The Mark of a True Friend

Vandhiyathevan’s first instinct, naturally, was to rush to Kandamaaran’s aid. But a cool, practical voice in his head told him that if he did, he would only end up sharing his dear friend’s fate. First things first: he had to deal with the villainous guard. Springing forward lightly, he locked his arm around the man’s thick neck. With his free hand, he swatted away the guard’s torch. It clattered to the ground, rolling away as it began to smoke, its yellow light shrinking into a feeble glow. Tightening his grip, Vandhiyathevan gathered every ounce of his strength and delivered a tremendous shove. The guard staggered, lost his footing, and went crashing headfirst into the stone wall of the secret passage. He crumpled to the floor, lying quite still, as though dead. Cautiously, Vallavarayan approached the fallen man. Seeing that the guard was well and truly unconscious, he took the sensible precaution of binding the man’s hands with his own angavasthram (a long strip of cloth worn draped over the shoulders).

The immediate danger having passed in a matter of moments, Vandhiyathevan hurried over to Kandamaaran. He found his friend sprawled awkwardly, half inside the secret tunnel and half outside in the night air. The treacherous dagger still stood out from his back, and his stout spear lay abandoned in the dust nearby. Vallavarayan stepped outside, gently took hold of Kandamaaran, and dragged him entirely clear of the opening. He reached back for the spear, and the moment he did so, the secret door slid shut with a soft, final thud. The massive fort walls now stood silent and impassive, clothed in deep shadows, guarding their ancient secrets from prying eyes. The stiff, cool wind that suddenly threatened to blow him over told Vandhiyathevan one comforting thing: he was finally outside the great fort. Large trees loomed against the horizon, dwarfed only by the immense battlements and ramparts behind him. The moonlight was meagre, struggling to filter through the heavy gloom.

He hoisted Kandamaaran onto his shoulder with a grunt, scooped up the spear, and took a tentative step forward. Instantly, the earth simply slipped away from beneath his feet. He was caught in a sudden landslide, tumbling downward in the dark. Desperately, he drove the blunt end of the spear into the soft earth, and with considerable effort, brought his slide to a halt. Taking a deep breath, he craned his neck and peered into the gloom below. Down amidst the heavy shadows cast by the tall trees and the towering ramparts, he caught the glint of flowing water. Even in the dim light, he could see it whirling and racing past at a frightening speed. Thank heavens he hadn’t taken another careless step, or he would have somersaulted straight into disaster! God had certainly watched over him. As for that treacherous guard—well, what was the point of thinking about him now? The man had doubtless been carrying out his master’s grim instructions: to stab the young prince of Kadambur in the back and dispose of the evidence by tossing the body into these racing floods. If Vandhiyathevan had not been quite so surefooted, both of them would be tumbling along the dark riverbed by now. And even if Vallavarayan had somehow managed to pull himself out, poor Kandamaaran would surely have found a watery grave.

The young scion of the Vaanar clan had heard tales of the River Vadavaaru, which was said to hug the walls of the Thanjavur fort at a certain spot. Well, this must certainly be it. The river wasn’t entirely supposed to be swollen with floods just yet, but it could easily be deceptively deep this close to the walls. Who could say? Vandhiyathevan dipped the long shaft of the spear into the rushing water to test the depth. To his horror, the spear went all the way under without once striking the muddy bottom. Ah, those wretched, bloody rogues! But there was little time to be lost standing on a slippery bank, cursing those treacherous fools. He and Kandamaaran had to make themselves scarce, and quickly. Shifting his friend’s weight on his shoulder, and gripping the spear tightly in his free hand, Vandhiyathevan began to edge forward. He took the greatest possible care not to lose his footing on the slick, steep bank. From time to time, his injured friend let out a soft groan or a moan, which, frankly, Vandhiyathevan found to be a rather encouraging sign of life.

He trudged on through the dark, gritting his teeth against the strain, until the great stone walls of the fort finally seemed to recede into the night. Now, a wilder forest began to creep in close along the banks. There were thorns aplenty underfoot, snagging at his clothes and making the going thoroughly miserable. But then, peering ahead, he spotted something—a large tree, lying right across the river! It must have been a magnificent giant in its time, but the rushing water had scoured the earth from its roots and brought it low. It lay spanning almost half the breadth of the river.

