The Vault

Vandhiyathevan made his way down into the gloomy secret passage. He took it slowly, making sure of every step—it would not do, after all, to go tumbling headlong into that pitch-black void. The stone stairs went down for a while, then levelled out into a flat stretch, before descending once more. He spread his hands wide, hoping to brush against the walls, but found nothing but empty air. It was a vast passage, to be sure. Presently, the steps began to climb again, curving gently in the dark. Appappa! How much further was he expected to go? How long was this winding path, and how long must he stumble blindly through this inky blackness?

Ah—what was this? The darkness seemed to be retreating, just a little. A very faint light had begun to meet his eyes. Now, where could that possibly be coming from? Moonlight, perhaps, filtering down from somewhere in the roof? Or chinks in the windows of some massive hall? Or was it a lamp left burning in a hidden alcove, its light slipping out of its rocky prison?

No, it was nothing of the sort. What kind of sorcery was playing out before him? Was such a scene truly unfolding in front of his eyes, or had his brain finally scrambled itself for good?

The mandapam through which Vallavarayan was making his way happened to be built on a truly massive scale. It was carved right out of the living rock, fashioned into a fantastic underground chamber. That explained why the ceiling hung so low, occasionally brushing the top of his head. And as for the light—it certainly wasn’t the errant moon or a stray lamp seeping through the roof or the cracks in the walls. No, these strange rays came from things that lay in small heaps all along the walls, scattered across the floor, or spread about in a glorious, untidy mess. Ah, and what a sight they made, to be sure!

Pearly beams danced off unearthly objects on the ground: beautifully finished crowns set with gorgeous rubies, emeralds, and diamonds; over there, thick chains of gold and rich strands of pearls; necklaces gleaming with the quiet fire of precious stones. And oh, what about that large vessel? Good heavens, it was filled to overflowing with white pearls, glowing with a soft, understated sheen—rather like the beautiful white buds of the Punnai (a coastal tree). Large, round, heavy pearls! In another corner, a pot brimmed with gold coins, glinting like the rays of the late evening sun. Here were solid gold bars—why, this seemed, in truth, to be the precious treasury of Thanjavur itself! Hardly surprising, he thought, that it lay concealed under a gloomy palace right beside the elder Periya Pazhuvettarayar’s own mansion, seeing as he was the Treasurer. And here Vandhiyathevan had been led, by God knew what good fortune—for hadn’t it been the combined grace of Goddess Bhagyalakshmi and Adhirshta Devathai (the goddess of luck) that had brought him down here? Hadn’t he stumbled upon one of Chozha Nadu’s greatest secrets without really trying?

All that was necessary now was to figure out how to make the best use of it. But forget that—he didn’t even want to leave this place. All his worldly desires had suddenly shrunk to a single pinpoint: to run his hands through these treasures. Hunger and thirst seemed like alien concepts now; he wouldn’t even feel the urge to sleep. What lay before his dazzled eyes were the fruits of over a hundred invasions, the spoils gathered by thousands of Chozha soldiers, the result of their sweat and blood. He had heard monumental tales of the famed riches, the navanidhis—and here they all seemed to be, scattered at his very feet! Why, not even Kuberan (the god of wealth) could hope to match a treasure trove such as this. Who on earth could bear to leave it all behind?

Vandhiyathevan wandered among the treasures, powerless to tear himself away. He fingered the delicately fashioned crowns in one corner, and picked up the heavy necklaces that lay in another. The next instant, he dropped them and strode over to the brass pot, plunged his arm deep into the pearls, and watched in wonder as they dripped softly through his fingers. He ploughed his hands through another pot full of gold coins, gazing at them in pure awe.

Then, he caught sight of something else. It glowed dully in a corner, spread out across the floor, and he went over to investigate. It defied explanation at first, and Vandhiyathevan bent down, peering closely at the heap. The next instant, he jumped back, stunned.

Ayyo—good God, it was a skeleton! A human being who had once possessed skin and flesh, blood and nerves, hair, eyes, a face, and ears—and was now nothing but a pile of dry bones. And—oh, wait, it seemed to be moving! Was it coming to life? Was it jingling and jangling, much like the gold coins he had touched just a moment ago? Was it—was it trying to tell him something?

