Nandhini, the Coquette

It was well past midnight, slipping quietly into the third jaamam, when Periya Pazhuvettarayar finally made his way back to his own palace. A restless west wind was whirring through the silent streets, whipping up the fine dust into dizzying little eddies. But the storm raging inside the old warrior’s steely heart was whirling with a far more furious frenzy, flinging up things much darker than street dust and filth.

Ah, the things he had just said to his beloved brother! He wished, rather heavily now, that he had not been quite so brutal. After all, there was no doubting that his thambi held him in the very highest esteem. The younger man’s accusations, unjust as they certainly were, had been born purely out of a deep concern and worry for him. Still, he was a vastly suspicious fellow, his brother; why pile all these wild allegations on Nandhini, for pity’s sake? It was a common enough pitfall of human nature, he supposed, to commit a grievous blunder and then seek to escape by making someone else the scapegoat. Such tactics were the usual refuge of weak, spineless cowards—but why on earth must a brave man like Kalanthakan fall prey to the same pathetic ruse? And all this, just after having let that rascal of a boy slip right through his fingers, too!

To find a way to point fingers at his madhani (his own sister-in-law) to cover his tracks—how this could possibly reflect well upon his courage and personal integrity was a puzzle the older man simply could not fathom. What sort of man indulged in such things? Well, he had apologised for his unseemly words, at any rate. There was no point in dwelling upon that unhappy conversation, was there?

And yet… could there possibly be an atom of truth to his brother’s claims? Had he, at this ripe old age, made a fool of himself over a pretty young woman? He had, after all, just directed the harshest words at a man who had fought by his side, shoulder to shoulder, in a hundred bloody battles. He had shrugged off a lifetime of shared mortal danger with his own younger brother—and all in defence of a girl he had dragged out of a forest! Was she indeed worthy of such fierce loyalty? He knew absolutely nothing of her origins, when he came to think of it. Her speech and behaviour, it had to be admitted in the cold light of night, were rather peculiar at times.

Chee, he scolded himself, how could he let his younger brother’s heedless words influence him so? It was horribly unjust to suspect Nandhini’s motives. Her deep and abiding love for him was perfectly evident in everything she did. One only had to witness her mellow, gentle speech, and the utmost respect with which she treated him! As for her wifely duties—was there ever a woman who showed quite as much interest in her husband’s state office as his Nandhini? Why, she even troubled herself enough to offer thoughtful suggestions and comments, aiding him in every way possible!

Such petty issues aside—how deeply she must have loved him, to wed a doddering old man of more than sixty! Devendran himself, the great king of the Devas in heaven, would surely fall all over himself to claim the hand of one so beautiful; a woman whose grace could inspire intense jealousy in the celestial dancers themselves. As for the kings of this mortal realm, who among them would baulk at the good fortune of wedding such a sundari (a woman of matchless beauty)? Ah, the Emperor Sundara Chozhar himself would not have had two thoughts about it, had she ever caught his faltering sight! And here he was, suspecting her. How incredibly unmerited!

He had heard old tales, of course, of ageing men who spent every waking moment of their lives in a self-made hell, entertaining unlawful doubts about their young wives’ fidelity. He had laughed heartily at such incidents himself. And yet, here he was, caught fast in the very same terrible toils, making a private laughing stock of himself.

Still, he reasoned as he walked, it would not hurt to question her gently about certain issues. There were a few of her activities that certainly warranted a mild inquiry. She frequently wished him to grant her his signet-ring; to what end? Why did she spend so much of her time in that damp, God-forsaken latha mandapam? And what, of course, of that mysterious magician who came visiting her at all sorts of odd hours—visits she had freely admitted to, herself? Why would she need a sorcerer’s services anyway? Whose heart did she wish to conquer, that she must make use of such dark tactics?

All this aside, there was another, perhaps the most burning question of all: how long was she going to keep him from her side, making him live like a brahmachari (a celibate bachelor) who had yet to taste the true delights of marriage? Every time the subject cropped up, she conceived of some sudden fast or holy ritual that prevented their union—but never, not once, had she ever bothered to explain what exactly this worship entailed! It all seemed, if one were being honest, very like the cunning strategies so often used by wily women who detested their husband’s advances.

Well, there would be no more of it, he decided firmly. He had given way to her whims far too much. Tonight, all this and more must be discussed and put an end to, come what may!

Periya Pazhuvettarayar arrived at the entrance of his palace to a rousing welcome from his closest aides, servants, and maids. But search as he might, swivelling his eyes in every which direction, the one woman he wished to see above all else was conspicuous by her absence: his young queen, the Ilaiya Rani. Upon making enquiries, it was discovered that her ladyship was still out in the latha mandapam.

