“Pay your servants on time. You need their love and support. You should keep people within their limits and rule them fairly. Make sure your country is free from thieves and other nuisances. It’s a mistake not to punish those who should be punished, and it’s just as bad to punish those who don’t deserve it. Both these defects will send a king straight to hell.
“I’m sorry if I’ve run on. Once I start talking about these things, I find it hard to stop. You know them all anyway, as everyone can see by your noble behavior. We knew when you conquered Madasaya, who had himself conquered the whole world, that your word is law everywhere. But peace, for kings, is unstable.
“So it is quite right for you to take action against any overly shrewd kings who, in recent days, may have become too strong and are planning to attack. Show your power. As you yourself said, the best time is now. If you ask me why, it’s for the following reason. You said you made a promise to Madhuralalasa to give her, very quickly, new anklets made out of the jewels from the crowns of the queens whose husbands rule the eight directions of space. She’s a lucky woman, and her good luck is what made you make that promise. The same good luck will give you certain victory. Moreover, needless to say, Abhinavakaumudi will also benefit. My advice to you is to proceed with the invasion of the world—bearing in mind all the excellent strategies I have outlined.
“There may be some casualties, and you may loose some money on the army’s expenses. Even then, victory is victory, and your wife will still be lucky. But if you follow scientific strategy, such losses will not be that heavy.
Lord, conquering the world should begin in the east and proceed via the south to the west. The powerful king of Magadha is likely to attack you from the rear. It would be a good idea to make peace with him first.”
Listen, grandson of King Narayya, praised by all men. Your ministers are equally expert in the science of military strategy and offer advice in a single voice. That is why all the world’s kings worship you.
This is the seventh chapter in the long poem called Kalapurnodayamu made by soft-spoken Suraya, son of Pingali Amaranarya, whose poetry all connoisseurs enjoy throughout the world.
1. Jambū-dvīpa, the vast continent within which India, Bharata-varsha, is situated in the medieval cosmological map.
2. Paurāṇikas, keepers of the ancient stories.
3. Astrologers say that if it starts raining on Saturday, it will go on for some days. Saturday is called sthira-vāsara, the day of Saturn, the slow and steady planet (Śanaiścara); so what happens on Saturday can be expected to keep on going.
4. Often used in rituals.
5. We thank K. V. S. Rama Rao and Kolavennu Malayavasini for insightful discussions of this difficult verse.
6. Reading alpamul’ ayya kulâbhimānamul, with Malladi Suryanarayanasastri.
7. See Madhuralalasa’s story of Sugraha, narrated toward the end of chapter 8.
8. Apsarases are said to be born from the moon.
9. The ornaments are listed by name: billāṇḍlu, babblilkāyalu, maṭṭiyalu, vīramuddĕlu, andiyalu, mŏlanūḷḷu, ŏḍḍāṇamulu, nevaḷambu, puṅjāladaṇḍa, pannasaramu, mŏgapu tīga, aṇimuttĕpu perlu, sandidaṇḍalu, sūḍigamulu, gauḍasaramulu, kaḍiyālu, ungaramulu, mungara, kolāṭampu kammajoḍu, cĕvulapūvulu, bavirālu, cerucukka, kŏppuvala.
10. This is the talabrālu ritual performed immediately after the tying of the marriage necklace.
11. Śiva burned the god of love to ashes when Kama disturbed his meditation.
12. In fact, we know this story from Manistambha, not from Madhuralalasa, who is not said to have spelled it out as the young baby in the court—unless she offered a condensed version of Manikandhara’s previous career in the course of narrating his encounter at Srisailam with Svabhava (chapter 5, pp. 101—4).
13. This verse is a dvyakshara-kandamu, using only two consonants—m and n—as if conjuring up the resonance of mana, “we,” reassuring her that they are together.
14. Abhinavakaumudi is an immortal apsaras.
15. Abhinavakaumudi, as the reader recalls, met and fell in love with Manikandhara, that is, Kalapurna in his previous life.
16. See 6.188 (p. 124), where Satvadatma says to Kalapurna: “If you study her features, you can see that she will wear anklets made from the gems of all the world’s queens.”
