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

by Anand Neelakantan

  ‘Lo, this time you lose, Your Highness,’ Hidumba cried and Bijjala cursed.

  ‘Swami, no new mantras for the prince? How about giving cows to brahmins? Do you people accept snakes as gifts? Or how about tigers? Will that change the prince’s luck?’ Hidumba sneered at Rudra Bhatta.

  The rajaguru turned to curse the dwarf, saw Kalika’s provocative pose, blushed red, and went back to mumbling his mantras. The dwarf was good. He was a natural actor, thought Pattaraya, and a sly man too, a dangerous man. Pattaraya knew he was playing with fire, but he needed such explosive people to trigger what he had planned.

  He had his doubts about Princess Chitraveni. But with a sea port at their disposal, he needed the support of Kadarimandalam for his plan. He was dependent on Jeemotha and his ships for executing the remainder of his plans. None of the people he was dealing with were trustworthy. But trustworthy people would not commit treason either, he thought wryly. Whatever he did, he still had to reckon with the power of the Mahishmathi army and its able commander, Senapathi Hiranya. And he would be a fool to discount the cunning of Maharaja Somadeva or the old fox Parameswara. Other bhoomipathis were dangerous in their own way, and unpredictable too. Each coin on his chaturanga board was exciting and each move he had to make would become more and more dangerous as the game progressed. He had to knock off the coins one by one. Devaraya, he had knocked off easily in the first throw of dice itself. Straight trees are easier to cut. Next in line was Skandadasa.

  ‘Lo, you win again, Your Highness! Dwarf, see how the gods have punished you for making fun of our holy man,’ Keki said.

  Pattaraya saw Kalika inching closer to Bijjala. The prince tried to touch her, but Kalika playfully slapped his fingers. ‘My prince is so impatient. Win another three games and I am all yours,’ she murmured.

  ‘My pardons, Your Highness. I am a better player and I won’t let you win,’ the dwarf said with a rakish grin.

  He caressed Kalika’s thigh and the devadasi pushed away his hand. ‘Don’t you dare touch me until you win.’

  ‘Here we go,’ Hidumba slapped the dice together in his palm and mumbled some mantra.

  ‘No, no, he is doing black magic,’ Keki cried, and Bijjala got angry. He tried to snatch the dice from the dwarf’s hands. The dwarf rolled the dice and laughed, ‘Lo, I win.’

  ‘You cheat,’ Bijjala lunged to slap the dwarf, but Kalika threw her hand across the dwarf’s face. Bijjala’s palm connected with Kalika’s flesh and she cried, ‘You hurt me, my prince.’

  Bijjala was on his knees. ‘I am sorry, I am sorry,’ he pleaded, as Kalika’s eyes filled up. Pattaraya wanted to laugh, but managed to camouflage his mirth in a bout of coughing.

  Bijjala said, ‘Don’t be angry with me. I will compensate.’

  ‘How sweet,’ Keki exclaimed.

  Kalika smiled through her tears, ‘My lord is so kind.’

  Bijjala returned to the board and found that Hidumba had already moved the coins.

  ‘The last throw was invalid,’ Bijjala grunted.

  ‘None of my throws are invalid,’ the dwarf grinned.

  ‘Let the dandanayaka judge,’ Keki said, and everyone looked at Pratapa.

  He thought for some time and said, ‘His Highness is right, the last throw was invalid.’

  ‘See, truth always wins,’ Keki exulted and Hidumba sat with his shoulders stooped in defeat.

  A grin spread across Bijjala’s face. ‘Twenty lakhs is my wager.’

  Kalika exclaimed, ‘Oh, that is too much, my lord. This poor woman is not worth that.’

  Bijjala winked at her and, with excited hands, took the dice.

  Keki slapped her thighs. ‘That is royal blood right there. Take that, you ugly dwarf.’

  ‘He will regret it,’ Hidumba said.

  ‘You are the one who is going to regret it, toad,’ Keki said and turned to Bijjala. ‘My prince, you need gods’ grace. Take the benediction from our rajaguru.’

  Pattaraya hoped that his messenger-owl had reached the shady merchant. Some called Jeemotha a pirate, but he held a licence from the king to trade. Ostensibly, he was just another businessman. The lines often blurred between thugs, religious people and businessmen in this country, Pattarya thought wryly.