Vandhiyathevan climbed onto the thick, rough bark and staggered along its length. It was no easy task, trying to keep his balance on a trunk that bobbed and wove unpredictably in the swift current. Its leafy branches thrashed helplessly in the swirling water, and the night wind howled about his ears. When he finally reached the far end of the fallen giant, he stuck his spear into the dark water once more. Thanks be to Lord Murugan (the warrior god of the hills)! The river was not nearly so deep here.

Stepping off the unsteady tree, he eased himself into the river. He trod gingerly, feeling his way across the hidden dips and crests of the muddy bed, battling the raging floodwaters and the stiff wind with little more than sheer willpower. Now and then, his shivering body shuddered helplessly under the strain of his heavy burden, and for a terrifying moment, it would seem as though Kandamaaran might simply slip from his grasp and vanish into the black river. And yet, braving all ills, Vandhiyathevan finally scrambled up the opposite shore.

He staggered along the muddy bank for a little while longer, trembling in clothes that were soaked right up to his waist. It was no small feat, hefting Kandamaaran, a young man of considerable height and weight, for such a distance. Presently, the dense cluster of trees gave way to a small, quiet clearing, and Vandhiyathevan gratefully called a halt. Panting softly, he lowered his precious burden to the damp grass. The first order of business was simply to catch his breath, but he also desperately needed to know if there was still life in his friend. After all, what was the use of lugging a corpse through the forest? He might as well have adopted the wretched guard’s approach and consigned him to the river.

But no, Kandamaaran was still alive. His chest rose and fell with ragged, heaving breaths, and a tumultuous, racing pulse thudded reassuringly at his wrist. So far, so good. But what was to be done now? Pulling the dagger out was entirely out of the question; the blood would surely gush out and kill the poor fellow on the spot. No, what Kandamaaran needed, and urgently, was proper medicine. His grievous wound had to be dressed with a healer’s skill, and these were hardly tasks that a wandering warrior could manage alone in the dark, were they?

Vandhiyathevan needed help. But who in the world could he ask at this hour? Wait… what about Senthan Amudhan? The gentle flower-seller’s home and garden were situated right here on the banks of the River Vadavaaru, weren’t they? They had to be somewhere nearby. Kandamaaran might just have a fighting chance if Vandhiyathevan could only manage to drag them both to Amudhan’s humble cottage. What did he stand to lose, anyway? With a heavy sigh, Vandhiyathevan bent over his friend, preparing to heft him back onto his aching shoulders. But he stopped short. Kandamaaran’s eyes were open.

“Why, Kandamaaraa! You’re awake!” Delight and sheer amazement washed over Vandhiyathevan’s face. “Do you recognise me?”

“Very well indeed,” came a weak but remarkably bitter whisper. “You are Vallavarayan, of course. How could I ever forget such an excellent friend? You’re the sort of fellow who stabs a man in the back, aren’t you?”

“Ayyo!” The pained exclamation escaped Vandhiyathevan’s lips, and those bitter words lashed at him like a vicious whip. “But I wasn’t the one who—” He stopped abruptly, the words catching in his throat as though a sudden thought had struck him.

“Of course not,” Kandamaaran rasped, his voice dripping with tired sarcasm. “Your knife merely caressed me like a feather, you bastard! You are the only reason I hurried down that gloomy secret passage in the first place. I wanted to get a hold of you before Periya Pazhuvettarayar’s men did. I wanted to prevent anyone else from capturing and torturing you. I swore to myself that I would find you, somehow, and enlist you in Chinna Pazhuvettarayar’s Fort Guards Regiment, where you would be safe. And here you are, betraying the very friend who only wished to help you! Is this the mark of true friendship? Have you forgotten all those times we clasped our hands together, swearing to protect one another? Now you… you have destroyed everything! Ah, how eager I was to tell you of the stunning changes that were about to sweep through this Chozha Empire. How I wished to warn you… but how am I ever to trust anyone again?” With a faint groan, Kandamaaran closed his eyes, slipping back into the merciful dark of oblivion. The sheer effort of that hurried, furious speech had completely drained what little strength he had left.

“Well, surely there’s no lack of decent people to trust in this world,” Vandhiyathevan mumbled to the unconscious boy. “And who on earth with any sense would rely on the Pazhuvettarayars, anyway?”