17. Śiva made Mount Meru into his bow when he attacked the flying three cities of the demons.
CHaPTer 8
Listen, Nandyala Krishna, king of all the earth, loved equally by the goddess Fame and the goddess of empire . . .
[ Kalapurna Conquers the World ]
Kalapurna listened with satisfaction to his minister’s words about strategy. He agreed that it was right to make an alliance with the king of Magadha. He despatched one of his best emissaries, a man endowed with dignity, self-discipline, loyalty, diplomatic eloquence, courage, and a gift for winning the heart of a foreign people. He knew exactly when to display pomp and when to be humble. He sent an advance party to make friends with the Magadha king’s advisors and ministers by conciliatory words and proper gifts. When he arrived at the court, he was admitted with great honor, and, wisely answering the king’s questions and in full awareness of his place in space and time, he spoke of Kalapurna’s greatness without in any way compromising his host’s self-importance. With diplomatic finesse, he worked out a treaty of friendship between the latter and his king.
Meanwhile, Kalapurna, in his foresight, strengthened the fortifications of his capital and of the surrounding fortresses, also stocking them with provisions, cash, troops, and war machines. He made certain they were well protected and that there were no shortages. He gave marching orders to his commanders, and they, in turn, announced them in the areas under their command.
As evening fell, the sun slowly sank into the western sea, turning red like a mass of coral carried by the waves and gradually giving up its heat. In the west, the sky was heavy with reddish gold, as if Time were a peasant who had harvested a golden crop of rice and were carrying it in huge bundles on his shoulders. Or you could say the sun was like solid gold melted in red flames by the goldsmith who is Time, blowing at it with his torch; and when the gold was fully ready, the goldsmith dipped it in the water of the ocean to cool it. As if the whole world had become the Dark God Vishnu in his endless form, or as if Siva had dressed all his eight bodies in the elephant’s skin,1 or as if space itself had been swallowed up by the black demon Vritra,2 a subtle darkness enveloped the universe.
The sky was still tinged with red, and the first stars became visible like cotton ripening in the field when farmers offer blood sacrifice to the crop. People looked up at the stars in amazement and thought to themselves, “The world above is all light, you can see for yourself, since the ancient ceiling of the sky is clearly riddled with holes. They just look to us like stars.”
Imagine a weaver setting up his loom inside his house, weaving brilliant white threads of silk, and from outside you can only see the window, dense with light: night came on, the moon rose, casting its silky rays. Like a white sari spread wide, like a stream of milk or a dusting of white flour, moonlight flooded the world.
As night deepened, flower girls began to sell their wares to young men, who stopped to banter.
“These flowers are just right for you,” they would say, and the young men would reply, “Why do we need to buy them? What’s right is the one I’m looking at.”
“You think you can get it just by words?”
“We don’t want it for free. Here’s the money.”
“So which one do you want?”
“The bunch you’re hiding.”
“We won’t sell those until these are sold.”
“As if we didn’t know.”
And still laughing, the young men reach for the flowers hidden under wet cloths, in the back of the shop.
Meanwhile, the commanders of the army were getting ready to march. Kalapurna went to Abhinavakaumudi’s palace a
nd said to her, “My dear, in order to fetch the vina I promised you, I have to go conquer the world. I’ll be away for a few days. I’m off at dawn.” Then he went to Madhuralalasa and said, “Tomorrow is the lucky moment for me to embark on my conquest of the world, in order to fetch the jewels for your anklets.” This pleased her.
The soldiers were waiting impatiently for the dawn, eager to set forth—so eager that they showed no interest in embracing their wives. Their attention was riveted on the eastern sky. Night passed.
When an alchemist makes a pill out of mercury, he steeps it in milk to test it—to see if it turns what it touches into gold. Just so did the magical moment of dawn bathe the morning star in fading moonlight, turning the east a radiant red and gold. The city awoke. People rose early, afraid they might miss the hour of the army’s departure. The charioteers busied themselves with the horses and flags and all the rest of their equipment; the elephant drivers began covering their elephants with brilliant banners and bells; the cavalry started saddling their horses and fussing with the bridles and reins. Soldiers, relishing their breakfast, were bantering with women hawking buttermilk, curds, and pickles. There were palankeen-bearers fixing up their palankeens and guards of the harem padding these conveyances with pillows, so the ladies could ride comfortably. Officers were maneuvering their own troops into conspicuous positions along the road. Officials of the treasury were getting golden boxes of cash packed onto wagons drawn by camels, mares, and bullocks. The whole scene was alive with commotion and energy, like the ocean at moonrise.
