrible fire that consumes my body and soul, and has done so for days on end! Teach me a spell that will slake this thirst, I beg of you. Or grant me the precious boon, my dearest one, of the pleasure of your intimacy. I give myself to you, my heart’s delight, but I ask only one thing in return: release me from this terrible prison. Save my life! It is now two years and more since we were bound by the holy vows of matrimony, and yet, we have not truly begun to live as husband and wife. You describe rituals and fasts, endless ceremonies that require you to stay away, and you banish me to the terrible wastes of isolation, to an eternal torture that batters my soul. Allow me, your lawfully wedded husband, to stay by your side, or simply end my torment. Poison me with your own fair hands—!”

“Ayyayo!” cried Nandhini, covering her ears with her palms. “Pray—pray do not distress me with such cruel words, or I truly might carry out your wishes. A few drops of poison and I shall end my own life. And then you may be happy, perfectly free of the taint of my existence—”

“Never, my heart, never shall I repeat those hateful words. Forgive me, my most beloved one,” he said quickly, his voice thick with regret. “Live a happy life without you by my side, you say? I am more than half-demented as it is. With you gone, I should surely descend into complete madness—”

“Forgive me, my lord, but why?” she asked, her gaze steady. “I see no need for this anguished existence of yours, marred by terrible fits of lunacy. Why should you suffer so? We are bound for an eternity, you see. We became as one the day we joined in matrimony. We are now a single soul. We possess one spirit, merely constrained by two separate bodies. Every beat of your heart echoes in mine; every thought in your consciousness finds its clarity in my being. My soul is but a quiet mirror that reflects your own. Should your brows gather in a frown, my eyes tear up in distress; I turn queasy at the faintest twitch of your moustache. With such unity of thought resting at the very core of our beings, surely there is no reason to invest so much meaning in a pitiful physical body—a mere carcass that will, moreover, rot and die some day. A thing that will inevitably burn to cinders and turn to dust—”

“Stop—cease at once! My ears blister at your cruel words,” Periya Pazhuvettarayar cried out, and he hurried on breathlessly before Nandhini could speak again. “A pitiful body, you say? A carcass that might rot and burn? Do not—please, do not utter such terrible things. Let your coral lips and honeyed voice never resort to such malicious speech. A mortal body, fated to turn to dust—is that what you truly believe you are? Never, my life, never. The world has seen the birth of thousands of women, and a hundred thousand still live upon its surface. Brahmmadevan, the Creator, may well have made them all out of mud, stone, or even ordinary lime, moulding their plain forms with coal and soot. But you… ah, do you even know how he gave shape to your wondrous form, my heart? He chose the most fragrant of the mandhara flowers (sweet-scented celestial blossoms) strewn on the ground in Devalokam, the high abode of the Devas. He came down to the Tamil lands next and gathered charming red lotuses. He then returned to his celestial home and placed those sweet blooms in a precious bowl filled with divine ambrosia. He waited patiently until nectar and blossom blended into a glorious concoction; then, he added the pearly, radiant light of moonbeams. He descended to earth once more, and asked for the sweet melodies of generations of paanar (the wandering bards and musicians of the old country). They played upon the beauteous yaazh, the music of which Brahman added to his bowl as well. And it was this magnificent, heavenly blend that he eventually used to mould your divine beauty—”

“You speak as though you were standing right by Brahma’s side while he gave shape to my form, Nadha,” she said softly. “Pray, why am I to be the subject of such overwhelming praise? There are many wonderful ladies who occupy your anthappuram; gently bred princesses with whom you have led a wedded life for many long, contented years. I, on the other hand, have had the pleasure of your acquaintance for little more than two—”

“Nandhini!” Periya Pazhuvettarayar cut in, not letting her finish. His old heart churned with emotions that threatened to overpower him. Perhaps he wished to seek some measure of relief by speaking of them aloud, hoping to release at least a few of his pent-up feelings. Roaring flames almost engulfed his soul, and he wished, perchance, to quench them with a sudden shower of words. “Ah, you speak of the many women in my anthappuram. The ancient Pazhuvoor clan depended upon my marriages for its future. I simply believed it to be my sacred duty to wed them. Some of those idiots turned out to be barren; others bore me only girls. If this was God’s will, then so be it, I reflected, and I made my peace with my lot in life. I gave up the very thought of women and worldly pleasure, choosing instead to devote all my waking hours to royal affairs. The great land of Chozha Nadu deserved all my attention, I believed. Nothing and no one else commanded so much of my heart. It was around this time that we fought our final, decisive battle against the Pandiyas. There were many commanders in their prime, young men yearning to wage war and make a name for themselves, yet I could not find it in me to stay away from the battlefield. In the end, my presence did serve an excellent purpose; such a magnificent victory might not have been ours otherwise. Once I had decimated the Pandiya forces and raised the glorious tiger flag of the Chozhas high in Madurai, I journeyed onwards towards the Kongu country. I was returning home, making my way slowly along the wide, sandy banks of the Kaveri, when I first saw you, standing there in the midst of the dense jungle.”