  Bijjala sat with folded hands and closed his eyes before the priest and promised him ten thousand gold coins. Hidumba looked on with a bored expression on his face. Rudra Bhatta kept his hands over the prince’s head and started mumbling some mantras. The slave stood without batting an eyelid. Pattaraya saw Kalika stretching her legs towards the priest who was sitting with his back turned to her. As the priest was mumbling mantras, the devadasi ran her toe up and down the old man’s spine. The tone of the mantra changed and the priest started sweating. Even the usually morose Pratapa grinned at the discomfort of the priest. Pattaraya pulled himself up to stretch his legs, smiling at the farce.

  He walked towards the window that faced the streets. He threw it open and cold air rushed in, bringing with it the cacophony of music from various houses of pleasure. Three floors below, the streets were crowded even at this time of night. There was a streak of white in the sky. Drunk men were roaming around, some with women on their arms, some walking in groups and singing bawdy songs. A few drunkards were sprawled on the pavement. Street vendors were winding down their business.

  Pattaraya stretched his back and yawned. It had been a long day. He was about to return to his seat, when he froze. What was it that he saw? He squinted to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. He could feel his heart beating in his ribcage. Bastard! Son of a whore! Skandadasa was striding towards Kalika’s den, with armed guards, and that Brihannala was leading them.

  Pattaraya was furious. But he felt a grudging admiration too. How the hell did he know about the prince coming here? Someone must have bungled up. Maybe the big-mouthed Keki or perhaps the priest… He was about to warn Bijjala to get out when another thought struck him. The Gaurikanta stone! He was in possession of the biggest secret of Mahishmathi. Proof of a crime that could result in him losing his head.

  He peered out to see how much time he had. Skandadasa and his gang had vanished. They were possibly using the secret route—Brihannala was leading them through the path that only a few knew. They would be here at any moment. Pattaraya felt breathless. He had to act fast but his mind was blank.

  He could hear faint footsteps coming up. Or was it only his frenzied imagination? He rushed to the motley crew, still busy gambling.

  He threw the pouch containing the Gaurikanta stone and said, ‘Here is the biggest wager from my side. If His Highness wins, I pledge this stone to him.’

  Bijjala snatched it from the ground and loosened the strings. He took the stone in his hand. ‘A river pebble? Are you mocking me, Bhoomipathi?’

  Pattaraya wished he could tell this idiot that this stone alone was worth half of Mahishmathi city. He ignored the incredulous and angry looks of his friends and pressed on, ‘Your Highness, it is a humble present. Keep it with you until I ask for it. Hidumba will write off half of what you owe when you give it back to me.’

  ‘Like hell I will. Are you drunk, Pattaraya? Lakhs of gold sovereigns are at stake,’ Hidumba said. The footsteps were clearer now. Pattaraya snatched the dice from the dwarf’s hand and threw it on the table. He held the dwarf’s hands until the dice stopped spinning.

  ‘You win, Prince, keep the stone. You will owe only half of what you had owed before when you return this to me,’ Pattaraya stated.

  The dwarf started protesting loudly, calling Pattaraya all sorts of names and Pattaraya felt like taking him by his misshapen legs and flinging him through the window. There was a knock at the door on the far end.

  ‘Slave, take your master and run.’

  ‘Why?’ Bijjala asked. He had not taken the stone. It was lying on the table.

  ‘Your Highness,’ Pattaraya said, gritting his teeth, ‘run if you don’t want to be found out. Upapradhana Skandadasa will be here soon.’

&nbs
p; ‘But what about my apsara, my Kalika…’ Bijjala looked at Kalika who was now sitting up alert.

  Pattaraya closed his eyes, prayed for self-control and said, ‘You have not won her yet. Next time you…’

  ‘Then I will play until I win,’ Bijjala said, snatching the dice. ‘What is the wager, dwarf?’

  Pattaraya slammed his fist on the table, scattering the coins and breaking the chaturanga board into pieces. ‘Slave, take your master away at once. Out, out this moment,’ he said, pointing to the window.

  Kattappa hesitated. The knock at the door had turned into a banging. Pattaraya said, ‘I am sorry, Your Highness.’ He slammed his fist into Bijjala’s face, knocking him unconscious. He turned to Kattappa and roared, ‘Out with this creature.’

