Gods, Kings & Slaves: The Siege of Madurai

by Venketesh, R.

  When the damage wrecked by the boys became unbearable, it was Vikrama who finally acted. The two princes were becoming too recalcitrant, and that got him worried. As a person devoted to running an empire, he detested the disorder that ran in the palace complex, but the soldier within him realized the destructive behaviour was just a way of venting adolescent energy. Potential warriors and future kings were foraging for mangoes when just a wish would have made a hundred servants rush to pluck the fruit off trees. He spoke to their mothers and in a determined consensus, the immediate future of the boys was decided. Amid reluctant histrionics of their relieved mothers and sighs of cheer from almost everybody else in the palace, the two princes were dispatched off to their boarding school – a traditional gurukulam – run by Rajadityan, an authority on warfare who had once been a great warrior.

  Gurukulams were traditional educational institutions that offered boarding and lodging, for which the fee was farm produce the students had to bring along every quarter of a year. Their main purpose was to pass on the wisdom of Brahmins from one generation to another. Very few teachers taught warfare, but Rajadityan was more than qualified. Rajadityan and Vikrama had fought together in the northern campaigns against the Cholas.

  For two hundred years, Pandyans had suffered under the Chola yoke. A series of kings had stamped out any movement for independence. The later rulers even assumed the title of Chola-Pandya to fool the people: a Chola masquerading as a Pandya, a tiger trying to be a fish. But the Pandyans never forgot.

  When the Chola empire collapsed and broke up into fragments, a Pandyan prince captured the throne of pearls and declared his independence. The first act had been to cease to pay a cess to the Cholas. The last had been to thrash them on the battlefield. The Pandyans now dominated Tamil country. They had even conquered a part of Lanka and the Cholas now paid them tribute.

  Rajadityan’s gurukulam had withered because there had been no warfare for years. There were no powerful patrons whose wards studied there. Except for Lanka, there were no more wars in the Pandyan empire and the borders were secure. All the humbled enemies now paid their dues and stood as a buffer, their weaponry and size of the army now dictated from Madurai. No enemy could emerge and come through the borders. In a time of peace, no one had bothered about the gurukulam.

  Vikrama had very fond memories of the gurukulam and he knew the arrival of the princes would give a fillip to the dying institution. Nobles would soon send their sons to the school hoping for career advancements in the hope that their children would become friends of the princes. The school itself would be rebuilt with a royal grant by Vikrama, who hoped to revive the school and also give the boys an outlet for their energy. That is, if they have any left, he chuckled as he remembered his own strenuous training at the school.

  The gurukulam was housed on the banks of a river but at a safe height and distance. It was surrounded on three sides by wilderness and it was only across the river that civilization lay. The location had been chosen with a different motive than comfort: it was ideal for learning different forms of warfare.

  For the boys, who had lived in a well-lit, luxuriously furnished palace, the gurukulam was abysmal, with its insect-ridden, bare hovels made of thatch and straw. For an instant, Veera thought he would leave Sundar behind and flee. Then he realized there was nowhere he could hide or run away to.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE HAREM GIRL

  Memories of Mahmud the Afghan’s assault on the Somnath temple haunted the southern Gujarat peninsula once again. The Afghan had ransacked the illustrious temple and left it in ruins. When he was done, fifty thousand men, women and children lay dead. Mahmud’s men had gone on a rampage, raping women and pillaging as they wished. The lingam lay broken, the stone idol shattered and pieces of it carried back to Ghazni to be defiled further.

  Following Mahmud’s raid, the peninsula’s links with the outside world were severed. Where trade and commerce had once flourished in the northern Rajput kingdoms, the north had now been cut off from the rest of Gujarat. The south of Gujarat was now ruled by Ramachandra Yadav, whom Rai Karan, the king of northern Gujarat, detested.

  ‘It is a question of origin,’ he was known to comment. ‘Yadav is but a gwala, a cowherd, whereas I can claim direct descent from the gods.’