Brahmins sang mantras to bless the expedition, and bards called out the cries of victory. Tributary kings came forward and bowed as their names were announced by the heralds. The royal elephant and golden palankeen and the palace horse were brought forward to the deafening beat of drums. At this auspicious moment, the king emerged from his palace. He mounted his elephant, and trumpets sounded the victory march. Surrounded by his great chariots, with flags waving, his elephants moving like huge mountains, his horses, swifter than wind, and the infantry, he moved out of the royal city.
Like the vast radiance of the cosmos that would filter through if a crack opened up between earth and sky, the sun rose in the east, bringing joy to the town. As the huge army passed through the city gate, people felt lucky if they escaped the crush unhurt.
The royal force left Beyond-the-Smooth-Neck Town behind them. Always just a little way ahead of them, enterprising merchants set up small tents by the road to sell food and whatever other supplies the army might need. As a result, the wealthier among the army, who were also travelling with their wives in palankeens covered with thick curtains, had everything they could possibly want; for them and their women, the royal campaign was like living at home.
Kings of the surrounding region heard that Kalapurna was coming with this ferocious army; some fled their kingdoms, and others sent gifts as tribute or came in person to attend on him. Satvadatma had sent letters to all the local rulers, informing them as follows:
His Majesty the King has promised his beloved wife, the magnificent Madhuralalasa who was born with all the marks of good fortune, the wife of the only true warrior in the world, to make her new anklets from the jewels in the crowns borne by queens of all the world’s kings. For this purpose he has set out with a large army to conquer the world. Take heed. Save your wealth and your lives by presenting him with what he wants. Signed, His Majesty’s Chief Minister.
Many obeyed. Kalapurna accepted their gifts and went on. The stubborn Gauda king tried to contest him. Engaged by the fierce Gauda army, Kalapurna’s soldiers at first fled the field in fear, right up to the king’s tent. He rallied them: “Don’t give way!” He was surprised by the attack, for he had assumed the Gauda king was coming to bring him gifts; but perceiving his true intention, Kalapurna called to his attendants to saddle his horse and unsheathed his sword. “Does he think he can get away with his life? Does he have any idea of my strength?” He left his tent and moved directly toward the foe. His horseman brought the mighty horse, fully equipped for battle and richly caparisoned, neighing so loudly that the enemy army became terrified. The king mounted, and, seeing him there so courageous and determined, his four-fold army took heart. As the king encouraged them, they counterattacked. Wielding swords, spears, and long knives, they hacked the enemy to pieces—so thoroughly you could no longer identify the bodies. The Gauda rallied his men, who rushed at Kalapurna; the latter pretended for a moment to leave himself open to attack, but as an enemy cavalryman came close and was about to strike, the king, rapidly shifting his sword from right to left, sliced right through the attacker’s sword, body, horse, and saddle, leaving eight severed pieces on the ground. This was unheard of: until then, great swordsmen had only managed six pieces. Even the gods watching in the sky were amazed at Kalapurna’s tremendous heroic feat. “It’s normal for a warrior to defend himself when an enemy lifts his sword against him, but this king is different. He must have perfect confidence in his own skill. He cut right through the sword raised against him and cut the enemy into eight whole pieces.”
The Gauda king and his army gave up and rushed back into the town, trampling the bushes in their rout and paying no heed to the thorns. Kalapurna and his soldiers chased after them to the gates of the fort with a roar like a thousand drums. The Gauda guards closed the gates of the fortress and got ready to defend themselves with muskets, cannons, catapults, and other weapons. At this moment, Satvadatma, scorn in his eyes, ordered scaling ladders to be placed against the walls. The people inside panicked, and the Gauda king saw there was no way out. With gifts in his hands, he emerged from his fort and surrendered to Kalapurna, and the latter pardoned him.
