by Eric Alagan
The prime minister threw a sharp look at the man, bordering on a rebuke, and said,
‘As you see, sir Kovalan, the incident agitates our royal jeweller for the king holds him responsible for the loss. Nevertheless, he will hold his peace as we resolve our predicament as expeditiously as possible.’
The prime minister locked eyes with Thiru Pillay who held the old man’s gaze for a moment before breaking off.
‘It is possible, sir Kovalan,’ said the prime minister, continuing as if nothing had happened, ‘through some freak of fate, you had come across this valuable anklet.’
‘Fate brought this fabulous ankle ring to my hands, Prime Minister, but not of the freakish kind.’
Suddenly, the royal jeweller protested angry words, but I did not hear him, for I too responded with hot words over the man. Our exchange flew back and forth before the prime minister raised his hand again to stall the quarrel.
‘Good sirs, please, hear the words of a wearied old man who has witnessed much in life,’ said the prime minister. ‘Fate brought us together today.’ Shifting himself closer, the prime minister took my hand and said,
‘Kovalan, dear son of a loving and esteemed father, if you agree to having committed an unfortunate mistake, we, the royal jeweller and I, will petition our king and try utmost to prevail upon him to let the matter rest. And you can go about your life.’
‘The king will not accede, for he has already ordered the criminal’s beheading,’ said Thiru Pillay. He heaved and his nostrils flared like a short-tempered rhinoceros. But the man’s displeasure was incomparable to the intense indignation I felt.
‘How dare you, sir, how dare you imply I am a thief?’ I blurted and stood up.
‘Please,’ said the prime minister, unperturbed, and stretched his hand with an open palm, gesturing for me to sit. ‘Please,’ he repeated, and I dropped back into my seat. He then turned to the royal jeweller and said, ‘The king had issued no such decree.’ Turning back to me, he said,
‘What my colleague meant was, you see, it is the law of the Pandyan. Thieves forfeit their heads to the executioner’s blade. But only after digging to the core of the matter and only if found guilty. For now, these appraisals are in their infancy and yet to uncover any guilt.’
Thiru Pillay nursed his injured arm and said, ‘Prime Minister, do not implicate me in any scheme other than the truth.’
‘Dear Thiru Pillay, we will together inform the king that our guards tried to apprehend a thief trying to sell the jewellery in the market but he eluded capture and made for Arakan lands. We then sent out a party to search for the thief. But the thief, being resourceful, completed his escape. By which time, the good Kovalan here, on the road to our Madurai, picked up the anklet, presumably discarded in panic by the thief, leading to the present misunderstanding. Pleased that his queen’s treasure returned, the king’s vexation would cool, and the case closed with no bloodshed.’
‘And the artisan and soldiery privy to the discovery, how will they view your tale?’ asked the royal jeweller.
‘They know not the circumstances before sir Kovalan presented the ankle ring to the goldsmith.’
‘And you will lie for this man?’
‘We are court officials, Pillay my friend, and we must spend lies to save lives.’
‘Not I, sir. I do not feed such fodder,’ said the royal jeweller, with triumph.
‘You have always been a man better than I can ever aspire to be. I shall go to the king then, and let the penalty be on my head alone. All I need is your promise to hold your silence. You owe me, dear Pillay, you owe me.’
The royal jeweller exhaled sharp and loud and, after a long moment, nodded in agreement.
‘Thank you, my dear friend, Pillay. Thank you.’
‘What of me, Prime Minister?’ I said. ‘Not only will I lose the value of my dear wife’s anklet, I shall return to her a thief.’
‘Kovalan, my dear boy, and please allow me, an old man advanced enough to be your father, to refer to you thus. As compensation, I will myself give you gold from my private purse, so you can return to your beaming wife and gaze on the kumkuma on her forehead. Would you not prefer to see her dressed in saris, dyed in the colours of her choice rather than in the white of a woman who has lost her husband?’
‘Is my life worth more than my integrity, sir?’
‘My dear Kovalan, is your wife’s happiness not worth more than anything?’