  Kattappa looked at the door at the far end that was being broken open. They could hear some fighting going on. Maybe Kalika’s guards had come to stop them, but it would not buy them much time.

  Kattappa heaved Bijjala over his shoulder. He rushed to the open window and peered down the streets. He heard Pattaraya call out his name and turned. The bhoomipathi threw a stone at him. Kattappa caught it in mid-air, and tucked it into his waistcloth. Whatever it was it would mitigate his master’s debt by some amount. He took a deep breath and jumped out into the darkness with an unconscious Bijjala hanging on his shoulder.

  The door crashed open with a bang and Skandadasa rushed in with his guards, holding Brihannala at sword point. He saw Pattaraya and Pratapa engrossed in a game of snakes and ladders. Khanipathi Hidumba was lying drunk on a pillow that was double his size. Keki was serving gold water to Kalika in a seashell vessel. To his disgust, Skandadasa saw that the devadasi was holding the head of the rajaguru between her legs with her left hand.

  Pattaraya looked up from his game. ‘Welcome Upapradhana Skandadasa. Have a seat,’ he said, and returned to his game.

  Skandadasa surveyed the room. There was no sign of Prince Bijjala but he would find him no matter where these rogues had hidden him.

  Kalika took a sip of gold water and smiled at Skandadasa. ‘Sweetheart, you seem to be in such a hurry. After all, you broke open my door. But alas, you are in queue. These gentlemen have been waiting since evening, but this priest just refuses to stop. Naughty old man.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Kattappa

  Skandadasa walked out the front door of Kalika’s den, seething with anger. The upapradhana with his entourage caused quite a stir in the streets. Keki came out with him, dancing and shouting to all who cared, ‘See who has come to meet our mistress, the great Upapradhana Skandadasa.’

  She kept taunting him and it took all his self-control not to hit her across her face. But more irritating than her was Brihannala. Every time Keki cracked a lewd joke, Brihannala would grasp his arm and whisper in his ears that he must ignore Keki as she was evil and only trust Brihannala.

  Skandadasa hissed at her to stop, but Brihannala acted hurt and replied that she was supporting him and he should not get angry so fast. Keki continued clapping her hands and singing in a lewd manner. The crowd around erupted with laughter.

  Keki cried, ‘He went in and came out in no time. Friends, he is so fast. Our dear upapradhana is so fast. So fast, so fast.’

  A few pimps tried to pull in Skandadasa by his arms. ‘Swami, forget Kalika. We have better women. Please come to our place.’

  A few whores came and took off their kaunchika to shake their melon-sized breasts at the upapradhana, adding to the merriment of the crowd. When Brihannala touched Skandadasa’s arm yet again and whispered in his ears, he ordered his guards not to let her come near him. They promptly formed a circle around Skandadasa, pushing Brihannala out. Whores and pimps tried to break the circle, trying to touch Skandadasa. Some threw flowers at him. Skandadasa had never felt so helpless in his life.

  He was worried about Prince Bijjala. He had checked Kalika’s inn thoroughly, but could not find the prince. Was he hiding in one of the whorehouses? Skandadasa shuddered at the thought of raiding each house in this cramped street. He had not taken the permission of his superiors and had ended up making a laughing stock of himself. He did not know what answer he would give if the maharaja questioned him. There would be complaints about his behaviour the next day. More importantly, if he was unable to find Bijjala, or something happened to the prince, it would be the end of his career. He would be lucky if he lost only his job. The queen had threatened to cut off his head. Perhaps it was said in a moment of anxiety, but people had lost their heads in Mahishmathi for lesser reasons.

  Suddenly, he thought he spotted someone jumping from a building next to Kalika’s. He was carrying a limp figure on his shoulders. Though he could not make out the face clearly, he had a gut feeling that it was Bijjala’s slave.

  The street ahead exploded with shrieks as the man jumped and pushed his way through. Skandadasa tried to hasten towards the scene of action.

  Suddenly Brihannala’s voice announced, ‘The exalted upapradhana will be distributing presents to all of you.’

  A loud cheer went up among the people who were mobbing him. Scores of hands extended towards him, despite his bodyguards’ best efforts.

  Skandadasa helplessly watched the scene unfolding before him, mobbed by a group of pimps and prostitutes.

