The Rise of Sivagami : Book 1 of Baahubali - Before the Beginning

by Anand Neelakantan

  ‘Do you know her name, slave boy? Ah! Kamakshi, the lusty-eyed! Seventeen years of age and, every inch of her body oozes…Rama, Rama, why should I talk about all this in my old age. Now, your brother is one smart guy for a slave boy, but God has given him such a short life.’

  Kattappa’s fist curled in fury. He wanted to bang the clerk’s head on the wall for talking ill of his brother. His father’s disapproving face swam before his eyes. He was not intelligent like Shivappa, but he prided himself on being obedient and disciplined. He kept his cool, bowed low to the clerk and came out of the armoury compound. His brother was still standing with his lover, taking his time to say goodbye.

  Kattappa was getting late and was thus nervous. But he had to give a piece of his mind to his brother before he left. He waited by the gate, clasping and unclasping his hands behind his back and pacing across the breadth of the narrow path. From the pathashala across the street, Brahmin boys were chanting the Vedas in a sing-song voice, and he tried to make sense of their words. Something to keep his fury in check. Finally, by the time Shivappa emerged, the shadows had started growing longer and the western breeze had picked up strength. Shivappa looked smug and happy and his mouth fell open when he spotted Kattappa waiting for him.

  ‘Anna, don’t you have work? Like massaging the feet of that drunkard prince?’ Shivappa asked with a half-smile. Kattappa ignored the insult. Shivappa nervously glanced back to see whether Kamakshi had gone.

  ‘Nanna has warned you before,’ Kattappa said.

  Shivappa looked down and whispered, ‘I love her.’

  Kattappa had heard this many times.

  ‘And what is that going to achieve?’

  ‘I am going to marry her soon,’ Shivappa said, and the tone of defiance sent a chill down Kattappa’s heart. The boy meant it.

  ‘Wake up, Shivappa! You can’t,’ he said, shaking Shivappa’s shoulders.

  ‘Why not?’ Shivappa pushed away his hand and took a few steps back.

  ‘Because…because the king decides who we marry and when and if…’

  ‘No king is going to decide my life. I am going to marry her.’

  ‘You are too young to marry.’

  ‘I am old enough to give her a child. That is enough.’

  Kattappa slapped him across his face. Shivappa’s face betrayed more shock than pain. He had never seen his brother get angry.

  ‘The next time you talk about a woman with disrespect, I will not hesitate to pluck your tongue out.’ Kattappa trembled with rage.

  His brother turned his face away. He said, ‘I…I didn’t mean anything. It was just…’ For a moment, Kattappa saw a trace of guilt flashing across his brother’s face, but soon his usual belligerence took over.

  ‘Why can’t you understand that I love her? Why are you acting so high and mighty? This is the first time I have known love. All I heard before this was discipline, duty, rules…I am fed up. You cannot control me anymore. You do not decide what I do and what I don’t. Why should I remain a slave always?’

  Kattappa started walking away without bothering to answer, but Shivappa caught his wrist. ‘You cannot go away without answering me.’

  ‘I have no answers. Nor do I allow dangerous questions to trouble my mind. Get lost. I don’t care what you do,’ Kattappa said, raising his voice. The brothers glared at each other.

  The evening breeze changed direction and dry leaves showered down on them. Kattappa heard the creak of the armoury gate being shut and soon the clerk was on his way out. When the old man saw Shivappa, he clucked his tongue and passed a lewd comment. Shivappa’s eyes flashed with anger. Kattappa glared at him and his brother’s shoulders eased.

  They waited till the old clerk had gone on his way, humming a bawdy song about some whore who bedded an elephant, a horse, a bull and twenty men together.

  Kattappa turned on his heel and started walking. His palm still stung and he was sorry he had hit his younger brother so hard.

  ‘I am sorry, Anna,’ Kattappa heard Shivappa’s soft voice from behind and he stopped. His brother hugged him. He felt his brother’s tears on his shoulder.

  ‘Everything we own, the sword we hold, the cloth we wear, even our lives, belong to our masters. We have nothing other than our honour, Shiva. Would you spoil it by such acts, brother?’ Kattappa’s voice was hoarse.