What in the heavens was she doing out there, well beyond midnight? A little spark of anger flared up within him. Was his faithful wife playing him for a fool, perhaps? Had she devised some unique, new way of ignoring him, the wilful woman?

Periya Pazhuvettarayar hastened towards the garden gallery, more than a little peeved by what clearly seemed an attempt to incense her lord and master. He reached the stone corridor connecting the palaces just in time to see Nandhini returning, a maid in tow. The very moment she set eyes on him, she stopped dead, choosing instead to gaze intently at something—no doubt vastly interesting—out in the garden, which was presently shrouded in an inky blackness.

The maid wisely stopped at a little distance. Pazhuvettarayar drew close to his young queen. She continued to fix her lovely eyes upon the dark, rustling foliage, seemingly entirely unaware of his proximity. She neither acknowledged his presence, nor condescended to receive him properly. And so it was that the great Lord of Pazhuvoor, who had strode forward with every intention of subjecting his wife to a furious diatribe, found himself in the rather awkward position of having to pacify her.

“Nandhini, my dearest, you seem annoyed,” he murmured. “Why will you not look at me, my love?”

And he placed his heavy, battle-scarred hand, usually as strong and unyielding as a thunderbolt weapon, on her slender shoulders—gently, it must be said.

His wife grasped his iron-like arm and shoved it off her. The old warrior was briefly stunned. How could a limb as soft and delicate as the jasmine flowers in his garden possibly possess such startling strength?

“You deigned to push me away with your dainty hands!” he said, instantly charmed. “Life could not bless me any further, my heart’s dearest. You have effortlessly accomplished what no warrior from the Vindhya hills in the north to Thirikonamalai in the southern seas would have even dared think of. That, my dear, is my greatest good fortune. But you have not yet revealed the reason for your sudden anger. Will you not speak to me?” pleaded that great, towering warrior, a veteran of a thousand bloody battlefields. “My wretched old ears yearn for the silken softness of your voice, more exquisite than the sweetest wild honey, my heart.”

“How many days has it been since you left?” demanded Nandhini, still refusing to look at him. “Four. You’ve condemned me to four whole days, all alone!”

Her lilting voice held just the slightest hint of a sob—and Periya Pazhuvettarayar, who had faced a hundred swinging swords and flying spears unflinching, found his steely heart melting away like wax over a candle flame.

“And this is what upsets you so, my dear one?” he asked softly. “You could not bear my absence for a mere four days? But what if I have to leave for the battlefield soon? We might have to live apart for months on end. What would you do then?”

“You believe me to be some cold-hearted wretch who would stay away from you for months, while you went off to war?” she cried. “Perish the thought. I shall follow you there, of course, like a faithful shadow at your heels.”

“Here is a jest, indeed!” he chuckled warmly. “What sort of a war do you think I could possibly wage, with you right by my side? Dearest, many are the terrible injuries this broad chest has borne over the years. My shoulders have taken more arrows and spears than can be easily counted—those scars number sixty-four, or so the bards say when they lavish praises upon me. But you… ah, if the tiniest garden thorn were to prick your exquisitely delicate skin, my life, then my old heart would splinter into pieces. It would accomplish in a moment what a thousand battles and a forest of weapons have failed to achieve thus far. How, how could I possibly take you with me into the grime and dust of a battlefield?

“Why, I cannot even bear to see you stand all this while on these cold, unforgiving stone floors! Come, my queen, pray, do recline upon your beautiful, flower-laden couch, that I may sit and look upon your exquisite countenance. Do not think, fair one, that these four days have wrought anguish upon your spirits alone. I have suffered too; every moment of your absence is an aeon to me. But now—ah, now I may gaze at your divine radiance until I quench my terrible yearning!”

And he clasped her soft hands in his rough ones, leading her gently into the chamber and towards the saprakooda couch.

Nandhini brushed away her tears and glanced up at him. The brass oil lamp’s gentle, flickering light caught her lovely face, throwing her golden complexion into warm prominence—and illuminating the ravishing smile that slowly bloomed upon it.

The Chozha empire’s Dhanaadhikaari gazed down at her, utterly struck by the little pearls of teeth that peeped from amidst soft, coral lips. Ah, he thought to himself, dizzy with affection, if I held the three worlds in my grasp, I would sacrifice them all just for a hint of this wondrous countenance. But as I lack those magnificent possessions, I shall have absolutely no compunction in placing my body, my soul, and all my worldly assets at her dainty feet. And yet, he marvelled, this celestial maiden demanded nothing of him!

Such were his dizzying, devoted thoughts as he stood there, drinking in her lovely form. Gone, quite forgotten, was any prior intention of ever taking her to task, demanding stern explanations, or reading her a lecture on appropriate household behaviour. He was now entirely willing and ready to prostrate himself at her feet and carry out the most trivial, fetching task she might assign him. Slavery of any kind is generally considered demeaning—but perhaps there is nothing that quite denudes a man of his dignity and his senses like the mindless, willing submission to a truly beautiful woman.