  Kattappa landed hard on his feet. He had precariously hung on to a window sill when Skandadasa had come, and then quietly climbed up to the balcony of a nearby mansion. He had laid low, and when he was sure Skandadasa had left, he had jumped, with Bijjala on his shoulders. To his horror, he found that Skandadasa was amid a crowd of whores a few score feet away.

  Praying that the upapradhana had not recognized him, Kattappa ran through the crowds. He waved his sword wildly to scatter people. Women screamed and men shouted angrily at him. He had no time to pause and look back to see whether he had hurt anyone. He had to save his master, and everything else was unimportant. Carts got toppled and horses whinnied in fear. He caught hold of the reins of a horse and stopped a passing chariot. He dropped Bijjala into the back seat. A devadasi who was in the chariot screamed in terror. Kattappa lifted her up and gently placed her on the street, mumbling apologies. The charioteer jumped into the passenger seat and lashed his whip at Kattappa. The first one caught him across his face, but when the whip came swirling again, he yanked it back. The charioteer toppled down. Kattappa whipped the horses and swerved the chariot in the opposite direction. The street was too narrow for the manoeuvre. A few shacks crashed and a pile of pots crumbled under the wheels of the chariot.

  The chariot shot through the streets, swaying and rumbling. A crowd was running after it, shouting at the unconscious merchant and his slave who had destroyed their wares. Some threw stones, a few of which hit Kattappa. He winced, but continued whipping the horses for more speed. Across the street, he saw carts had been arranged to block his path. Guards of various devadasi houses stood with sticks and swords to block his path. He dashed through the blockade, toppling carts and cutting down sticks aimed at him. He shot forward, leaving a trail of destruction, and thundered down the hill towards the river.

  When an owl hooted as he passed through the forest route, he ignored it. But soon when another owl hooted as he passed a huge fig tree and yet another when he turned towards the path parallel to the river, Kattappa’s instinct warned him that this was no ordinary owl. He became alert and slowed down to look up at the tree. A huge net came tumbling down from it. Kattappa whipped his horses to make the chariot go faster so that he could escape the net, but the wheels of the chariot got entangled in it. Kattappa did not stop the cart. That was a mistake. The chariot skidded off the road and crashed against a rock. Bijjala was tossed a few feet away. Kattappa fell on his back, inches away from the horse that was thrashing wildly in its attempt to get up. Kattappa rolled over and was on his feet in a trice. He found himself surrounded by a dozen Vaithalikas. He crashed into the nearest Vaithalika, rolled over and reached where Bijjala lay. He stood holding his sword tight,
ready to die for his master. Lightning cracked in the sky.

  He quickly assessed that there were more than a dozen men with swords and spears. He was alone and his master was lying drunk and unconscious at his feet. It was dark and, confounding the matter further, it started to rain suddenly. When the attack came, the intensity of it took him by surprise. He was not scared of swords. He was quicker than anyone he knew. His father had taught him well. He proved it again by cutting down the first three who attacked him.

  But the Vaithalikas changed tactics often. Six men attacked him together, four with swords and two with spears. Sword blows he blocked, but spears were a real problem. The Vaithalikas danced in, thrust it into his body and danced out of his reach. He cut down two more. Rain lashed in full strength. The ground became slushy and the sword slippery with blood and water. He had to protect his master from being pierced with a spear. Bijjala had woken up and was sitting, disoriented, in the middle of the fight. Kattappa was bleeding from everywhere, yet he fought on. For a fraction of a moment, he wished his master would lend him a hand. Bijjala was a good warrior if he was sober. Dead drunk, he was of no use. Kattappa dismissed the thought of getting Bijjala’s help. It was the duty of the slave to protect his master. There was pride in dying in the service of one’s master. Kattappa was sure he would die, but he promised himself that he would fight till the last drop of blood left his body.

  As if mocking his false pride, a sharp pain shot up from his belly. He saw an arrow had pierced him. Kattappa felt his eyes going blank and his head spinning. It took every ounce of his strength to not scream in pain, yet he held on, blocking, parrying, thrusting and cutting with his sword. Many had fallen, he had no strength to count how many. Another arrow lodged in his shoulders, making it difficult to even lift the sword. ‘Ma Gauri,’ he cried, ‘give me strength.’ The heavens answered with a thunder that shook the forest. The gods were kind and were fulfilling his wish to die serving his master.