‘Prime Minister Sir, I have already neglected my duties and betrayed the love and trust of my dear Kannagi. Even now, I labour to repair and rebuild my store of merit in her eyes. A false duty of care for a cur, and emotions and ego, led me astray once, but if I were to do what you now suggest, then I do it with full faculties in attendance. Can there be a better betrayal?’
‘Most men relish the flesh of the mango and disregard the seed, dear Kovalan, but you see, if one plants the seeds of our errors, new wisdom flourishes, for from the swamp sprouts the lotus, does it not? I seek what is right and just, for the alternative leads to pitiful spilling of precious blood that does not wash away guilt, but plants and nourishes it.’
‘But it wouldn’t do at all, sir,’ I said, ‘for how long before the whispers reach the ears of my kith and kin?’
‘What we speak and decide here, remains within these deaf walls. It is how we shape secrets and save lives.’ The prime minister studied Thiru Pillay for his response and again the man nodded.
‘You see,’ said the prime minister, ‘all good men bend when lives, innocent lives, are at stake. As agreed, we shall—.’
‘No!’ My voice was forceful. It stunned the prime minister and surprised me too.
He paused and said, ‘Take a while then for a better plan, but I pray come to a good decision.’
‘When I purchased the anklets from Telamonius the Greek my sworn friend of six lives, Anandan, was in attendance. He is a successful merchant and a man of good repute. Send word to him in Poom-Puhar and he will come to vouch my innocence.’
Again, the prime minister remained engrossed before he said,
‘Perhaps your plan holds some merit and we might yet put the genie back into the bottle.’
‘Preposterous,’ said a red-faced Thiru Pillay. ‘The return journey to Poom-Puhar will be until a week or more and even that at full belt and through Arakan lands. And even if by some miracle this Anandan prevails in his haste, the king expects redemption of the lost treasure before the Roman audience.’
‘You see, dear Kovalan, as I mentioned, we are expecting Romapuri,’ said the prime minister. ‘What you might not know is, the winds have been good, and we received news lately that the senatorial delegation arrives earlier than envisioned. Already our carefully arrayed preparations to receive the deputation are in utter turmoil. You see, the king will now honour the Romans sooner than slated.’ Then, seeing his explanation made no impression of understanding, he continued.
‘Her Majesty will also grace the event. And the queen, dear Kovalan, will insist on decking herself with these special anklets, valued gifts from her husband, the king.’
‘I am no villain, sir, and will not perjure the truth.’
‘The king will not wait until the days you seek.’ So forceful was the royal jeweller, his spittle flew as he spoke.
‘You see, sir Kovalan, I will share some confidence, and only because you are well-apprised of the situation confronting us,’ said the prime minister in a gentle voice.
‘The king recently took a courtesan into his harem and fell out of favour with his queen. Yes, it is your story too. That as it is, the king adores his queen and never lost his love for her. But after failing in several attempts at reconciliation he has decided, presumably from hints gathered in their many quarrels, that the queen will be more receptive to his overtures if he can but produce the lost ankle ring to complete her wardrobe.
‘Apparently, the queen wishes to relish the chase of youth and has challenged her king to embark again on the hunt.
You see, for a man the hunt expires when he catches the game, but for a woman it is a never-ending game. As you would do anything for your wife, so too Nedun-Cheliyan, our king, for his queen, his beloved Kopperun-Devi.’
‘But my friend Anandan’s testimony promises the secret to my redemption and, if you ensure the collaboration of time, a happy close to this unwarranted accusation.’
‘Perhaps you are right and there is a way out of this maze.’ The prime minister shut his eyes as if in meditation. Having come to a decision, he said,
‘Sir Kovalan, secure your evidence and bring the good news from your friend, Anandan, while I try to prevail on the queen herself, for I have known the princess when she was but a child who played on my lap.’ The old man smiled and his eyes glazed as he drifted in some old memory. Recovering from the lapse, he said,
‘Now, she is a kind mother to us all. I will ask her, no, beg her even on bended knees, to give you the time. But if all else fails, you must confess to having picked up the anklet from the dust, and bring this sorry episode to a safe and bloodless coup.’
