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

by Anand Neelakantan

  ‘You saved the maharaja’s life,’ Brihannala exclaimed. She went past the maharaja and hugged Sivagami. The maharaja stared at both of them. As if realizing her mistake, Brihannala bowed deep to the king. ‘The coup has been defeated and the fire contained, Your Majesty.’

  She moved to the head of the man who had been fighting the maharaja and removed the mask. ‘Here lies the Vaithalika leader Bhutaraya, slain by the maharaja of Mahishmathi.

  ‘And the other rebel was slain by this brave young woman. I was hiding in the room and saw everything. I am scared of weapons and fighting. She fought with the other rebel and flung him down the stairs. With one act, she has wiped the stain on her family’s reputation. She has proved her loyalty, Your Majesty. The daughter of the traitor Devaraya bravely fought on your side and proved that she is more than equal to any man in your service. Reward her, Maharaja, for it is difficult to find such dedicated men, let alone women.’

  The maharaja stared at Sivagami; he saw the blood stains on her hands and on her dress, and a rare smile lit up his face. ‘Who would have thought that the traitor Devaraya would give birth to such a brave daughter? You shall be rewarded. Brihannala, get the rajavaidya, for my beloved slave is injured. And take this brave girl to your room and attend to her needs. She shall be suitably rewarded in the sabha.’

  Sivagami stood, stunned by the turn of events. Other soldiers came in with the good news and took the maharaja and the injured slave with them. Sivagami heard that the other rebel, the one she had pushed down the stairs, had not died but was grievously injured. The maharaja expressed pleasure at that. It would be very useful to know the conspirators behind the failed coup, she heard him say as he climbed down the steps.

  Brihannala took Sivagami’s hand. ‘I saw what you were attempting to do.’

  Sivagami snapped back, ‘And I saw your dagger.’

  Brihannala laughed and winked, ‘Good. Now we both know which side we are on. Know that you have a friend.’ Sivagami tried to say something, but she hushed her. ‘Girl, do you have a reason for why you came to the Antapura? They are sure to ask you,’ Brihannala smiled.

  Sivagami debated in her mind whether to tell the eunuch the truth. She did not want Skandadasa’s murderers to go unpunished, but revealing that she was inside the mahapradhana’s house when he was killed would give rise to more questions. She felt the small pot inside her kaunchika. Pattaraya was ready to kill Skandadasa for it. It was important for Mahishmathi, Skandadasa had said. Maybe it would help her achieve the dream. Maybe this was the key to destroying Mahishmathi. She had to find out more. She decided not to tell anyone about the pot. Pattaraya was sure to come after her for it, but he knew she would make his crime of killing Skandadasa known to the world. He would be as afraid of her as she was of him. He was a dangerous man and she needed allies. She would wait for the right opportunity to strike. ‘You have to be part of the system you want to change’—Skandadasa’s words came back to her. She did not want to change the system but destroy it; and it would be easier to destroy it from within. Remembering Skandadasa filled Sivagami with an inexplicable sadness, and she vowed not to let his death go unavenged. Destiny was handing her an opportunity. If the situation demanded that she align with this sly eunuch, she had to act the part. To survive, she needed all the rewards or positions the king might offer. She realized Brihannala was staring at her.

  ‘I…I was chased by a Vaithalika,’ Sivagami lied.

  ‘Good. You panicked and you did not know this was the Antapura. You ran up the stairs chased by some Vaithalika soldiers. You saw the king in danger and acted without thinking about your own safety. You wanted to remove the blot on your family’s name. Good story. Stick to it. We will have a detailed talk later,’ Brihannala placed her hand on Sivagami’s shoulders and smiled.

  Sivagami glared back at her. ‘That is the truth,’ she said.

  Brihannala laughed, ‘For now, that is your only truth, butknow that the maharaja is not so naïve. He might offer you a reward to make you believe that he trusts you. Beware of the man. And together, we can win one day.’

  Brihannala extended her hand as if in truce. The eunuch watched her, waiting to see what she would do. Sivagami smiled and took Brihannala’s hand. The eunuch patted her cheeks and said, ‘My dear, you will do exactly as I say. Victory will be ours soon, trust me.’