“You’ve been away from me for four long days—why didn’t you come home at once?” retorted Nandhini, her face suddenly bright with mock anger, her dark eyes darting lightning looks of pure playfulness. “Your brother was far more important to you, wasn’t he?”

“Not quite, my dear. I did want to come to you, straight as an arrow and true. I was detained, however, by that young idiot of a prince, Madhuranthakan. I had to make absolutely sure he returned safely home, unseen, through the secret underground passage. That was the only reason I stayed so long at my brother’s palace.”

“I cherish the greatest regard for your abilities, Ayya,” she said softly. “I am deeply interested in all your political concerns—indeed, I consider myself incredibly fortunate to be involved in any of them. There is nothing I wish for more than to see you succeed in your every grand endeavour. And yet, I can’t help but loathe the fact that another man travelled hidden in my closed palanquin—and that every man, woman, and child out in the streets believes me to be merely a part of your travelling retinue, wherever you go.”

“You do not believe that I welcome such a state of events either, do you? Never!” he reassured her. “And yet, we have undertaken an extremely important, dangerous task. I shall have to put up with a great deal of discomfort for its eventual success. Besides, my love, surely you have not forgotten that conveying Madhuranthakan in your personal palanquin was your own clever idea in the first place? And was it not you who suggested that he use the secret passage to enter and exit the fort without being seen?”

“I did,” she conceded with a little sigh. “And in doing so, I believe I was only carrying out my simple duty. Isn’t it, after all, the sacred charge of a good wife to aid her husband in any way possible? It’s true that I put forward this little ruse, but when I think of how it might have acted against you…”

“But that was not all you did, was it, my dear?” he smiled, settling down comfortably beside her. “Why, I remember well the Madhuranthakan of yore—that rather pathetic boy who smothered himself in viboothi and spent long, quiet hours mumbling Om Namachivaaya over a string of rudraksha prayer beads. Always making endless dusty pilgrimages from one riverside temple to another—the absolutely perfect son to his equally pious mother! I remember, too, the monumental efforts we once took to persuade him towards claiming the Chozha throne, all to no avail. He simply wouldn’t hear of it. But you—you spoke to him just twice, and he changed his mind in an instant! You might not believe it to look at him, but the lad now dreams of a vast empire that stretches from the Imayam mountains in the north to the very tip of Ilankai in the south; from the high heavens to the very ends of the earth! Why, he can barely even wait for our plans to come to fruition; I think he would like to ascend the golden throne this very instant!”

Periya Pazhuvettarayar paused, a teasing glint in his eye. “I really do not know what sort of spell you wove over him, my heart. And speaking of which… you appear to possess a great many magical tricks up your own sleeve; why do you wish for the services of another magician? People do talk, you see…”

“—and it is your divine duty, as my husband, to chop off their unruly tongues,” she retorted quickly. “I have confided in you before about my reasons for consulting a magician. Should you have forgotten amidst your busy affairs, I shall remind you once again: that petty little snake in Pazhaiyarai must be taught her lesson. You are men, after all, my lord. You go to open battles and settle your differences like honourable warriors. ‘Women—such weak, defenceless creatures!’—that is what you men always think. To wage war against one of us is the height of dishonour to your proud minds. And yet, my king, a single woman working in the shadows may wreak more terrible havoc than a hundred armed men.

“A snake knows its own kind. You know nothing of her true nature, but I know Kundhavai’s evil, calculating mind as well as I know my own. Ah, the sheer temerity of that witch, to have so openly scorned both you and me! Such things may have easily slipped your magnanimous, forgiving mind, my lord, but they certainly didn’t slip mine. Never, never shall I forget her cruel, biting words as she addressed me that day, right in the midst of a hundred chattering women in the palace courtyard: ‘I shall never understand why you chose to marry that doddering old man!’ she laughed. ‘He may have lost his mind in his dotage, but what on earth possessed you to lose yours? Where did your wits go begging?’ Ah, how can I simply ignore such vicious barbs?”

“‘You fairly dazzle our eyes like a celestial maiden come down to earth,’ said the great Princess Kundhavai. ‘Any young prince would consider it a tremendous honour to claim your hand in marriage and make you his queen. Why must you choose an ancient, bumbling buffalo for your husband, you poor, misguided girl?’ My lord—never shall I forget those malicious words. Not until my last, dying breath!”

And with that, Nandhini began to sob piteously, seemingly almost beside herself after her breathless, emotional exposition. Hot, heavy tears coursed down her lovely cheeks, flowing in a sudden deluge and soaking the silk over her heaving bosom.