“I could scarce believe my own eyes. I closed them, and then opened them again—but there you were, still waiting among the quiet trees. Surely this is a forest nymph, I thought to myself; she will disappear like mist when I approach. But as I stepped forward, you did not vanish. I wondered then if you were some sort of angel, like those ethereal beings mentioned in our ancient puraanams (sacred mythological texts); perhaps a celestial creature cursed to fall from heaven and walk this dusty earth. Certainly, you could not be a lowly human being, nor could you possibly know the human tongue. I came even closer, and asked, ‘Who are you, woman?’”

“When you finally replied, it was in perfect, musical Thamizh: ‘I am an orphan, my lord; I offer myself to your gracious protection; grant me refuge!’ I took you up into my palanquin at once, I must admit. And in those fleeting moments, my old heart began to race with thoughts I had never given rein to in all my long life.”

“It seemed to me that I had seen you before, somehow, somewhere—but try as I might, I simply could not remember where. And then, quite suddenly, a veil lifted in my mind’s eye, revealing the sparkling truth. It was not in this birth that I had met you, you see, but in many others before it. Those old, forgotten memories came flooding into my heart like a veritable monsoon deluge! Once, you were born as the exquisitely beautiful Akalikai. I was Devendran, the great king of the Devas, and I came down to earth in search of you, braving even the most ferocious curses of your husband, a powerful sage. Then, I was the great Maharaja Santhanu, hunting along quiet forest paths—and I stumbled upon you, a beauteous maiden standing by the water. You were the revered river goddess Ganga, of course, who had taken human form, and I fell helplessly in love with you. Yet another time, I found myself reincarnated as the wealthy merchant Kovalan in the bustling coastal city of Kaverippoompattinam, and you were the faithful, fiercely loyal Kannaki. I lost my mind for a while back then, caught in the wily illusions of this sickening world, and I forgot you. But the fates were kind to me again; the veil lifted, and memories of you returned. I took you to Madurai and left you safe in the cowherds’ hamlet of Ayarkudi, while I went to the markets to sell your silambu (a hollow golden anklet filled with precious gems) for money. There, a cruel betrayal cost me my life. And that is exactly why I was born again, as a fierce warrior in a Chozha clan, so that I might take my rightful revenge against those traitorous Pandiya kings. And I promptly did so, the day I chopped off Veera Pandiyan’s head. I destroyed his wretched clan and was making my weary way home—when I caught sight of you. And that was when I knew, my dearest, that I had found my mate, my beloved Kannaki, whom I had lost all those centuries ago—!”

Nandhini had sat with her face turned slightly away through all of Periya Pazhuvettarayar’s fanciful ramblings about his various grand incarnations. Her lord and master had not had the opportunity to observe the plethora of expressions flitting like shadows across his young wife’s face. In this, it must be admitted, he was remarkably fortunate. Had he caught sight of her eyes, it is highly doubtful that he would have continued with his romantic fairy-tales spanning across the aeons.

“I am not entirely sure if your examples are all that appropriate, Nadha,” Nandhini said, turning back to him when he finally paused to draw a breath. “You see, they appear to be a little too inauspicious for my taste, ending in curses and tragedy. Let us just say that you are the very incarnation of Manmadhan, and I am his beautiful consort Rathi, and be done with it.” Her face blossomed into a happy, radiant smile.

The old Pazhuvoor lord’s countenance brightened considerably at her words. Pride and delight fought for supremacy in his fierce eyes. A man might be hideous in the extreme, but surely even he would feel a surge of exhilaration when described as handsome by the woman he loves. Periya Pazhuvettarayar could not help but preen himself a little under Nandhini’s lavish praise.

“You are entirely justified in calling yourself Rathi, my beloved, but it would hardly be appropriate to name me a handsome god of love now, would it?” he demurred, shaking his heavy head as though the very thought was repugnant to him. “It is only your deep love for me that prompts you to admire me so, I am sure.”

