He had confessed sheepishly, like a child who had been caught stealing a sweet, ‘I can’t wait till the crowning ceremony.’
Radhika had replied saucily, ‘And I can’t wait till the night to make love to a crown prince.’
A smile broke out on Veera’s face as he remembered the conversation. A cheer rose from the section of the crowd he was facing, wrongly interpreting the smile as meant for them. Among those who cheered was a beggar who stood on one leg and a wooden stump, and used a conch shell as a begging bowl. The beggar had a wasted appearance with a scrawny body and clearly visible ribs and yet he caught Veera’s eye because his face wore a proud look, unlike any other beggar. He must have been a soldier and had possibly lost his leg in Lanka. Veera thought, How tough it must have been for him to hobble here and stand for so much time. He wanted to get off the horse and greet the man, but that would have been considered a bad omen.
The swelling crowds broke all barriers behind him. They followed him as far as the gates where soldiers gently barred entry to all except the appointee’s retinue. The other royals had already reached the temple. Most of them, including the king, were already within the complex. It was only Veera who had to step into the temple at the appointed time.
The prime minister, the ministers and priests waited for him inside. Veera alighted from the horse and entered the gates. Two plantain trees were tied to the two entrance pillars. Above them hung bunches of mango leaves and spun coconut fronds. The entire floor had been designed with delicate kolam artwork.
At the chosen moment, two palace girls brought a plate filled with orange water for the aarti to avoid the evil eye. There was a betel leaf and a chunk of camphor on the plate. The camphor was lit and the plate made to go around Veera’s head three times. The girls, for whom it was the honour of their lives, had to stand on their heels to do so. He took out a few gold coins, which Radhika had thoughtfully knotted in his sash, and placed it on the plate. The coins were removed and the orange liquid with the fire was deposited outside the temple. The chief priest welcomed him with a brass pot, a coconut placed on its mouth and mango leaves decked on the edges. The prime minister nodded and Veera walked behind him slowly.
A pale boy stood in the courtyard busily pulling the bell cord. The thundering sound of the gong resonated inside the capital, announcing the importance of the event. Veera’s eardrum fluttered like a fledgling in its nest. As he entered the courtyard, everyone, except the king and the queen, stood up. At the entrance to the courtyard stood the not-so-royals, mainly his friends, and those who had fought alongside him, including the retired general Ariyan.
Next sat the royals and his relatives. A chair was empty, indicating to all his mother was not present. Nobody dared sit on it, making him think, Perhaps it was placed to humble me and remind me of my origins. Radhika had warned him the walk through the temple would be traumatic; he would have to undergo a hundred emotions, as he would recall every step that had led to this place. For a moment, he remembered his ancestors. For four centuries, they had been ruled by the Cholas and yet the Pandyan line was kept alive, striking at the enemy whenever possible. But for all of those sacrifices he would be a serf tilling his soil now.
Radhika stood with the rest of the royal family. She smiled warmly at him as he turned to her, causing many a raised eyebrow because he was not supposed to turn to either side. Tonight, you will bed a crown prince, he promised her in his thoughts. She lowered her eyelids as if she had heard him.
Next to Radhika stood a couple – Akshayan’s sister and brother-in-law were special invitees, perhaps the only commoners in this crowd of blue-blooded members. Veera immediately thought of Akshayan. But for him, Veera would not even be alive and Sundar would have had no competition at all. Akshayan’s sacrifice had opened the pathway that led to his crowning.
The allied kings, including the Chola princes, stood next, all of them blood relatives of Sunanda. Veera wondered what would have happened if he had married Sunanda; perhaps he would have left matters of the state alone, sated by his lady-love. In her gentle way, it was Radhika who had kept prodding him to continue in the race.
He glanced at Sundar and noticed he was looking nowhere in particular. He also noticed Sunanda was absent and then he remembered her words that every part of her heart wanted to see him on the Pandyan throne. He greeted Sundar, who stood next to the boy who should have called him father. The boy looked at him in awe. The ache in his heart intensified, knowing that Radhika could not bear any children after her miscarriage. He patted the boy on his head. Next to Sundar stood a host of teenaged boys, his half-brothers, who could never hope to even touch the throne.
‘How have you been, Sundar?’ Veera almost expected Sundar to clench his fists and utter a curse or a threat.
‘Fine, Your Highness.’ There was derision in his voice, a caustic pronunciation of the terms he would have to get used to hereafter. What irony! Somewhat relieved, Veera walked further down and prostrated before the king and queen. He then sat on a chair that was placed slightly lower in height than the royal couple’s.
The chief priest raised his hand, the signal for the bell to cease ringing. The silence that followed the abrupt cessation seemed as loud as the noise. The priest beckoned Veera to sit near the fire, amidst the chanting of the Vedas. When Veera sat, the priest poured turmeric water over his head from silver pots. He got bored halfway through and watched the others through a screen of yellow water. Sundar was sullen, though he tried not to show it. Veera thought that if Sundar had been anointed the heir, he would definitely have revolted and wondered why his more troublesome brother hadn’t done so. He turned to his stepmother, the queen, who was smiling. Anybody else would have thought she was putting it on. But only Veera knew her smile was genuine.