‘I just now thought of another idea, sir, one far superior to the long journey to Poom-Puhar to fetch my friend Anandan,’ I said. ‘My dear wife, Kannagi, holds the second of the pair of ankle rings. Allow me to return to her and bring the twin, and it would be evidence enough to redeem my integrity.’
‘And where waits your wife?’ asked the prime minister.
‘In Puranchery, a village half a day’s journey away.’
‘We know where Puranchery lies,’ said the royal jeweller, ‘but we will not allow you the freedom to leave, lest you never return.’
‘Please, Thiru Pillay, we can clear the confusion confronting us in a day if not less,’ said the prime minister.
‘We cannot let him out of sight, not even under armed escort,’ said Thiru Pillay, his voice resolute, ‘for one never knows what trickery or dangerous allies he plans to summon.’
‘Very well then, but not because I subscribe to your suspicions, Thiru Pillay,’ said the prime minister. ‘Sir Kovalan, we shall fetch your wife, the chaste maiden Kannagi, with all proper respect so she might present the evidence to prove your innocence.’
‘You leave me little choice, sir, but to agree, for the matter demands haste and without fail.’
‘Yes, without fail,’ said the prime minister, as if speaking to himself.
‘An enterprise so vital requires the best of your servants, Prime Minister,’ said Thiru Pillay, his voice having acquired a conciliatory tone. His shifting moods were enigmatic and worrisome.
‘Yes, I shall right away make available my rider,’ said the prime minister. ‘He is a trusted man of many years in my service.’
‘Thank you, Prime Minister.’ And I bent down and touched his feet in a mark of gratitude and respect, and the old man gave me his blessings.
‘Thiru Pillay,’ said the prime minister, ‘do we have your assent?’
The royal jeweller, who had been in some deep reflection, agreed but pressed for his earlier condition: that I remain in the custody of the Royal Household Guard.
The prime minister summoned the Captain of the Guard and said,
‘This good man, sir Kovalan, as you know, labours under an unproven cloud. Hold him as your guest with all the required respect and considerations.’
When the captain held up a coil of chains, the prime minister shook his head and said,
‘There will be no spectacle. Take him also by the secret passages.’
‘As you order, Prime Minister.’ The captain bowed and stretched out his arm, inviting me to follow him.
‘Thank you, Prime Minister,’ I said. ‘Thank you, Royal Jeweller sir.’
The prime minister gave me a warm and reassuring smile but the royal jeweller returned a blank look.
The captain and his soldiers escorted me down a long corridor, the walls adorned with colourful livery and paintings depicting the great deeds of the Pandyan kings. A narrow door, concealed in the wall, led us down a tight winding flight of steps and into a dark passage.
The soldiers lighted torches, and we turned corners and navigated bends but always kept going down a steep gradient. The air grew stale and life-less, and I detected burnt camphor and thin incense, as if we were entering the chambers of an old temple. I soon learned that in one small but significant aspect, I was right—it was a temple of sorts. A temple of death.
We arrived at a portcullis, beyond which was a spacious chamber, and cut into the stone walls were several cubicles. It was a small jail but all the cells were empty.
The captain invited me into a cheerless cell and a guard lit an oil lamp. Another man brought a rolled mat, a ewer of drinking water, and a woollen blanket.
‘We don’t lock the cell gates,’ said the captain, ‘but I’ll post a guard outside the door you just now passed. He’ll attend to your needs.’
The captain pointed to the passage leading deeper into the cave, and said, ‘The last cell has an altar, if you wish to pray.’ Then, he said in a voice devoid of emotion,
‘It is also the execution chamber.’
19: A Scorpion’s Trap
THE DAYS IN THE SUBTERRANEAN cell crawled, and the nights were late in coming, but one afternoon, I had a welcome intrusion from Thiru Pillay, the royal jeweller.
‘It is good to welcome you, sir Royal Jeweller, and please forgive my poor hospitality. I am eager to hear gentle news from your lips to cool my burning heart.’
‘I have some bad news, sir Kovalan,’ said the man. ‘The prime minister’s rider could not locate your wife, Kannagi, in the village.’