  ‘But even noblemen talk about women in that way,’ his brother said between his sobs. Kattappa smiled. His brother sounded like a child. Was this the same boy who was prepared to marry a noble girl?

  ‘All the more reason to not talk like that, Shiva. How would you feel if someone talks ill of our mother?’ Kattappa said softly.

  ‘Our mother is dead,’ his brother said and Kattappa stiffened. His eyes misted up and he bit his lips. He should not have brought up their mother. His brother was yet to get over the shock, as was Kattappa.

  A bullock cart jingled past them, swaying from side to side. The bulls were running at a fair speed, yet the cart driver kept cracking his whip on their backs.

  ‘You see those bulls, brother? We are like that. We will pull the carts of our masters until our legs give way,’ Kattappa said. The jingle of the cart faded away.

  ‘And when our legs fail, they will butcher us.’ The rage was back in Shivappa’s voice, making his brother uneasy.

  ‘Yes, even in death we should be useful. As food, as hide for the master’s shoes, as scabbard for the master’s swords. How meaningful is the draught bull’s life,’ Kattappa said.

  His brother moved away from him.

  ‘I am not ready to be anyone’s cattle,’ Shivappa said. Before Kattappa could react, his brother had jumped into the paddy field. He was standing ankle-deep in mud, almost hidden by paddy plants. Kattappa leaned forward to lend him a hand to climb back onto the road.

  ‘Shivappa, brother…’

  ‘No, enough. You will spoil me too. I am leaving,’ Shivappa said. In the blink of an eye, he had vanished behind the plants.

  ‘Where are you going? You can’t just walk away, Shiva. Oh, what will I say to father?’ Kattappa cried, stepping into the field. There was not a trace of his brother. Shivappa knew his way around. He must have planned it all. Kattappa found his anger rising again. His brother had made a fool of him.

  ‘Shiva, stop. There are cobras in the field,’ Kattappa called out.

  ‘None as poisonous as some humans,’ came his brother’s reply.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Kattappa screamed, trying to assess his brother’s path from the movement of paddy plants.

  ‘To freedom.’ His brother’s voice fell like a heavy hammer on his head.

  Kattappa cursed. The sun was setting and the field was like the sea, with waves upon waves of golden harvest. There was no trace of his brother.

  Kattappa did not know what he would say to his father. How was he going to tell him that Shivappa had deserted? He knew what they did to a slave who ran away. Soon the ferocious dogs of General Hiranya would be hunting him. Dandakaras would be roaming around with the maharaja’s orders to hang the deserter from the nearest tree. There would be a ransom on his head, and soon entire villages would be hunting for his brother. Kattappa’s legs felt weak. He stumbled as he climbed up to the road. He started running towards the palace. The sun was a ball of fire in the western horizon, and night was creeping up from the east. He had to meet his father and somehow they had to bring his brother back.

  Before it was too late.

  SEVEN

  Sivagami

  Mahapradhana Parameswara stood before the king of Mahishmathi with a bowed head. Roopaka stood behind him like a shadow.

  ‘This is serious, Mahapradhana. For a week you were unable to trace the slave who ran away with the stones, and now you report to me that he has been found dead along with another man. And you have no clue where the stones have gone. We are disappointed.’

  Parameswara wished this conversation was happening in private, not in front of his deputy, and definitely no
t in front of the slave Malayappa who stood behind the king. He trusted Roopaka, but Malayappa was a slave after all. Though he and his forefathers had lived and died for Mahishmathi kings for many generations, Parameswara could never trust a slave. He always assumed slaves had to be seething inside, waiting for a chance to get back at their masters at the first opportune moment.

  ‘The borders have been sealed, Your Majesty. All trade vessels, ships, boats, carts and caravans are being checked. The stones have not left Mahishmathi,’ Parameswara said, not lifting his eyes to look at the maharaja.

  ‘How is the supply? Will we last till Mahamakam?’ Maharaja Somadeva asked.

  ‘Six months to go for the festival. It will be difficult, but we will manage, provided we get the stones by that time. I hope Bhoomipathi Thimma is up to the task,’ Parameswara said.

  ‘Bhoomipathi Thimma may be old and frail, but he is loyal and trustworthy.’

  ‘I have my doubts,’ Roopaka spoke from behind.