  Chand Ram, affectionately called Ram by everyone, lived in the dominion of Rana Rajasekar, a relative of Rai Karan. Ram’s father had got rich quickly by bribing the store master and securing a contract to meet the entire needs of the Rana’s household, steadily edging out all his competitors. A smart trader, the bania was now the second-richest in the realm after the Rana. He earned the biggest profits by supplying luxury items to the women in the Rana’s harem – and he managed to keep them happy even though the entire subcontinent’s trade routes were thrown asunder by the Mohammedans.

  As a young child, Ram could still enter the harem and so he was given the job of a delivery boy. Over time, of course, he grew older but no one seemed to notice the translucent brown hair above his lips, the beginning of a moustache barely visible.

  Before he turned nine, Ram used to roam the streets like an urchin. He would stroll talking to himself, until his father caught him at it once and whipped him. When Ram’s mother intervened, the boy claimed he could hear a voice that engaged him in a perpetual conversation. Scared, she took him to the astrologer, worried that an evil spirit had cast a spell on her son. When the astrologer saw the boy, he recoiled in terror. He mumbled something about a passing phase. When the boy and his mother left, the astrologer was sweating. Why does the boy haunt me over and over again?

  When Ram turned nine, his father made him work in the shop as an apprentice. Slowly, the boy learnt the ropes, resigning himself to his future as a pot-bellied bania sitting at his cash counter like his father. The girls who came to his shop did interest him, but they were plain and coarse. The sort of women he liked to see did not come to the marketplace very often, but he knew where he could find them.

  The harem was an entirely different world from the one Ram lived in. Its skilfully decorated rooms were a sight to behold, its spacious courtyard and gardens designed to awaken the senses. The garden had a fishpond and a fountain and it was a delight to watch the water rise from an opening in the carved stone and fall to the grass in a cooling silver spray. The harem smelt of attar, rose water and musk – a contrast to the smell of sweat and dust outside the walls.

  One of the few perks of Ram’s apprenticeship was his proximity to the harem girls. The girls liked to deal with him too, as he was the only male contact they were allowed to have, apart from the Rana. Suddenly, Ram seemed to be gravitating to the palace more often than needed, sometimes running into the Rana himself within the harem. The noble was a well-built man but his girth had increased and his hair had receded. When he came across him, Ram would bow and walk backwards to the edge of the pathway. The Rana would sometimes acknowledge him with a smile, but would never question his presence. Occasionally, Ram went into his chambers to show him some special items like Chinese silk or a new aphrodisiac.

  The Rana’s harem guards included Negroid eunuchs, brought all the way from the dense forests of Africa, their large scimitars as heavy as mutton cleavers. Though they never stopped him, Ram would quiver with fear whenever he passed their gigantic figures towering over the harem rooms.

  *

  Ram had turned seventeen, well past the age of marriage in a land where girls married before puberty. All his cousins had married beautiful girls who had already borne children. He was on the lookout for a bride too, but the astrologer would not allow him to get married. Somnath had rejected a dozen horoscopes that had been sent by the parents of prospective brides. Ram thought resentfully, This was the old idiot who had predicted that I would rule Hindustan. If the Turks of Delhi hear the prophecy, they’re sure to mount an invasion tomorrow just to kick the old man on his ancient backside. Why the old astrologer insisted on his celibacy was a complete mystery to him.
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br />   On the astrologer’s advice, Ram visited the Shiva temple nearby every morning. He prayed for a change in fortunes, offering the deity flowers he bought from an aged woman whose face was a collage of a thousand criss-crossing wrinkles.

  One day, he noticed palanquins from the palace and guards outside the temple. Ram was delighted. He hadn’t been to the harem for a fortnight so he rushed inside, pausing to wash his feet with water from a terracotta pot, and climbed the marble steps two at a time. The marble was wet, and as he took his last step, he slid across the floor towards the sanctum with an unstoppable momentum. After a moment that seemed like eternity, his feet hit a pillar and he fell with a thud. As the pain began, he heard tinkle-like laughter and when he opened his eyes, he saw the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

  With his eyes on her face, Ram got up slowly and tried to rearrange his clothes. The others joined the girl in the laughter, but the priest in a stern tone hushed everyone. Ram made sure that he did not slip again as he gathered his robes around him and turned away in shame. A few moments later, when there was no more than an occasional burst of partially suppressed giggle, he realized the girls were settling down to pray. He hid behind another pillar to gaze at the new girl. She stood there with both palms on her bosom, her eyes closed in a devout prayer, her face the colour of the autumn moon and her plaited tresses like the dark serpent, Rahu, that swallowed the moon every month.