  That is the last thing I will do, thought Sivagami, but she matched Brihannala’s smile with all the charm she could muster.

  As Brihannala took her to her chambers, Sivagami looked down at the sword in her hand. Something about it disturbed her. The sword of the man she had pushed down. That was something she did not want to think about.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Sivagami

  The palace was being rebuilt and Mahamakam festivities had been suspended for a month while priests looked for the next auspicious dates.

  Sivagami stood in the durbar of Mahishmathi the day after the rebellion. She had not been allowed to leave the palace since the encounter with the king. Brihannala had made her stay back so the rajavaidya could look at her injuries. She wondered where Kamakshi and Gundu Ramu were—hopefully they had made it back to the orphanage safely. She had to find a way to get out of the palace soon. She prayed they would not search her and find the pot.

  The durbar had not suffered much damage but she could hear masons and carpenters working to repair what was destroyed in other parts of the palace. The sabha had lost some of its sheen but there was an air of celebration. She had had a chance to kill the king and she had frittered it away. Why had she hesitated, when all she had to do was plunge the sword down his throat? She was still trying to find the answer. She feared the affection the king showed to his slave might have softened her attitude towards him. But she had only to remember her father to wipe away any such feelings. Through the night, Brihannala had tried to extract information from her. The eunuch had not bought the story that she had come to the Antapura because she was being chased by Vaithalikas. She was wary of the eunuch. Maybe she was laying a trap for her. Sivagami had been reserved in her replies. Besides, worry about the sword she had in her hand had occupied her, and she had not heard half of what the eunuch said.

  The maharaja and maharani arrived with great pomp and regalia, as if to prove a point. The sabha reverberated with chants of ‘Maharaja Somadeva Vijaya’ and ‘Jai Mahishmathi’. Maharaja Somadeva thanked his loyal soldiers for defeating the dastardly coup and said that he would ensure that the guilty would not be spared. A few of the rebels had already been apprehended, he said. He announced that, in place of Skandadasa, Parameswara would resume charge as mahapradhana.

  ‘If not for the timely intervention of Parameswara, things might have ended differently for us,’ he said to thunderous applause.

  Parameswara stood up and bowed. ‘I am happy that everything turned out all right. Mahishmathi is resilient. It is resilient because its people are resilient. We will bounce back to our full glory.’ A deafening applause followed, along with chants of his name along with the maharaja’s.

  ‘I was sitting with Maharaja Somadeva when I saw a brave prince coming towards me. He was bleeding from everywhere. He was injured, yet he came to inform us that the rebels had entered the fort. I could move the maharaja to relative safety because of the few precious moments I got. Prince Mahadeva,’ the mahapradhana called affectionately. Mahadeva limped up and touched the feet of the mahapradhana and his parents. When he turned towards the sabha, a gasp went through the crowd. His face was swollen and shapeless; he had a black eye and puffy lips.

  ‘I request the maharaja to sufficiently honour him for his great act of courage,’ the mahapradhana requested.

  ‘Getting beaten to a pulp is no act of courage,’ Bijjala said, standing up, and there were lots of sniggers from the crowd.

  Mahadeva looked at his brother and smiled. ‘Anna, you are right. I am not a great warrior like you. Nor was I born courageous. It was only the love I have for my parents and my cou
ntry that made me brave.’

  Bijjala laughed, ‘Yes, for an effeminate prince, even getting beaten up is remarkable. How many women can stay for so long without crying?’ Many people joined in the laughter.

  ‘What is courage, Anna?’ Mahadeva asked, unfazed.

  ‘Something that you lack, Mahadeva. Courage is to face the enemy without fear, to not even bat an eyelid when your sword cuts off the foe’s head, to attack a military formation alone, to slay a tiger bare-handed. One’s eyes should have fire in them, not fear like yours often show,’ Bijjala said with disdain.

  Looking into Bijjala’s eyes, Mahadeva recited in his rich voice:

  ‘Courage is neither in the show of power

  Nor is it in the absence of fear

  Courage may be shown in a war against others

  What use is it, if in the war against self it withers?

  Enemy is not the one to hate,

  But enmity and the cause for it

  Courage is not in slaying man or beast

  War creates nothing but a vulture’s feast

  Eyes should neither have fire or fear,

  But the sight to see all that God holds dear.’