  ‘Really? And why is that?’ Somadeva snapped.

  It was Parameswara who answered. ‘He has come with an appeal to admit Devaraya’s daughter to the royal orphanage. Why should he do that unless he wants to flee the country? I doubt whether he will be able to bring himself to do the distasteful task at Gauriparvat once the Mahamakam is over. He was so close to Devaraya.’

  Maharaja stared at a flickering lamp for some time. The only sound was that of the fan being whisked over his head by a slave.

  ‘We too wish it to be stopped, but we have no choice. Ma Gauri is not being kind. She is hiding the stones deeper in her belly,’ Somadeva said. His words hung heavily in the room, accentuating the silence that followed.

  ‘It is all for the progress of Mahishmathi,’ Parameswara said, dismayed at the lack of conviction in his voice. Could Devaraya have been right after all?

  ‘Keep a watch on Thimma,’ the maharaja said.

  ‘He is outside, Your Majesty. He wants an audience,’ Parameswara said.

  Maharaja Somadeva sighed. ‘Send him in, Mahapradhana. We can spare a few nimishas for an old official.’

  Sivagami was waiting outside the royal chamber. Akhila sat on the floor, playing with her pebbles. Thimma impatiently paced the corridor right outside the royal chamber. Suddenly, a young, dark slave came running and stood panting near the entrance. The guards outside asked him to move away and he said something to them. They pointed to the far end of the corridor and he walked away, dejected. Sivagami watched the slave—there was something arresting about him.

  The door to the royal chamber opened suddenly and they were ushered in. Akhila was asked to wait outside. Parameswara, who was on his way out, bowed to Thimma as he walked towards his office. Roopaka came out and enquired about Thimma’s health, touching the older man’s feet in respect before making his way out.

  Sivagami stepped into a luxurious room with a high ceiling. The king sat on a dewan. A slave stood behind him. The king had grown old since she had seen him on that eventful night. Memories assaulted her and heat rushed through her body. Her nostrils flared. This man had ordered her father’s execution and here she was before him with a begging bowl. Destiny was playing cruel tricks on her.

  ‘Prabhu, Prabhu.’

  Uncle Thimma’s servile stance in front of the king disgusted her. The old man was bent over, his angavastra tied at his waist, as he stood with his head bowed and hands folded in supplication.

  ‘Yes, Thimma,’ Maharaja Somadeva smiled as he stood up. He was getting ready to retire for the day. They were not going to get much time. The king’s smile did not do much to conceal his impatience.

  ‘Your Majesty, may goddess Gauri shower her blessings on you and Mahishmathi empire always. I have a humble appeal to make.’

  ‘Proceed.’

  Thimma gestured to Sivagami to approach them. With heavy steps, the girl walked towards the man who had ordered her father’s execution.

  Thimma whispered to her to bow, and Sivagami made a half-hearted show of touching the king’s feet. If the king noticed her reluctance, he did not show it.

  ‘Your Majesty, this is Devaraya’s daughter, Sivagami.’

  The king placed his huge palm over her head in blessing, and Sivagami felt a wave of repulsion passing through her. No, she did not want him to touch her, this evil man.

  ‘Your Majesty, it is about her that I wish to speak,’ Thimma said. The king had started walking now and Thimma hurried behind him. ‘In your infinite kindness, please allow her to stay in the royal orphanage. The girl is bright.’

  ‘No doubt. She would have inherited her father’s qualities.’ The king stared at her and Thimma faltered.

  ‘She is yet a child. She can be moulded, Your Majesty.’

  The king laughed. ‘Of course, my old Thimma thinks if we feed her royal milk, Takshaka’s daughter will turn out to be an apsara instead of a snake.’

  ‘Your Majesty, some stale kanji and a roof over her head is the only thing I ask. She will be one among the thousands of servants that Your Majesty feeds. My wife does not like her. I tried to keep her at my home. She is a good girl. And she is too young for—’

  ‘She is almost a woman, Thimma. What is the guarantee that she will not turn into another Devaraya?’

  ‘Swami, Devaraya’s family served Mahishmathi for generations.’

  ‘Are you trying to say that we have been ungrateful, Thimma? Have we not spared her life?’

  ‘Your kindness knows no bounds, it is as vast as the Ksheersagara, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Spare your breath, Thimma.’