Every hair on Vallavarayan’s body stood up in terror. Had he finally gone quite mad? Chee! Of course not. The skeleton was as lifeless as ever; it was just a rat, trying to squeeze its way out from underneath the ribs. Ah, there it goes, running right over his foot. Now that he looked closer, the skeleton lay perfectly still on the ground. But in a way, it was true, wasn’t it? It had been trying to tell him something. Run away—do not tarry here. For I, too, was a human being like you once, a living, breathing man. But I lingered here too long, and I died, lost in this tomb! I am fated to crumble to dust in the dark. Do not repeat my mistake—run, run!

This old bag of bones was perfectly right to warn him. If he stayed, he would surely share its fate. He had to leave at once, for if he didn’t, he was done for.

In vain did Vandhiyathevan try to find a way out. It was no use. There seemed to be no path of escape, and he couldn’t even find the way he had come in. No matter where he turned in this wretched underground vault, the demon of darkness welcomed him with its gaping maw; the shadowy corners were especially terrifying. As for peering down, he felt as though he were slipping into hell itself; the gloom seemed to descend forever, into unfathomable depths. The stairs he had taken must be around here somewhere; surely all he had to do was blunder into them.

Vandhiyathevan wandered endlessly through the great hall, hoping to stub his toe on the bottom step. On one of his restless circuits, he almost ran into another heap of gold coins. He stopped and stared hard at what appeared to be a web of some sort—ah, yes, a spider’s web, shiny and delicate, spreading its thin tendrils over the gold. Almost in spite of himself, it set off a train of thought. He had often heard the village elders speak of the three great perils of mankind: land, women, and gold. They spun complicated webs of allure, waiting for men to commit the gravest sins—much like a spider sitting quietly for its prey. A fly arrives from nowhere, fascinated by the trap, and alights upon it—whereupon the spider draws in its hapless victim and swallows it whole. Such were the three great temptations; they lay in wait so a man would get caught in their toils, and once he did, there was no escape whatsoever.

As for Vandhiyathevan—how strange it was that he had managed to encounter all three on this very day! First, there had been the young queen of Pazhuvoor, Nandhini, who had tried to ensnare him with her considerable beauty. Not satisfied with that, she had tried to overpower him with wily words about the Vaanar dynasty’s ancient lands, holding aloft the vain hope that she might secure them for him. And now, here was the vast treasure of Thanjavur, enticing him with its gleaming, glittering attractions in a bid to swallow him alive.

He had managed to escape with his wits intact from the first two; now he would have to walk away from the third as well. After all, why should he concern himself with vast kingdoms, hoarded wealth, and the lures of wilful women? This great, wide land, with the sky as its marvellous roof, was his palace in every way. Wasn’t there a famous old verse, a unique and fulfilling philosophy that he’d often heard from his Tamil ancestors: “Yaadhum Oore, Yaavarum Kelir”—All the countries on earth are my home, and everyone here is my family?

And in truth, the earth was his, and its people were his friends. What could be better than to visit them all, hopping cheerfully from one kingdom to another at his own sweet will? He would spend his life travelling beside rivers that overflowed their banks with fresh floods. He would glory in thick forests where the trees sprouted new leaves in the spring, and birds of every feather and colour flitted across the heavens. He would gaze with delight at deer, at peacocks, at green hills with summits that touched the clouds. He would stand in awe by vast oceans as their waves crashed onto the sandy shores. Thus would he live, eating what he could find, wherever he found it, and sleeping wherever the urge overtook him. Ah, this, indeed, was the sort of life worth living! And a wonderfully satisfying one it would be, too. Why on earth would anyone want to give up a life like this, so easily within his grasp, and choose instead a path fraught with conspiracies, perils, and desires that were more dangerous than death itself?

Somehow, he would have to escape this wretched chamber; and after that, the palace of gloom, and Thanjavur itself. Never again would he allow himself to be caught in their sticky webs.

But wait. Was that the sound of a door opening? Were those footsteps sounding again? Ah, would there never be an end to the night’s mysterious happenings? Or its terrors, it seemed.

This time, the footfalls appeared to come from very far away—and from two different directions, to boot. He pricked up his ears and listened as keenly as he could. His eyes tried to cleave through the inky blackness in all directions, straining to catch a glimpse of something, anything.

Presently, he had his reward. It was as though a koothu was playing itself out on a stage set very far away, and the actors were just tiny figures moving upon it. From where he stood, Vandhiyathevan watched the events unfold at a considerable distance, on what seemed to be a slightly elevated plane.

