The Palace of Gloom

And what, meanwhile, of our young friend Vandhiyathevan, who seemed to have vanished without a trace? You might remember that earlier, he had melted into the inky shadows of that grand, rather gloomy old palace. For a minute or two, he pressed himself into the dark, straining his ears to catch the murmured conversation between Nandhini and the mandhiravadhi. But not a single word reached him. He was disappointed, naturally, but perhaps not too bothered. He had other things to worry about.

While chatting with the Ilaiya Rani, he had distinctly felt his usual sharp wits deserting him. A strange, drowsy sort of obedience had begun to creep into his mind, dulling his edges, as if he were being drugged into helpless surrender. Looking back, he recognised it for what it was: a clever little illusion designed to make him lower his guard. But knowing this meant he could not, under any circumstances, afford to wander back into Nandhini’s presence. No, it was far better to slip away now, before he was entirely caught in her silken web.

The Pazhuvettarayar brothers were terrifying enough, to be sure, but finding oneself tangled in the younger queen’s snares was a peril he simply couldn’t risk. With those old warrior-lords, his mind stayed perfectly clear. His broad shoulders would set themselves for a fight at the slightest provocation, and his hand never strayed too far from the sturdy sword resting at his hip. He was ready for a battle of wits or a clash of steel. But the young queen? Ah, that was a different matter entirely. His usually quick, flexible mind turned to mush in her presence; her seductive little airs robbed him of whatever intelligence he possessed. And as for his famed skill with a knife, the less said about his suddenly trembling, nerveless hands, the better. Heaven alone knew what disaster would befall him if he went back to her now.

Besides, what on earth was she doing, hobnobbing with a magician in the dead of night? What sort of wicked, shadowy spells were they weaving out there? And as for her bitter hatred of Kundhavai—good grief, how could he ever forget the way her large eyes had fairly glittered with sheer malice at the very mention of the princess’s name! Who could say what she might do? Women, he reminded himself, were well known for their impulsive natures and sudden, brash decisions; Nandhini was quite capable of ignoring their entire conversation and handing him straight back into the heavy-handed mercies of Periya Pazhuvettarayar.

So, he simply had to escape without ever catching her eye again. But how? The garden and the outer wall seemed the only way out, but what if his pursuers were still lurking out there, waiting in the bushes? Was there no other path? None at all?

‘Where have your wits gone begging, Vandhiyatheva?’ he muttered to himself. ‘What of your famous luck that has always stood by you? Think, man, use those brains of yours.’ He swivelled his eyes in all four directions. Ah, there was this gloomy palace right beside him. And why was it shrouded in such deep, unblinking darkness, anyway? Was anyone—or anything—inside? Could there be another way out, perhaps through a different entrance? Should he brave its shadowy precincts? It might prove useful to know its secrets, mightn’t it?

But getting in was another matter. What a massive wooden door it was, and what a monstrously huge lock! It all looked terribly heavy and incredibly wide. But wait, what was this? A smaller door set right into the larger one? Wonder of wonders, it yielded to his gentle push! Well, what more could a fellow ask for? If this wasn’t good fortune, he didn’t know what was. It was time to step into this mysterious, silent place and see what secrets it held.

Vandhiyathevan pushed open the tiny wicket gate, fixed so cleverly into the great door that you could barely see it, and slipped into the dark confines of the building. His first thought was practical enough: Nandhini must never know where he had gone. So, very softly, without a single creak, he pushed the door shut behind him.

As shadowy as the palace had seemed from the outside, closing that door seemed to double the gloom. He had a vague memory of catching sight of several thick stone pillars in the dim twilight just before he closed the door. But now, of course, he couldn’t see a blessed thing. It was a stifling sort of darkness. Surely no one could even imagine such an inky, suffocating blackness—chee! He gave himself a mental shake. Pull yourself together, man. Of course it was pitch black; isn’t that always the way when you step from the evening light into a sealed room? If he just waited a little, his eyes would surely grow accustomed to the gloom. He’d begin to make out those columns again, dimly perhaps, but enough to manage.

