The Ocean's Own

by Nandini Sengupta

  She flashed a dimpled grin. ‘You are by far the best student I have ever taught. How could I forget?’

  I heard a soft grunt from Harisena. ‘Wonderful. If all else fails, we could decide this through a Silambam match,’ he said.

  I nodded. ‘Of course, even though my lessons are far from complete.’

  ‘That can be easily fixed,’ she replied smoothly. ‘I will start giving you lessons as long as you are here.’

  ‘Be careful, princess,’ I replied. ‘It may keep me back longer than necessary.’

  ‘Be careful, Majesty,’ she smiled. ‘It may keep you back forever.’

  ‘Sounds like a promise,’ I joked.

  ‘Not to me,’ whispered Harisena.

  The war council began the parley as soon as the priests had blessed the gathering. In public, Angai looked proud and aloof with no signs of the teasing intimacy that we shared when she greeted me with the flowers. She sat straight, her head held high and her face carved into inscrutability.

  ‘Well, madam?’ I asked. ‘Has your brother given you the authority to discuss the terms of surrender?’

  ‘My brother has given me permission to talk,’ she replied calmly. ‘I told him I made your acquaintance in Mathura and this whole debacle may, in fact, be the result of some small misunderstanding.’

  ‘Small misunderstanding?’ asked Harisena.

  ‘My presence in Mathura was not the result of some hush-hush alliance that Kanchi was hoping to forge with the Naga kings up north. The Nagas have been our friends for centuries. Indeed, the first Pallava king, our revered forefather, was the offspring of Sage Ashwathama and a Naga princess. The royal Pallavas are related to the Nagas by blood. There’s no conspiracy there.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ whispered Harisena. ‘A history lesson in the middle of war.’

  Angai turned her long neck and pierced him with a glare. ‘History can be very educative to those who care to learn from it.’

  Harisena shrugged away that barb. ‘I am sure you’re not here to discuss history, madam. If you are, I suggest you return to your pox-ridden city. Unfortunately, we are in the middle of a battle. We don’t have time for such enlightened intellectual pursuits.’

  Angai turned her imperious gaze towards me. ‘My people are dying of plague and starvation. My beautiful city is sinking under the debris of death. Why cause this needless suffering? What do you gain by this?’

  ‘I don’t want this any more than you do,’ I replied. ‘But I am not the one refusing diplomacy. Maybe you should talk some sense into your brother.’

  ‘This land is not my brother’s to bargain away,’ she said. ‘It would be adharma to do so.’

  ‘What kind of dharma dictates that you watch your people die because you cannot get off the fence,’ snapped Harisena. ‘It’s time Regent Vishnugopa stopped wringing his hands and took some action. Hiding behind the city gates was not such a great idea after all.’

  ‘I have come here to parley,’ retorted Angai, in a voice as sharp as a sword blade. ‘But I will only do so with a monarch of the blood.’

  I glanced at Harisena. He looked frustrated but held his tongue. ‘I have no problems parleying,’ I said. ‘Tell your brother I am willing to talk. Let’s see what he can offer us that we cannot snatch away by sword.’

  Angai dropped her gaze and for a few moments there was silence in the room. Then she said, ‘My brother respects and reveres you, Majesty, just like the rest of Jamvudeep. Come to us in friendship and we will take you to our heart. But do not push us to the wall. If you do, we will have no option but to fight back.’

  ‘Fight back with what?’ interrupted Harisena. ‘You must agree, madam, that your position in this exchange is somewhat compromised. Your people are starving and dying of the pox. Your city is surrounded and your allies have deserted you. You have nowhere to turn except to the Garuda Dhwaja.’

  Angai’s eyes flashed fire. ‘As far as I know, my kinsmen are still holding out in Palakka, just as we are in Kanchi. The pox will die out and this balmy weather will not hold. When the tempest hits you with the vicious force of 10,000 war elephants, when the kadal kol (destructive wave/tsunami) devours the land, scattering your men and animals, destroying your camp and wrecking your battle plans, it is you who will want to parley. I am not negotiating from a position of weakness. I belong to this land. I know it better than you ever will. If you want to spend the rest of the winter outside our city gates, be my guest,’ she snapped.