  The entire sabha rose to its feet and gave a standing ovation to the impromptu recital from Mahadeva. Bijjala flushed red with anger.

  ‘When I am king, I shall make you the court poet,’ Bijjala said, and a few of his cronies laughed. ‘Or perhaps the court jester,’ Bijjala added, winking at a few servants who found it extraordinarily witty.

  ‘Enough,’ the maharaja said, raising his palm, and the sabha fell silent. ‘Mahadeva, come here,’ the king called, and the prince limped to his father. The king removed a diamond necklace from his neck and put it on Mahadeva.

  Placing his arm around Mahadeva’s shoulders, Maharaja Somadeva declared, ‘From today onwards, Prince Mahadeva will also be known as Vikramadeva.’

  There was a stunned silence in the sabha. Not many princes had been conferred the title of Vikramadeva in the history of Mahishmathi. A title given to the bravest of kings and princes, a title taken by the great monarchs after an important military victory, a title made famous through stories and legends of yore had been bestowed on the shy prince of Mahishmathi. Brihannala was the first to react. She pumped her fist in the air and shouted, ‘Rajakumara Vikramadeva,’ and with one voice the sabha roared back, ‘Vijaya.’ Brihannala repeated the call three times.

  Bijjala slapped his thigh in despair. He felt insulted and slighted. It was he who deserved the title, he thought, and not his cowardly brother. His eyes glowed with hatred and jealousy as the sabha erupted in loud cheers. His brother stood beaming, his palms joined in pranam. Mahadeva did not deserve it; he had not captured the rebel. It was he, Bijjala, who had captured Shivappa. Perhaps he had got a little help from his slave. But it was his slave. The credit rightly belonged to him. His brother was beaten up by the same rebel and now he was being bestowed the coveted title. It was unfair. Bijjala scanned the crowd and his eyes met Pattaraya’s. The bhoomipathi put his fist on his chest and nodded his head, indicating that he would take care of things. That pacified Bijjala a bit, but the enthusiasm of the sabha for his good-for-nothing brother was still difficult for him to digest.

  ‘Work harder and you will be all right,’ the king whispered and ran his fingers through his son’s hair. Mahadeva felt grateful for the honour. He had only been doing his duty, and his father, the people of Mahishmathi, the sabha—all of them were cheering for him. He folded his hands in pranam again and thanked them for their kindness. He was climbing down the steps when he saw Sivagami. He stood still, proud of his achievement. He wanted only a smile from her.

  Sivagami looked at the severely injured face of Mahadeva. It was as if the prince had changed into a different man, and she felt a certain respect for him. But if she went by the cheering of the crowd, he was becoming popular. That would one day make him a formidable enemy. She did not relish the thought. Try as she might, she found it difficult to see him as her enemy. Enemies should be evil, not soft-spoken, good-hearted, handsome men who showed admirable inner courage. He had always been awkward with her and that had made it easier to despise him, to ignore that he was handsome, laugh at his clumsy attempts to make her love him. Now he looked at her with confidence, as if he was sure that she would recognize the sincerity of his love. That disturbed her. She did not want to be in love with a prince of Mahishmati. She wanted all of them dead. She hoped he would go back to his old ways once the sheen of the new title wore off. She looked away.

  Bijjala was called to the dais and given a bag of gold. As the maharaja ceremoniously hugged his elder son, he said in his ears, ‘Life may be a gamble, but never make gambling your life.’

  Bijjala stared at his father incredeously. Did the king know about his gambling and the debt he owed? How much did his father know? He was terrified. The king patted his shoulder and gestured for him to return to his seat. Bijjala did not bother to acknowledge the cheers of the sabha. When he passed Mahadeva, the younger prince stood up to congratulate him. Mahadeva hugged his elder brother. Bijjala stood stiff, refusing to return the embrace. He hissed in Mahadeva’s ears, ‘You think you have become a big hero? Eh? You are just a worthless coward and soon the world will know it.’

  Mahadeva shrugged and smiled sadly. ‘Anna, have I ever pretended otherwise?’

  Bijjala stomped his feet and walked away.