For all his bravado, however, hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away furiously, deciding that it had been wise to hold his tongue after all. Gathering himself, he heaved Kandamaaran back onto his tired shoulder and resumed his journey.

Presently, the heavy, sweet scent of night-blooming flowers engulfed him in the still air. He had been right to assume that Senthan Amudhan’s home must be nearabouts. Within a few moments, he stumbled into the nandhavanam, but oh, what a heartbreaking difference there was between his first visit and this one!

Now, the beautifully kept garden looked like nothing so much as the ancient Ashokavanam (the captive garden of Lanka) after Lord Hanuman had torn through it in a divine fury. It was a scene of utter devastation, like the exquisite madhuvanam (the legendary honey-grove) wrecked by the mischievous vaanarams (monkey-folk) of the Ramayana. It seemed all too clear that Periya Pazhuvettarayar’s dutiful men had descended upon this peaceful spot as well, in their frantic search for him, and had paid their respects in their usual fashion—heaping destruction everywhere. When Vandhiyathevan thought of the endless hours of tender care that Senthan Amudhan and his dear mother had poured into maintaining this wonderful, rich little garden, his heart sank. Now, everything was in rack and ruins.

Abruptly, the young warrior remembered his own rather precarious situation, and all his tender sympathy for the crushed flowers vanished. What if those wretched spies and security guards were still lurking about in the shadows? Well, he had no choice but to take them on. He scanned the dark, and offered a silent prayer of thanks when he spotted his loyal horse, still tethered safely to a stout tree. But wait… what if leaving the horse there was a trap? No matter; there was nothing else he could do but relinquish Kandamaaran into the care of these excellent people and fly upon his steed. God willing, he would not halt until he reached Pazhaiyarai.

Vandhiyathevan tiptoed carefully across the ruined garden towards the little thatched hut. At the entrance, he leaned over and gently tapped Senthan Amudhan, who lay fast asleep on the thinnai (a raised, earthen verandah that served as a seating area).

The young man jerked awake, startled, but before he could cry out, the warrior laid a firm, swift hand over his mouth.

“You are the only one who can help me, Thambi,” he whispered urgently in the dark. “I find myself in terrible difficulties. This is my dear friend, Kandamaaran, the son of the Kadambur lord, Sambuvaraiyar. Someone stabbed him, you see. I saw him on my way out and brought him with me.”

Senthan Amudhan gently pulled the warrior’s hand away. “Why, those rogues!” he exclaimed softly. “They’ve stabbed him in the back too, brave warriors!” He paused for a thoughtful moment. “I shall care for him as much as I can. Several groups of soldiers barged here in search of you and wreaked havoc on our beautiful garden—see, there’s almost nothing left of it. Never mind, though; it matters nothing if you manage to escape. Thankfully, they’ve left your horse alone—now get on it and leave!”

“That, Thambi, is my intention as well,” said Vandhiyathevan. “But oughtn’t we to do something about saving my friend’s life?”

“Don’t you worry about that; my mother knows her way around medicines. She’s well-versed in handling wounds such as these.”

And with that, Senthan Amudhan turned and tapped gently on the heavy wooden door, twice. It opened at once, and his sweet, silent mother stood framed in the entrance. Together, the two young men carried Kandamaaran slowly into the house, laying him down carefully in the koodam (the central, open hall of the home).

In the gentle light of a hand-held oil lamp, Senthan Amudhan made a series of quick hand-signs to his mother. It seemed she understood him perfectly. She gazed keenly at Kandamaaran’s pale face, glanced once at the ugly dagger sticking in his back, and left swiftly. She returned a moment later carrying clean rags and a few strong-smelling medicinal herbs. Then, she looked meaningfully at the two of them.

Senthan Amudhan gripped the Kadambur prince tight. Taking a steadying breath, Vandhiyathevan gathered himself, placed a firm hand on the dagger sticking out of his friend’s back, and pulled it out.

Blood gushed out of the wound.

“Oh!” Even deep in his swoon, Kandamaaran screamed in absolute agony. Vandhiyathevan covered his mouth swiftly to muffle the sound, while Senthan Amudhan pressed down on the bleeding wound as hard as he could.

Working with quiet efficiency, Amudhan’s mother dressed the deep injury with the fresh herbs. Kandamaaran groaned pitifully, again.