  ‘A real and present plague as opposed to an imagined storm?’ sneered Harisena. ‘I’ll take my chances.’

  ‘Tell your brother we are willing to wait for him to come to his senses,’ I said. ‘When he does, come back here. We’ll talk.’

  She caught up with me on my morning ride to the edge of the ocean. For the longest time, she was just a speck in the horizon but as she came closer, I recognized the blood red sari and the glint of rubies and emeralds she had around her throat and wrist. Her black mare was frothing at the mouth as she rode up next to me, pulling back the reigns to slow her to a gentler trot. I looked at her and raised my eyebrows in question. ‘Isn’t it too soon for another parley?’ I asked.

  ‘Just a chat,’ she smiled and replied.

  ‘Race me to the ocean front?’ I asked. ‘If you win, I promise to listen to whatever you have to say.’

  ‘Done,’ she grinned, and before I could react spurred her mount to a quick gallop to gain momentum. ‘Catch me if you can,’ she shouted as the black mare shot off like an arrow, a blurred dot gaining distance with every passing moment.

  I loosened the reigns and allowed my horse to pick up speed. As I raised myself on the saddle and used my knees to spur him on, I could feel every sinew in his taut chestnut body heave and ebb. I had the sun in my eyes, the wind running through my hair and the salty tang of the ocean on my tongue. I felt my being soar. I was riding the wind. I was ruling the waves. I was the ocean’s own and my destiny was just a short trot away. Nothing could stop me. Nothing would.

  On and on we rode, through the flat gold-green fields, their paddy crop ripe for the winter harvest. Punctuated by the occasional copse of coconut and palm trees, and hemmed in the far distance by grey-blue hillocks that reflected the cloudless blue of the sky above, this carpet of yellowish-green swayed in the gentle breeze quite unaware of the death and starvation within the city walls. The golden sunshine warmed our souls and dripped off our sweat-stained backs. The tumult and tension of the campaign slowly drained away and I could breathe lightly once more. I was Lichchavidauhitra Kacha again, dreaming about a future written in the stars. My past and future melted away in that gold-drenched morning and all that remained was the present. A glorious, sun-kissed present.

  My horse had settled into a brisk gallop but I spurred him on to go faster. Angai was already half a kos ahead of me and I could see the blood-red pallu flying like a pennant behind her. I missed Pushpak, my beautiful grey mount whom Angai had injured fatally in Mathura. The horse I was riding now – while a decent animal – did not share that instinctive bond that bound Pushpak to me. Angai, on the other hand, was riding her own mount and she also had a head start by a minute or two. I would have to push harder to catch up.

  The paddy fields thinned out into coconut and palm groves, and the soil below turned from bright red-brown to a sandy dust and finally to yellow sand. I could smell the waves. I could taste the salty tang. And then I saw it. Heaven held earth in a cerulean embrace. The blue horizon rippled under the warm winter sun. Angai was a red spec in the distance as I spurred my horse to go faster and faster and faster. My eyes were full of blue and all that mattered was the call of the ocean. Primal, powerful, pure.

  The horses slowed down in the sandy beach and we slid off our saddles and raced to the water’s edge. Angai waded in, beckoning me to follow. The waves crashed at our feet, covering them with sand. I walked in further, looking for a firmer grip on that shifting ground, finding none and getting pulled in deeper. Then a gian
t wave hit and before I knew it, I was lying flat on my back, cradled in the briny water, trying to hold onto something to haul myself up again. I reached out blindly and found a hand that pulled me to my feet. I scrambled up and looked into a pair of smiling eyes. ‘The ocean can bring the mightiest to their knees,’ she joked. ‘And she often does.’

  ‘That’s why I want to be like her,’ I said. ‘I am the ocean’s own.’

  ‘You should call yourself Samudragupta,’ she said.

  ‘Maybe I will. Once I plant the Garuda Dhwaja on this land.’

  The smile faded. ‘Why is it so important?’ she asked.

  ‘I came here, you know. Many years ago. I made a promise to the ocean. I told her I would return. And when I did, I would claim her for myself.’

  There it was, that slight tilt of the head again, as if she half-agreed but not quite. And then she said, ‘You can’t conquer her, you know. You can only surrender, with love.’