  Next was Pattaraya’s turn, the bhoomipathi who had led the counter-attack. He had brought the soldiers together and led the attack from the office complex, effectively cutting off the retreat of the rebels. The king gave him land and estates, bungalows and chariots, and Pattaraya made a tearful speech, vowing eternal loyalty to this great country of Mahishmathi and the king. The chief priest and other Brahmins were gifted cows, houses and gold, for without their blessings, Mahishmathi would have fallen into rebel hands. Pratapa was awarded for the exceptional work of his dandakaras. Maharaja announced compensation for the families of the dead soldiers.

  No one spoke about Skandadasa. Sivagami waited for someone to mention the slain mahapradhana, but it was as if such a man had never existed.

  Finally, it was Sivagami’s turn. The king called her to the dais. She walked, suppressing the hatred she felt. As Brihannala had advised, this was the first step. To take revenge, she had to be powerful enough. She knew how vicious Pattaraya and his coterie were. She could feel their eyes boring into her as she walked with her head held high. She would accept what the king gave and use it as a platform. She would play the game. She had powerful friends now, like Brihannala. She was ready for it.

  She stood proud and erect before the maharaja, who looked at her with an amused smile. She faltered, for she knew this recognition was something that she neither wished for nor deserved. But destiny was giving her a chance, a stepping stone, and she had to grab it. She looked back with confidence and Maharaja Somadeva beamed at her.

  ‘This woman is amazing. She saved our life,’ the maharaja said, and the sabha cheered.

  ‘We had to hang her father twelve years back for treason, yet she fought for my life. That is loyalty. Something we have to reward generously. Or else, we would be called stingy and miserly for posterity. We reward her with the title of Bhoomipathi, the title her father and many of her illustrious ancestors held. And we restore to her her father’s land.’

  Sivagami could not believe her ears. From the orphanage to a position of power. She had reclaimed her father’s lands, and his title. She felt like sobbing with joy. She pressed her lips together and squared her shoulders.

  ‘Do you accept our offer, devi?’

  Sivagami’s answer came after a few moments as she was overwhelmed by emotion. She bowed stiffly and said, ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Do you promise to obey our orders without question, show the same spirit of loyalty and patriotism and render justice and law to those under you, on behalf of us?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Sivagami said, and in her
mind, Until I get a chance to finish you and your accursed dynasty.

  The maharaja raised his hands in blessing and the sabha cheered for Sivagami. She looked at Pattaraya and her lips curved into a smile. She would not let him go free for what he had done to Skandadasa. He looked at her with cold eyes, his face expressionless. Only his fingers fumbling with the gold-covered rudraksha chain around his neck gave away his agitation.

  ‘We are going to assign you a wonderful job,’ Maharaja Somadeva smiled at her. She tensed. There was something wrong with the maharaja’s smile.

  ‘In fact, you almost completed the task yesterday, but fate willed otherwise. The one you pushed down the stairs is still alive. Your first job would be—’

  Sivagami took a deep breath. Memories of her father’s execution came rushing back. She did not relish the thought of killing someone who had tried to murder this evil king. But she wanted the title of Bhoomipathi desperately.

  ‘To hang him,’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ the maharaja said. He turned to his soldiers and said, ‘Bring him in.’

  The soldiers dragged a hooded man in chains into the sabha. Sivagami tensed.

  Maharaja Somadeva gestured to the soldiers to remove his hood.

  ‘Uncle Thimma!’ Sivagami cried, and rushed to the man in chains.

  She collapsed to her knees in front of him and started crying, covering her face with her palms. Thimma’s trembling hands caressed her head, just as they had when she was a little girl.

  ‘My daughter has grown up to be a bhoomipathi. I am so proud of you, child.’

  Acknowledgements

  This book series is a tribute to the vision of a great director, artist, and human being, Sri S. S. Rajamouli. Bāhubali is a landmark film in the history of Indian cinema, and the sheer scale of it is mindboggling. One can only wonder at how much effort would have gone into making such a classic. Taking the responsibility of working on a prequel of such a story was a daunting task. Had it not been for the absolute freedom, encouragement, and kindness shown by S. S. Rajamouli, this book would never have been possible. I am indebted to him for life, for the trust he has shown in me.