  Ram waited till the puja was over. He got another view of her as she came out. She must be from the royal family, he thought. His thoughts went to the queen, Kamala Devi, wife of Rai Karan, who was reputed to be an apsara, an angel from heaven. The queen must be as beautiful as this new girl.

  Ram ducked behind the pillar once more as the girls climbed down the steps and turned towards the sanctum for a last-minute prayer. As the girl’s skirt floated over the steps of the temple, the world seemed to stand still for him.

  The girls were hastily loaded into the palanquins – two or three in each – and the bearers pulled down the gossamer screens to block them from public view. The bearers lifted the palanquins effortlessly, humming softly to bring a rhythm to their steps and help them carry the weight more easily. Ram waited till the procession turned the corner, gazing at the third palanquin in which the girl with the complexion of the moon was seated.

  She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, undoubtedly. A tug on his robe brought him back to reality. It was a small urchin with lice-ridden hair, stinking of sweat. Ram did not pause to think. He had a silver coin in his hand, which he dropped into the beggar’s bowl and moved on. The boy stood transfixed, surprised at the windfall.

  Inside the third palanquin, the girl remembered the young man slipping across the floor of the temple and let out a chuckle. Her companion, a senior concubine of the Rana, chided her, ‘Chaula, you must not laugh at other people. It is unbecoming of a consort of the Rana.’

  The mention of the Rana dampened Chaula’s joy. The other concubine felt sorry because she had never seen the girl smile even once in the month since she’d been brought into the harem. How pretty the child had looked a moment ago!

  Chaula fell silent and went back to her thoughts and to her determination to escape from the harem. The harem girls chose to accept the humiliation they often suffered because of the luxury they lived in. Even in times of drought and scarcity, the harem’s table was spread with a wide assortment of food. Opiates and wine flowed and there were slaves to do their every bidding so that they never needed to roughen their hands by doing any work.

  But to Chaula, the harem was unbearable. She knew she would have to break away from the shackles. The guard at the entrance and the strength of his long-limbed body or his sharpened sword would not restrain her, nor would the Rana with his army.

  Ram could not get his mind off the girl. He began to seek any excuse to visit the harem, even to deliver just one item, and he even saw her a few times. But her posture and expression dissuaded him from approaching her. She was different from the other girls, distant and brooding, with a frown constantly on her face. How different she had looked when she had laughed in the temple!

  Then, one day, fortune smiled on him. As he entered the harem, Chaula beckoned him. He began walking towards her, but his knees started to buckle and he found it difficult to breathe.

  She said softly, ‘Can you get me a gourd of honey from the hills?’ Ram would have got her anything she wanted, but he could only nod like a mute. ‘Yes,’ he stammered.

  He brought the honey the very next day. She glanced up to see a black eunuch cross by and fell silent, a displeased frown clouding her features. It was obvious that she hated this place. She took the honey silently from him and walked away.

  He felt the joy of new love combined with the frustration of his inability to get close to her. She would nod at him on some days, but on other days she would look through him as if he were transparent. One day, he gathered enough courage to speak to her again. ‘Don’t you want to order anything else?’ he asked, sounding more confident than before.

  ‘Don’t lie. You came to see me,’ she retorted.

  The shining edge of the eunuch’s scimitar came to his mind. ‘I assure you, my lady, that I have not the slightest intention of doing anything dishonourable.’ His hands trembled with rapture and dread. He waited with bated breath.

  ‘It is okay,’ she said, with a smile that brightened her face and wiped away the scorn. ‘You can come and talk to me. I will ask for things that you can’t procure. Then you can come and tell me the items are not available.’