A torch appeared from one side of the stage; another pushed aside the dark screen and appeared from the opposite end. The two lights drew steadily closer to each other. Two dark, hefty figures came to light behind the first torch; two more behind the second. One of the latter was tall and majestic, while the other was petite and slender. The two parties approached each other, and Vandhiyathevan’s eyes almost bulged with the strain of trying to identify them. With a great deal of effort, he succeeded. The figures on the left were his friend Kandamaaran and his escort; the ones to the right were the elder Periya Pazhuvettarayar and his young queen, Nandhini.

What would happen, Vandhiyathevan wondered, when these two parties ran into one another? Some sort of catastrophe? Or would they meet in a convivial fashion and step aside for one another? He almost forgot to breathe as suspense gripped him, watching the two groups converge.

Judging by the way they stumbled about with some confusion, an unexpected meeting appeared to have been the last thing on their minds. Both parties seemed amazed and perplexed at running across each other in the dark. But, contrary to Vandhiyathevan’s fears, nothing disastrous occurred. Periya Pazhuvettarayar asked something of Kandamaaran, and the young man gave a quiet answer. Vallavarayan could hear none of their exchange, however. The Pazhuvoor lord made some sort of sign and pointed towards the secret staircase, to which Kandamaaran reciprocated by bowing low with deep reverence, before proceeding towards the steps.

Periya Pazhuvettarayar watched him walk away, and then made a gesture to Kandamaaran’s servant, who still held the burning torch aloft. That fellow bowed in turn, accepting the command with his palm held respectfully over his mouth. He followed Kandamaaran almost at once, while the Pazhuvoor lord and his consort went on their way to the left.

All these events, much like a mysterious shadow-tale or a fascinating street-play, had happened within the space of a few short moments. And they had taken place, Vandhiyathevan guessed, right by the steps that led down into the underground chamber. Ah, what a fortuitous coincidence it was that he hadn’t dawdled about by the staircase, and had instead wandered blindly into the treasury! What a terrible state of affairs it would have been if he had ended up squeezed between these two parties. Thankfully, he had been spared that fate, and was quite safe.

Now what, though? He still had to find a means of escape. There was no doubt that Kandamaaran was making his way back, having safely escorted Madhuranthakar to his residence. He, Vandhiyathevan, had probably veered off his own course and stumbled into the treasury by mistake. Following his friend now would doubtless lead him to the door that opened outside the fort. And once he was there, he could surely come up with a ruse to bluster his way out. Why, he could even ask Kandamaaran for assistance; or, if the worst came to the worst, take him and his servant on in a quick scuffle. Either way, following the Kadambur prince was his best option now.

The torch seemed to approach the chamber at first. Vandhiyathevan sucked in his breath and stood stock-still. Then, it seemed to move away, and by its flickering light, he saw the very steps by which he must have descended into the vault. He crept toward them, and climbed up with noiseless feet, taking the greatest care to keep the light within his line of sight, while ensuring he didn’t alert his friend to his presence.

Up and down he went, marvelling at the curves and twists in the path, the dead-ends and endless loops that seemed perfectly designed to confound a stranger. Good heavens, no one could hope to follow this path in the dark and make it outside, safe and sound! Long live Kandamaaran, he thought. But how and where could Vallavarayan ever repay this help, rendered entirely unknowingly?

There was no way he could have guessed that an opportunity was about to present itself in a matter of moments.

The end of the secret passage was in sight at last. A vast stone wall rose in front of them, looming at an impressive height. It was almost impossible to suppose that it concealed some sort of entrance, and yet—there must be one, mustn’t there?

Kandamaaran’s guide shifted his torch from his right hand to his left. He placed his free hand on the wall and did something—he seemed to twist a hidden bolt of some sort. A cleft appeared on the rocky surface; a thin dark line that grew larger by the moment, rapidly reaching the dimensions of a full-grown man. The guard pointed to it and said something; Kandamaaran gave a brief reply and stepped outside the door. The other man was still standing within the fort; his back was now visible to the watcher in the dark.

But ah—what was this? The guard seemed to be pulling out a small, curved dagger from his waistband, and—good God, he’d stabbed Kandamaaran!

That wretched bastard—a scoundrel who plunged daggers into unsuspecting backs!

Vandhiyathevan darted out of his hiding-place and sprang forward. The guard sensed the movement, and whirled around in the same instant. The torch’s flickering light fell full upon Vallavarayan’s wrathful face.