  ‘A little space…just until she is eighteen. A few more months…that is all I ask for.’

  ‘Thimma. When an old faithful like you asks for something, it is difficult for us to refuse, even though we know we may regret this later.’ He turned to his slave and extended his hands. Malayappa handed him a palm leaf and a stencil. The king scribbled something and pressed his royal insignia to it.

  ‘Here, take this to Roopaka. He will take care of the rest. Remember, only till she is eighteen. If she misbehaves or shows any of her father’s traits, she will follow her father.’

  ‘You are an ocean of kindness, Maharaja.’ Thimma prostrated on the floor. The king dismissed them with a wave of his hand. The slave started arranging the king’s ornaments.

  When they emerged outside, Akhila ran to Sivagami and hugged her. She was going to miss this little darling the most, Sivagami thought. Thimma stood staring at the fountain, clutching the official order from the king in his hands.

  The announcer declared that the king was retiring to his Antapura. The guards became alert. The massive doors creaked open and Somadeva stepped out. Thimma bowed, but Sivagami stood with her head held high. The king’s eyes flashed when he saw her standing upright. Reluctantly she bowed and he looked ahead.

  A well-built man with shoulders like an ox came towards the king and bowed stiffly before him. Behind him, a handsome young man, perhaps of her age, cowered.

  ‘Yes, Senapathi Hiranya?’ the king asked as the man rose from his knees.

  The man said, ‘Your Majesty, Prince Mahadeva’s progress is not very satisfactory. He was beaten by the slave’s son. He is not improving in his training.’

  The prince kept looking at his toes. The king said, ‘Mahadeva?’

  ‘I am sorry, Father,’ the prince mumbled. The king stared at the boy for a moment and then made to move ahead.

  The senapathi bowed and asked, ‘Your Majesty, what is to be done?’

  ‘Train him better,’ the king said as he patted the boy’s shoulders and walked away. Senapathi Hiranya stood speechless, watching the cortege move away.

  Sivagami saw the prince’s face lighting up with a smile. She noticed how handsome he was, but reminded herself that he was the son of the enemy. Unexpectedly he raised his head and their eyes met. Sivagami was surprised to see him blush. She turned her head quickly, ashamed that she too had blushed.

  She heard Thimma call
her and hurried away. When she looked back, the prince was still standing there, staring at her.

  EIGHT

  Kattappa

  Kattappa had rushed to the palace as fast as his legs could carry him. He wanted to tell his father about Shivappa running away but it was impossible with the maharaja present. The guards would not even allow him to meet his father. He waited in the garden to see whether he would get a chance to speak to his father before it was too late.

  Kattappa wondered how he would break the news to his father. He knew his father loved Shivappa more than him. There was a time when he had been jealous of that. But at twenty-two, Kattappa had grown used to the fact that his was not a lovable face. Nor did he have any special quality. He had already started balding and, before long, he would have to shave his head clean like his father.

  But his brother…his brother had a dazzling smile.

  The thought of Shivappa brought him back to the present. He had to find a way to get the boy back into the fold. He tried to catch his father’s eye, but his father glowered back from the king’s entourage and even from a distance his expression said it all. Kattappa was not to linger and waste his time. His place was with his master. With a heavy heart and heavier steps, he walked to Bijjala’s chambers.

  Kattappa was worried whether Bijjala would even want him now. Bijjala had asked him not to show his face after Prince Mahadeva was injured by Shivappa. His father always said that words of masters spoken in anger were not to be taken seriously. If the master commanded that the slave not show his face, the slave had no right to go away. He dare not come in front of the master, but had to stay at a distance where he could present himself the moment the master changed his mind.

  When he reached the chamber of Bijjala, he saw that the door was closed and stood outside. He was not supposed to knock, or make his presence felt in any way. Outside the fort, he could hear the crowd dispersing after the day’s durbar. For a moment, he wondered what would happen if his brother’s dream of a world without slaves came true. Perhaps he would be one amongst those free folk, waiting for the king’s justice outside the durbar. Or he would be a farmer by the valley of Gauriparvat, with a wife and children. He tried to imagine the face of his wife. Would she be as beautiful as Kamakshi, his brother’s lover?