  Although he tried to put all thoughts of romance out of his head, Chaula dominated Ram’s days and dreams. The real world began to fade as he yearned for her, imagining what he would say to her the next time they met. He visited the palace more often than needed. But unlike on his earlier visits, he felt self-conscious and guilty, shivering when he crossed the two bulky guards at the gateway. Perhaps they realized his intent, but they still let him pass.

  Despite the luxuries of the harem, the girls were restless, knowing that they were little better than prisoners. Tempers were shorter than the girls’ little fingers. They fought viciously among themselves, using each other to vent their frustration since they could not get even with the true source of their pique, the Rana. Nobody could leave the harem once they entered.

  *

  Chaula and Ram would sit in one of the screened corners, where the guards and the other women couldn’t see them, and chat for hours. But it was a harem after all and soon, many an eyebrow was raised when the other girls realized that Ram couldn’t take so long to note down an order. They hoped the boy who brought them fancy goods did not do anything wayward, because they knew that if the Rana were to find out he would slaughter both of them. But nobody really wanted to complain to him – it was their way of getting back at the harem’s restrictions and it wasn’t the first time rules had been broken.

  Some girls even began teasing him, ‘Have you asked what Chaula wants?’ The teasing caused a confusion of sensations within him. He felt happy being linked with Chaula, but it also increased his unease. Had the guards noticed his fondness for Chaula too?

  One evening, he noticed something was wrong right away. She was not her usual self and sorrow was simmering in her eyes.

  ‘What happened?’ he demanded in a whisper.

  Tears began dripping down her cheeks. ‘Nothing,’ she mumbled. It was then that he noticed the red imprint on her cheek and realized she had been slapped. Cold horror gripped him. Had his association with her caused this punishment? But he would have been punished then – probably whipped till the skin of his back peeled off – not her.

  They sat across each other near the small pond and spoke softly so that the other girls couldn’t hear. ‘Why did they beat you?’

  ‘Because I tried to run away.’

  Ram was genuinely surprised. ‘Why? Why do you want to leave? The harem is better than any place in this land except Rai K
aran’s palace. Your homesickness will vanish soon.’ He tried to sound as convincing as he could, for he was afraid she might go away forever.

  Chaula looked at him defiantly. ‘What kind of life is this, Ram, to live and die for the lust of the Rana?’ she said, ‘They caught me this time. But I will leave this place, this harem, where I am no better than a common whore.’

  Chaula was from a village on the coast. Like the sea that she had grown up close to, she had been a buoyant girl. Her father acquired salt from the coast and sent them to the interiors of the country. While the rest of the country shrivelled in a drought, the salt farmer made his fortune. Chaula’s father, a specialist in the trade, would get the salt just before the rains and store it safely. He would then transport the salt in cloth bags covered with an animal skin to sell it, profiting immensely from the higher prices after the rains.

  When she was fourteen, like all well-fed girls of the tropics, Chaula was deemed to be ready for marriage. Word was spread: the pretty daughter of the salt trader was on the marriage market. Many hopeful suitors knocked at her door. But so did fate. Chaula’s father had waterproofed his godown, but one day, when there was a tremendous thunderstorm, the roof caved in and his wealth dissolved before his eyes. The creditors closed in like vultures, their mouths dripping at the prospect of ripping him off.

  Many moneylenders actually acted as fronts for the Rana who taxed mercilessly and lent out to merchants. The repayments were prompt because creditors were known to use violent means while collecting debts.

  The Rana was also a voracious predator when it came to girls in his territory and his men continually scoured the kingdom to recruit new girls to the harem. When he got to know of Chaula’s father’s predicament, he made a proposition – that Chaula be exchanged for her father’s debt. Her father agreed, but only after he was badly beaten up. Chaula ended up in the harem but, surprisingly, the Rana didn’t take her to bed immediately. He had tried to cuddle her but she had fought him like a lion cub. And in the last six months, the Rana had suffered a terrible bout of venereal disease, infecting two of his favourite girls too. The palace physician recognized the disease as one that was common in brothels and immediately ordered sexual restraint. Otherwise, he warned the Rana, he might have to replace his entire harem every six months.