Just then, a heavy thudding of footsteps echoed in the distance—men, running towards the hut.

“Go—now!” Amudhan admonished, his voice tense. “Quickly!”

Vandhiyathevan scooped up his spear and the blood-stained dagger, and then hesitated in the doorway. “Thambi—you do believe in me, don’t you?”

“I believe in God,” Amudhan replied with a small smile. “And I do like you. But—why do you ask?”

“Because I require your assistance again. You see, I am new to these parts, and don’t quite know my way around. I wish to reach Pazhaiyarai at once and deliver a message to Kundhavai Devi. Would you be able to guide my way a little?”

At once, Senthan Amudhan turned to his mother and signed something, to which she gave a firm nod, signifying assent. The brave lady, it seemed, was not unduly perturbed by the night’s dramatic happenings. She signed back to him, in addition, that she would take good care of the injured man as well.

They left together; Vandhiyathevan swinging up onto his horse, while Senthan Amudhan climbed on behind him. Vandhiyathevan set his steed to a quiet, muffled trot, taking great care not to attract the slightest attention. But after a little distance, once they had put a safe stretch of darkness between themselves and the house, he set the horse galloping. The magnificent animal tore through the cool night wind, carrying its heavy burden toward Pazhaiyarai.

Scarcely had the steed set off when five or six burly soldiers descended upon the little hut. They began banging on the stout wooden door with furious fists.

Amudhan’s mother opened the door calmly, and stood quite still, framed by the entrance.

“What was that noise we heard just now?” yelled a breathless soldier.

Amudhan’s mother quavered some sort of vague, blubbering, distressed response.

“Oh, what’s the point of asking this deaf mute?” snapped another in disgust. “We’d better go in and see for ourselves.”

“She’s barring our path, isn’t she?”

“And where on earth is that flower-boy?”

“Swat away that mute and get into that cottage!”

At this, Amudhan’s mother howled indignantly in her own, unique tongue, and made a great show of trying to shut the heavy door right in the man’s face. Four or five of the brawny soldiers immediately pushed themselves against the wood, making it quite impossible for her to do so. She shrieked out something more and then, very abruptly, simply let the door go.

Taken entirely by surprise, two or three of the soldiers lost their balance and practically rolled in through the entrance, falling in a tangled heap right at her feet. The others simply trampled over them in their blind haste to enter the hut.

“Here he is!” yelled one, spying the figure on the mat.

“Finally!” crowed another triumphantly. “Got himself into our clutches, did he?”

“Grab him before he runs,” instructed another. “Tie him up!”

The mute woman stood by, waving her arms and blubbering wildly.

“Good God—what’s with all the blood?” echoed a soldier, stepping back.

Amudhan’s mother helpfully held her little oil lamp aloft, pointing to the injured young man’s pale face in its feeble, flickering light.

“Beh! Beh!” she cried out.

“Adei!” a soldier frowned, peering closer. “This looks like someone else!”

“Beh—beh!”

“Is this the man who came here last night?”

“Beh—beh!”

“Where’s your son, old woman?”

“Beh—beh!”

“Quiet, you dumb corpse! Adei—everyone look at this one carefully. Does anyone recognise him? Well?”

“Not him,” said one.

“Of course it’s him!” argued another.

“No—never!”

“Beh—beh!” the woman wailed, waving her lamp.

“Listen, whoever he might be, we must take him to the fort at once. Come, carry him!”

“Beh—Beh—Beh—Beh!”

“Shut up, saniyane (you wretched creature)!” a soldier snapped.

Four of the heavily muscled men bent down and hefted up Kandamaaran.

“Beh—Beh—Beh—Beh—Beh—Beh!” bawled the brave woman, keeping up an unceasing racket without a pause.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers at the door held up a hand. “Wait—are those horse-hooves?”

“Right,” the leader decided quickly. “Half of you carry this one—the rest, go and see who that is.”

“Oh, this one isn’t going anywhere,” another pointed out. “Come, all of you!”

Without a second thought, they unceremoniously dropped Kandamaaran back onto the floor and ran out as one. And as they disappeared into the shadows of the ruined garden, Amudhan’s mother’s unearthly, victorious shrieks followed them all the way out into the night.

“Behbeh! Behbeh! Behbeh!”