Proud of his achievement, Kalapurna moved on against the Utkala king3 who was next to attempt resistance. A great battle took place: the Utkala king had drawn up his troops for a frontal attack. They fought until blood settled in the dust; then they fought on because they were too proud to stop; and when they began to get tired, they still fought on because they were too angry to give up. Even when their anger was satisfied by killing enough enemies, they kept on fighting for the sake of their reputation. The Anga king, Kalapurna, mounted his elephant, which was like a mobile mountain, and, with his commanders on either side and behind him, fell upon the enemy. The Utkala ordered his elephants to meet the attack. No one had ever seen such a collision; the spectators were amazed. The elephants circled one another, showing off their strength; then, pacing backward, they rushed to attack each other, breaking their tusks. Hanging on, entangled in one another, they pushed and shoved and wouldn’t let go even when their drivers were killed and fell. The air was filled with the shattering of tusks, the ringing of bells, the wild trumpeting. Kalapurna’s elephant smashed into the enemy’s elephants, and these fell to the earth on their backs, crushing their drivers.
As Kalapurna pushed into the space that was opened up and the Utkala army gave way in despair, the Utkala king leapt on to his own fierce elephant and attacked. The two elephants circled each other, searching for position. Time after time, they crashed into one another, their trunks intertwining as they trumpeted furiously. But the moment came when Kalapurna could see the back of his foe’s elephant before him and, quickly jumping on to it from behind, he pounded the Utkala king’s back with his fists. He twisted the Utkala’s arms and pinned them behind his back, tying them with the ropes hanging from the elephant’s middle. Then he jumped back across the open space onto the back of his own elephant. Seated there, he stabbed at the Utkala’s still rampaging mount, cutting at its temples. In this way he captured and humiliated his foe. He left him with some good advice: “From now on, don’t fight with someone beyond your strength.” He took the jewels he was seeking.
The Kalinga, Dravida, Cola, and Pandya kings came of their own accord to submit and offer gifts. Kalapurna, heady with success, proceeded to the shore of the southern ocean, where he attacked the Kerala king. The two armies clashed like the northern and southern sea
s. Blood flowed like a pure flame newly fed, after the smoke rises to the sky.
One warrior had all his weapons
cut away by the enemy. With nothing but
bare male courage, he rushed at the foe with an arrow
pulled from his own body. He was determined to kill
the man who had wounded him; he targeted him,
not forgetting, and struck at him as he fell
while the women of heaven waiting to receive this hero
began to quarrel among themselves, each wanting him
for her own.
Another grabbed the trunk of an elephant, pulled it down,
and using it as a foothold, clambered up to the top.
With his left hand, he took hold of the elephant’s temple,
with his right he stabbed at the warrior
sitting above, who stabbed him back. Dying,
he found his left hand on the breast
of a woman from heaven, rushing
to embrace him. This alarmed him: “Did I hit a woman
by any chance?” he thought, a little ashamed.
The two armies were going at it with great gusto and great loss of life. The Kerala king sent an emissary to Kalapurna with a message: “Why cause the death of so many soldiers for no good reason? Let us fight it out between the two of us, alone.” Kalapurna agreed. So they stopped their armies from fighting.
The two tough men faced off, gilded swords in their hands. They glared at one another. They roared, their muscles taut, swords extended. “Take that!” they cried, or “Here! Watch out!” or “Hurrah!” Not for a moment did they let their eyes shift from the target. Then Kalapurna, with a quick flourish of his hand, made his opponent lose his balance and cut him lightly in many spots. The Kerala king was shocked at this show of skill, and also, to be honest, rather grateful to Kalapurna for not killing him, so he threw his sword away and fell humbly at his feet. He folded his hands in worship. “Great king—” he began, “but then you are no ordinary king—you’re something godlike. For a long time I practised the science of swordsmanship under the training of a great master from Andhra-desa. I defeated many well-known swordsmen. Proud and confident of my skill, I challenged you to this duel. It amazes me that you defeated me so easily.” He took Madhuralalasa’s husband together with his retainers into his palace and gave him all the jewels that had graced the heads of his wives. He sent him off with honor and affection.
The Sound of the Kiss Page 20