Experience had taught him this much, and yet here he was, trembling at the dark like a frightened child! It was ridiculous, really. ‘I might as well start walking a bit, instead of standing here imitating one of those stone pillars,’ he mused. ‘I’ll just stretch out my hands and feel my way along. One of those blessed structures has to be here somewhere.’

For a little while, Vandhiyathevan stumbled forward, his hands stretched out in front of him like a blind man. Soon enough, his fingers brushed against the rough, cool surface of a pillar, exactly as he had hoped. Ah, this was a magnificent specimen of stone, thick and reassuring. ‘I shall just feel my way around it,’ he thought, and pressed on. He soon encountered another column, but strangely, he still couldn’t see a single thing. Shouldn’t there be some faint glimmer of illumination by now? Had he suddenly gone completely blind? No, don’t be silly, he told himself; people don’t just lose their sight for no rhyme or reason, do they?

He decided to walk a little further. He didn’t bump into any more pillars, but he suddenly felt a strange, dropping sensation beneath his feet—wait, a step! A staircase! Thank heaven he hadn’t lost his footing and tumbled headlong into the abyss. But really, how long was he supposed to stumble about like this without a single chink of light?

Cold, damp fingers of dread suddenly clamped around Vandhiyathevan’s cheerful heart. He felt he couldn’t take another step. He would simply have to turn back, return to the latha mandapam, and face Nandhini. It was far better to accept whatever cunning scheme she had cooked up rather than stagger endlessly in this suffocating tomb. It didn’t matter what promise she demanded of him; he would give it, and then, well, things had a way of taking care of themselves.

Filled with this very sensible intention, our hero tried to retrace his steps. Or, at least, he tried his best. Was he actually on the right path? How could anyone tell in this soup of blackness? Nothing barred his way this time. Where had all those enormous, reassuring pillars gone? Would he never find the entrance again? What if he was doomed to spend the entire night rambling like a lost ghost through this terrifying place? Good God, what sort of disaster had he tumbled into now?

Wait. What was that sound?

Sada-sada-sada—it sounded exactly like the fluttering of dry wings. Where was it coming from? Bats, perhaps? It wouldn’t be terribly surprising; those leathery little creatures always loved to roost in gloomy, abandoned places like this. But no, wait, it wasn’t just the rustle of bat-wings. There was the distinct, faint sound of footfalls. Someone was walking about in here. But who? Were they men? Or… or…

Vandhiyathevan’s lively thoughts froze solid. His tongue suddenly cleaved to the roof of his mouth, which had gone as dry as summer dust in an instant. Suddenly, something seemed to brush right against his face in the dark!

Gathering every ounce of his warrior’s strength, he swung his hand and sent his fist crashing into his unseen attacker.

Crack! His valiant arm jarred with an ache fit to break the bone. Cradling his bruised, throbbing fingers, Vandhiyathevan gingerly felt for his presumed assailant, only to discover it was nothing but a formidable, unyielding stone column. Not only had he nearly walked face-first into one of those giant pillars, but he had actually challenged it to a fistfight!

Vandhiyathevan might have laughed out loud at his own foolishness—if his hand hadn’t been absolutely exploding with pain.

The sudden burst of pain did make his fears recede a little, but he wasn’t completely free of them. Because he could still hear those soft, terrible footfalls. Sometimes they sounded quite far away, and at other times, it seemed as though they were marching straight towards him. Vandhiyathevan stood rooted to the cold stone floor, listening for all he was worth. He swung his wide eyes towards the direction of the sound, staring hard into the gloom.

Ah! Light!

There was a warm yellow glow ahead, growing brighter by the second, and moving steadily toward him. A wisp of grey smoke curled up with it; someone was coming, carrying an oil-torch. Was it Nandhini, perhaps, coming to look for him? That wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But what if it was someone else? It would be far wiser to conceal himself. After all, there was certainly no shortage of hiding places in this cavernous hall.

The smoky torch glided nearer. By its flickering light, Vandhiyathevan saw that he was standing in a vast, echoing hall littered with massive stone columns. Each pillar was heavily carved with terrifying bhoodaganams (other-worldly, goblin-like creatures of myth that served the gods). A long stone staircase seemed to climb up from the bowels of the earth to reach the hall, and the torchlight, he realised, was floating up from the base of those very stairs.