  ‘Love can conquer too,’ I said.

  ‘True devotion comes from surrender,’ she replied.

  We stood facing each other as the waves crashed into us, willing us to dive in, drown in the briny surf and roll in the sand. I was the first to tumble, rolling in the wet sand, allowing the waves to wash over me, surrendering myself body and soul to the call of the blue. I closed my eyes and opened myself to that moment of exhilaration. And then I felt her in my arms.

  Her sari wrapped itself around me, her arms clung to my neck while her lips found mine. She tasted of the ocean – wild and wonderful, part woman, part wave, untamed and fierce, primal and pure. I was awash with ecstasy. Eyes closed, I let my lips find her; the hollow of her throat, the swell of her nipples, the dent of her navel, the soft, wet desire of her womanhood. She moaned in my ears, it sounded like the roar of the waves. I drowned in her hunger and I lost myself in her release. I was riding the waves, deeper and deeper till I was one with its primal call. I was swept into a vortex of swirling euphoria. I lay back utterly spent and surrendered myself to this force of nature.

  ‘Conquer?’ she whispered in my ear.

  ‘Surrender,’ I replied and buried myself in her.

  13

  Kadal Kol

  THE STORM CAME SUDDENLY. The sea turned a swirling seething grey, the sky matched it tone for tone and a shrill wind began to blow. Our scouts told us to hunker down for the big one. It hit just before dawn, the roaring, howling wind ripping through our camp, scattering the pack animals and blowing away the fencing. I had never seen anything like this in my life. Summer storms could be vicious too, but this was something else. Elemental in its fury, unpredictable in its moods, it crashed through branches, forced the upright coconut trees to bend in deference and turned houses into rubble. The wind whipped up waves that were as high as hillocks. Frothing white, they crashed on the shore, their rage spilling over, dousing the sand and clawing back anything that stood in its way.

  We would have faced the full blast of its wrath had we kept to our camp. But on the advice of our local scouts, we had moved to a fishing village further inland, using their mud and thatch huts to keep ourselves and our animals as dry as possible. The horses whinnied in nervousness, the elephants bellowed, adding to the roar of the elements outside. The storm burst upon us in a savage swirl that blurred the world around us. On and on it raged, for nearly two prahars and then, just as suddenly, the wind dropped. The sky looked scrubbed clean, the sun came out and the waves calmed down. But for the devastation we saw all around, it could have just been a bad dream.

  Later we walked into the wreckage that was once our camp. Everything was in tatters; nothing had been spared. Only those who took refuge in the siege ditch had survived. The storm had hit us hard. We lost a few men but we lost many more pack animals. Harisena and his men got to work immediately, trying to salvage what they could from the debris. By dusk, only a few flimsy canopies were up and we spent the night wondering if the storm would return.

  That was when Vishnugopa decided to push for peace. The storm had hurt us much more than him. The city’s stone and brick houses were far sturdier and its high walls helped break the path of the wind, reducing its power to destroy. He had guessed, rightly, that morale would be low among my men. So even before we could clean up the campsite and rebuild it, there came the offer for another parley.

  They picked their way through the detritus and I saw a faint smile on Angai’s lips. She looked around – taking in the extent of the destruction with what seemed to be obvious satisfaction – and occasionally put a quiet word to her brother who walked beside her. Vishnugopa’s face was grim. He wrapped his uttaria scarf tighter around his lean torso and refused to look up. For a royal regent, he was modestly dressed, giving no indication of Kanchi’s famed wealth. He wore a white silk antariya dhoti and no jewellery at all. His wide patrician forehead, smeared with holy ash and vermillion, was furrowed with deep creases. He could see what the storm did to us but unlike Angai, he wasn’t at all sure it would make us change our mind.

  When we sat down to talk, his sharp grey eyes flitted warily from me to Harisena to Angai. Thin lips, pursed in a straight line of perpetual disapproval, remained unsmiling. He was pleading for detente but didn’t look like he relished the idea.

  ‘Majesty, we can resolve this through peaceful means,’ he said. ‘Like I said before, I revere you and would be honoured to host you in my humble city. I can see how badly the storm has hurt you. You have doubtless lost men and property, and we wish to offer you our warm hospitality,’ he said.