‘What? I don’t believe you, sir! Is this another scheme to deny me due justice? My wife is a chaste woman and will never cross the threshold without my permission.’
‘I am confident she is everything you say, sir Kovalan, but she is not in Puranchery.’
‘Where could she have gone?’
‘The people in Puranchery were not privy to her plans,’ said the royal jeweller.
‘I wish to see the prime minister.’
‘Please, sir Kovalan, I am also the bearer of good news,’ said the royal jeweller, happy and self-assured. He took a step forward, as if he was sharing some secret, and his flabby frame reeked of foul sweat and stale perfume. He said,
‘When the rider returned with the sorry news, the prime minister, ever conscious of the desperation posed by slipping time, in my presence directed his rider to make all haste to Poom-Puhar to fetch your friend, Anandan. The man took four fresh horses from the prime minister’s stable and even a swift homing pigeon.
‘And having lately visited the palace, providence led me to meet the prime minister in the long corridors. He was hurrying to answer the king’s summons and, knowing how eager you will be for good news, tasked me thus. His rider, on fleet hooves protected by the gods, reached Poom-Puhar.’
I was wary of the red-faced man with dark-ringed eyes, but as our encounter matured my guard relaxed. I paid eager attention to his next words.
‘The message the pigeon carried and the prime minister had me commit to memory was: Friend Anandan located. Returning to Madurai. The prime minister said: Tell Kovalan, I meet the queen tomorrow and am confident to win the time to prove his innocence.’
‘It is wonderful news, sir, but do not pause, tell me more from Poom-Puhar. Did my dear Anandan reveal my innocence?’
‘No more news to add, sir, and as you can well imagine it was not for the rider to make such enquiries, tasked as he was only to locate and beseech your friend to hasten to Madurai. In these both, he succeeded well.’
‘Though the news is meagre, it is good, and thank you, sir. Please forgive my poor manners when we last met at the prime minister’s chambers. I was distraught, but that lends no excuse for my uncivil behaviour.’ I clasped hands and dipped my head.
‘It is a sack long discarded, sir Kovalan,’ said the royal jeweller with a wave of his hand, ‘and think nothing more of it,
for in your situation I might have behaved likewise or perhaps even torn out my heart in shame and fallen lifeless on the opulent carpets.’
‘Yes sir, the urge took hold of me. Better to extinguish than to flourish under a cloud. But that scheme condemns my dear blameless wife to white shrouded widowhood. And she deserves better than what I have given her thus far.’
‘Enough of dark talk, sir Kovalan, for you need to live for your wife, and you will. Any man worthy of his wife will do so even if it meant forsaking other things of importance to him.’ He paused as if mulling some thought, and said,
‘While you relish the welcome news, sir Kovalan, I also have a good suggestion to rid the predicament which restrains you here.’
‘Good suggestion, sir? But with the good news already received, what more could decay the obvious happy outcome? I see sunlight but if there may rise dark clouds, please tell me your plan for I have drained all schemes and none reveal better promise of success.’
‘Allow me your ears, sir Kovalan, so I can apprise you regarding the situation confronting us. I came to the Pandyan Court as an apprentice to learn the art and skills of working with gold, silver, and precious stones. My guru was the peerless artificer, Guru Nallathamby. Does the name trigger a thought?’
I shook my head and the royal jeweller looked curious as if I was hiding some secret knowledge. Then, he told a story.
‘The prime minister, sir Kovalan, has a special interest in your welfare. He and my guru, having grown up together, were bosom friends. One day a few years ago, while on a river expedition, the prime minister’s son, a fine young man he was, accompanied my guru. As fortune would have it, my guru slipped and fell into the river and the prime minister’s son bravely dived into the raving waters. Amidst frantic shouts and calls, the boat turned around, but it was too late. They saved my guru but never found the boy. His death devastated the prime minister. The tragedy broke my guru’s heart too, and he travelled to do penance in the Western Ghats. Unfortunately, he never returned, for he fell prey to the wild Arakans in the hills. The king sent his formidable household guard to track and punish the foul killers. But grief once rendered always leaves a scar.