“Nadha, I beg to disagree,” she countered smoothly. “To me, you are indeed Manmadhan. A warrior’s true good looks lie in his prowess on the battlefield, after all, and there is not a single man in all of the southern lands to match your great valour. All the world knows this to be true. And then, there is also the fact that a true man always comes to the aid of damsels in distress—and I am the best example of that, as you can well see. You knew not my name, my caste, my clan, or my whereabouts. Yet your heart was magnanimous enough to grant this poor orphan a safe refuge. To this day, I have known nothing but comfort in your care. You have showered endless affection upon me, a hapless girl. Know this, then—I shall not make you, my lord and master, wait for very long. My fasts are almost at an end—”

“My heart’s delight—pray, do tell me what these precious rituals require, that I may do all in my power to complete them as quickly as I possibly can, for your sake,” begged the old Pazhuvoor king.

“None of the descendants of that vainglorious Sundara Chozhar, who believes himself to be the handsomest man on earth, must be allowed to succeed him. Kundhavai, that conceited, arrogant woman, must be taught a sharp lesson. Her haughty pride must be destroyed—”

“Consider these tasks already done, Nandhini,” he assured her confidently. “Aditha Karikalar and Arulmozhi Varmar will not ascend the throne in Thanjavur. Madhuranthakar will be Sundara Chozhar’s heir. The lords and kings of the Empire are entirely agreed upon this—”

“All of them?” Nandhini demanded, stressing the word with a lift of her delicate brow. “Truly?”

“Well—barring two or three, the rest certainly have. Old Malayamaan, the Kodumbalur Velir, and Parthibendran will not comply, of course. But it is of no matter; they are of little account—”

“Be that as it may, it behoves us to exercise the greatest caution until our task is completely done, does it not?”

“Indeed it does, and I, for one, have made sure that all possible precautions are taken. If there is ever a mishap, it would not be of my doing, but another’s. Why, something of that sort happened just today, I hear. A young rascal from Kanchi gave Kalanthakan the slip, and managed to deliver an olai to the Emperor himself—”

“Ah—and here you have been singing your precious brother’s praises all this while! Have I not told you, time and again, that he is sorely lacking?”

“In this particular case, perhaps, yes. He alleges, besides, that the boy even flashed our very own signet ring at him to gain entry.”

“Excuses, excuses—always supplied to cover up his failures. And so—was nothing done to capture this impertinent young man?”

“Why not? Our soldiers have flung their nets far and wide, both within this fort and without. The hunt is well and truly on. He is sure to be ensnared soon enough. I assure you, my dear, our mission is highly unlikely to be compromised by any of this young idiot’s machinations. Madhuranthakar will safely ascend the throne, upon the Chakravarthy’s death—”

“Nadha—I believe it is almost time to finally reveal the true purpose of my long penance…”

“That, my dearest, is exactly what I have been imploring you to do for quite a while now.”

“All my fasts, my rituals, and my sacrifices will serve absolutely no purpose, should Madhuranthakar—that foolish young idiot who leers at women behind closed doors—ascend the throne…”

“What else, then? Come, reveal your heart’s true desire, and I shall make sure it is fulfilled.”

“When I was very young, my king, a famous astrologer took a close look at my birth-chart. He prophesied that I would suffer a great many ills until my eighteenth year—”

“And? What else did he see?”

“—but once I crossed that year, he said, my stars would change. The planets would realign themselves in the heavens. I would ascend to great heights of prosperity, and occupy a magnificent position—”

“And he was perfectly right. Who is this wonderful astrologer? Tell me, so that I may perform a kanakabishekam (a grand ceremonial showering of gold), and bathe him in gold coins at once!”

“Nadha?”

“My heart?”

“The old astrologer mentioned one other thing. May I disclose that to you, as well?”

“Certainly, my dear. I insist upon it!”

“He prophesied that my husband, the man who eventually claimed my hand in marriage, would wear a glittering crown and ascend a throne fit for an Emperor among Emperors. He would be the magnificent ruler of a great empire that claimed the unwavering allegiance of all fifty-six kings of our vast land. You will fulfil that prophecy too, won’t you, my liege?”

Periya Pazhuvettarayar gazed at her, perplexed beyond all belief. Nandhini and the beautifully carved saprakooda couch on which she reclined began to weave in front of his dazed eyes. The delicate latha mandapam, its stone pillars, and the gloomy, shadow-draped garden opposite began to tilt crazily. The dark tree-tops, bathed in the pearly, quiet light of the moon, began to whirl around him. The bright stars in the night sky and the grand palaces on either side swivelled dangerously in his vision. The whole world spun. •