  ‘I thank you,’ I replied. ‘The storm was nasty but we have weathered much worse on this campaign. We will accept your kind offer only when you accept our Garuda protection.’

  Angai looked up and I saw the surprise in her eyes. ‘This is the season for stormy weather,’ she said. ‘You have seen the destruction it can cause. Can you afford to weather out another one? And then another? And yet another?’

  ‘Are we talking about the weather or the war?’ asked Harisena.

  ‘We are talking about what’s best for both of us,’ said Vishnugopa. ‘I do not wish another storm on you. So why would you wish plague and famine on my people?’

  ‘I don’t,’ I said. ‘You can end the siege this moment. Accept my suzerainty. Embrace me in friendship. If you lock swords with me, I have no option but to crush you.’

  ‘Majesty, you say you bear us no ill will. We have never molested you or yours in any way. So why do you want my city to suffer?’ asked Angai, soft enough to sound like a personal plea but loud enough to carry to her brother sitting next to her.

  I was getting tired of this unending circle of reason and counter-reason. The offer for a parley came from them but so far Vishnugopa had given no indication that he understood the gravity of his situation. He clearly thought he could sweet-talk me into lifting the siege simply because of a storm. I turned to Angai and looked straight into her eyes. She had assured me that her brother was open to all possibilities. What was she playing at?

  ‘I thought we had made ourselves clear the last time you came with a peace offering, madam,’ I told her. ‘If your brother is unwilling to see reason, is there any point to all this?’

  Angai’s face flushed at the public rebuke but she didn’t reply. Vishnugopa’s lips almost disappeared in a forbidding grimace.

  ‘If I may be so bold,’ he said, ‘I am sorry my sister promised more than she was permitted to. She told me you were willing to talk. That’s why we are here.’

  ‘Clearly you are not open to seeing reason yet,’ interjected Harisena. ‘Your people are dying, your city is plagued by sickness and famine, and yet you cannot bring yourself to submit to the Garuda protection. No matter, we can wait. Till you come to your senses.’

  I saw a glint in those cold grey eyes but the face remained impassive. ‘Death or dishonour,’ whispered Vishnugopa. ‘It’s not much of a choice.’

  ‘There’s no dishonour in accepting the emperor’s protection,’ insisted Harisena. �
�Your neighbours have done it, willingly and gratefully. But you seem bent on self-destruction.’

  ‘They had their own compulsions,’ he said, more to himself. ‘I have mine.’

  ‘If you cannot decide for your people, what right do you have to rule over them?’ I asked.

  ‘I ask myself that question every day, Majesty,’ he replied. ‘But I am afraid I have no answer.’

  ‘If you cannot decide, allow His Highness Skanda Varman to do so,’ said Harisena. ‘I am told he is an exceptionally intelligent young man. Let him decide.’

  ‘He is only eleven years old,’ said Angai. ‘When he is ready to decide for himself, he will be ready to rule as well.’

  ‘Still, he is old enough to see what your intransigence is doing to his people. Does he approve of what you’re doing in his name?’ I asked.

  Brother and sister greeted this question with a sullen silence that spoke more eloquently than all the words that had been uttered that afternoon.

  Harisena looked at me and I nodded. ‘We are this close to a breakthrough in Palakka,’ he said. ‘Your kinsman has sent word; he is willing to negotiate. Think about that the next time you come to parley and maybe you’ll find it in yourself to be more reasonable.’

  Vishnugopa’s proud chin was up. Defiance flashed in his eyes. ‘I bid Your Majesty a good day,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘And hope the next time we meet, we will both see reason.’

  She was like the night; dark, fragrant, full of memories. Her gossamer blue sari twinkled with tiny gemstone studs. When she spread her arms, she looked like the star-spangled sky – distant even in her intimate nearness. Her steps were light, just a rustle on the sandy soil. Her smell – the sweet scent of Mogra and the sandalwood paste tattoos she wore – filled my senses. I had asked the guards to allow her access ever since I got her message. We had decided on a pink lotus as our rendezvous code and she, audaciously I thought, given how the meeting went, left one at my feet after the parley was over.