Well, that ruled Nandhini out; it certainly couldn’t be the younger queen creeping up from a cellar. Could this be the secret path to the fabled, terrifying dungeons of Thanjavur that he had heard so many dark rumours about? Did they lie right beneath this very palace? And was one of its infamous, brutal wardens coming up the steps right now?

Tiny beads of cold perspiration pricked every pore on Vandhiyathevan’s skin. He had heard far too many dreadful campfire tales about the dungeons of this great fort-city. He quickly picked out a particularly wide, heavily carved column and slid quietly behind it. Courageous as he was, even the brave warrior Vallavarayan felt his knees quaking just a little at that moment.

Three shadowy forms drifted up the staircase, and to his immense relief, they were entirely human. The man leading the way carried a sturdy spear; the one bringing up the rear held the sputtering torch. The man walking securely in the middle held nothing at all in his hands.

The last traces of terror let go of Vandhiyathevan’s heart, only to be replaced by a wave of pure, intense amazement as the torchlight steadily brightened, illuminating their faces.

For the man walking in front, gripping the spear, was none other than his dearest, oldest friend, Kandamaaran!

And the man in the middle… for a fleeting second, Vandhiyathevan felt a surreal, dizzying sensation, as if he were caught in a strange waking dream. The face looked so startlingly like Nandhini’s. But a moment later, the flickering light shifted, and he saw it was a man. It was, in fact, the beautiful, delicate-featured Prince Madhuranthakar, whom he had briefly glimpsed from afar at the Sambuvaraiyar palace in Kadambur. The third man was a stranger, likely just a loyal servant or a sturdy foot-soldier.

Vallavarayan’s sharp mind began to spin at a wonderful speed. Within moments, he had neatly unravelled the mystery of this little trio slinking their way up a pitch-black staircase. The younger queen of Pazhuvoor had entered the fort a day ago; Periya Pazhuvettarayar had arrived the night before. Both of them had left the fort and returned to the city in the full, glaring view of the public. But Prince Madhuranthakar was a very different matter; his movements had to be kept strictly hidden from the world. Hence, this secret underground passage. And this, no doubt, was the real reason behind the heavy silence of this shadowy palace.

As for his dear friend Kandamaaran—after seeing Vandhiyathevan off on the muddy banks of the Kollidam, the young scion of Kadambur had probably hurried to join Periya Pazhuvettarayar. The elder lord had promptly scooped the boy up into his own personal service. And one of his highly confidential duties was likely escorting Prince Madhuranthakar through this very secret passage.

Ah! Vandhiyathevan remembered now. Kandamaaran had made a rather obscure, boastful reference to a special task waiting for him in Thanjavur. “I may find myself there soon enough—I have a commission to execute…” he had said. This, undoubtedly, was that grand commission.

What would his dear friend think if he, Vandhiyathevan, suddenly popped out from behind a stone goblin and presented himself? He played with the idea for a moment, then swiftly changed his mind. Revealing himself to Kandamaaran was the absolute last thing he should do. Given the tense situation and the solemn oaths they had both sworn to different masters, one of two terrible things was bound to happen: Kandamaaran would be forced by duty to try and kill him, or Vandhiyathevan would have to fight his friend. Either option, of course, was unthinkable. Why on earth should he let such a messy, tragic complication arise?

By this time, the secret trio had reached the top of the stairs, padded quietly across the hall, and vanished from sight. The yellow torchlight slowly faded back into gloom. Vandhiyathevan briefly toyed with the idea of following them, but quickly tossed it aside. No doubt they were making their way straight to Chinna Pazhuvettarayar’s heavily guarded palace. What was the point of Vallavarayan returning to that hornet’s nest? He might as well go and gladly place his own head directly into a yawning lion’s jaw, having only just managed to scrape himself out of it once already.

There was absolutely no point in returning to Nandhini’s garden pavilion, either. For all he knew, Periya Pazhuvettarayar himself might have arrived there by now, and danger was lurking in every shadowed corner.

So, what else was a fellow to do? Well, he thought to himself, why not simply climb down those very same stairs? To think was to act. Our young, irrepressible warrior stepped gingerly out from behind his pillar, found the first stone tread, and began his long, wary descent into the dark.