Vani, who now unofficially served as Veera’s personal espionage agent within the palace harem, had made enquiries to learn who his foes and who his allies were. She learnt that the king had been in a dilemma, as expected, over the appointment. As the debate had grown, the king knew that he could not anoint both the princes for that would have created two parallel centres of power that would threaten the entire system and divide the loyalty of the people. It had been the queen, who till now had closely nurtured Sundar’s ambitions, who had thrown up the surprise. She had insisted to the disbelieving king that he should anoint his illegitimate son as the heir apparent. People had assumed that Veera had been appointed in spite of her, but only Veera and Vani knew it had happened because of her. The queen’s munificence had shaken him. He was sceptical about her reasons, though, and it was difficult for him to decipher the working of her mind.
When the chanting was over, Veera was asked to take three rounds of the sacrificial fire. Then he was led to a throne, a new one specially made for the occasion. When he sat on it, the king rose and began walking towards him. Veera made a motion as if to get up, but was restrained by the priest’s hand on his shoulder.
A new set of Vedic hymns began to be chanted and when the auspicious time came, the priest handed the crown of pearls to Kulasekharan. The chanting rose to a crescendo as Kulasekharan, in a grand movement, placed it on Veera’s head. He handed the kingdom’s sword to him and draped a silken sash over his shoulder. The bells tolled once more, signifying that the crowning was over. Shouts of support rose from the crowds: ‘Long live Emperor Kulasekharan Pandyan!’; ‘Long live Crown Prince Veera Pandyan!’
Veera was just a heartbeat away from the throne now.
*
Veera was tired. How he longed to get back to his quarters and collapse on his bed. But duty called; a series of protocol visits had to be made by the newly appointed heir. Amongst them was a visit to the king and the queen.
His visit to the king had been smoother than he’d expected. Kulasekharan seemed relieved; the queen had lifted the weight from her husband’s shoulders with hardly an effort.
The new crown prince’s visit to the queen was keenly watched by everyone. Veera’s mind w
as uneasy. His opinion of the queen had changed in the past few days – he once believed the queen would use her legitimacy to ensure Sundar’s succession and now he couldn’t think why the queen would negate her own son’s ambitions in favour of Veera.
The queen welcomed him at the entrance, giving him full honour by her greeting and then graciously leading him to a hall where a new chair had been placed before her throne. A servant girl removed the embroidered slippers from her feet after she sat on her throne. Veera felt a feeling of exhilaration; this was the power royalty commanded. He, too, would be treated like a demi-god from now on.
‘Will His Highness have a glass of milk?’ she asked him. Veera looked for any traces of sarcasm in her words. Here, in his moment of victory, he could have gloated over vanquishing his major opponent, but somehow he could not find it in his heart to feel triumphant. ‘Thank you, Your Highness,’ he replied simply.
The queen nodded at the maidservant, the order transmitted with no words spoken. The girl knew of the perpetual animosity between the queen and the crown prince so she let another girl fetch the milk so that she could overhear their spat from behind the door. But she would be disappointed.
Veera looked at his stepmother, who sat quietly in her seat. How was he to start? Should he risk his words without knowing whether he was right or wrong? But Vani was sure. A wrong move now and the queen might presume Veera was trying to cause a rift between her and Sundar, and accuse him of being a conniving crook. He needed to choose his words wisely.
The room was completely silent except for the sound of their breathing. The milk arrived in a silver tumbler and was placed on an engraved stool before him. Veera lifted the tumbler to his lips. The steam scorched his lower lip. He hurriedly replaced the tumbler on the stool.
The queen in mock embarrassment queried, ‘Does the heir apparent think the milk may be tainted with venom?’ Her wit was returning.
‘Even if it was, I would gladly drink it, Mother. I know that my crowning is your gift.’
The queen was genuinely surprised. She did not, as he had feared, rebut his words. She had initially wanted to refute the prince’s remark, but she left it at that. ‘Well, well, you are indeed as good as they say. An espionage network before you are king!’
‘Thank you, Mother, I don’t know why you did it, but I did not expect it from you.’
The queen’s eyes clouded. Then she spoke, ‘It was a long time ago, when His Highness was infatuated with your mother. I was very young and I hated her for her power over my husband. The people spoke of me as a barren woman unfit to be queen. Then one day, your father was suddenly kind to me and began treating me well. It was much later that I learnt that your mother was the one who had made His Majesty look at me differently, as his wife.
‘I found out through my spies, just as Your Highness perhaps discovered my current role, that it had been her who had insisted on me being announced the queen. It was too late to establish a relationship with her. We were all entrapped within a set pattern to turn back. But I think I have paid her back now.
‘Anyway, it is not the field that matters but the seed that is sown in it. You, too, are a seed of the Pandyan lineage; if Your Highness had been a coward or a man unfit for the throne, I’m sure the king would not have agreed. So I think you played your part and I played mine.’
Veera could not reply; he had underestimated the queen’s intentions. He was humbled, recognizing the good within her.
It was getting dark when she accompanied him to the doorway. ‘May you serve Meenakshi and her people with all your energy,’ she advised him. After a moment of silence, she added, ‘My son Sundar has much to prove, and in time, he surely will. But there are two things I request in return from Your Highness.’
He nodded in acquiescence. ‘News of this act of mine should not leak out – my son will hate me for it.’ And then she spoke haltingly in a deep voice that sounded different, a voice that didn’t sound like hers. ‘This brings us even, Your Highness. A good deed in turn for another. I now have to return to being a good mother to Sundar. This is a one-time favour, Your Highness, and I expect nothing in return that I have to repay later.’
*
His residence was now guarded by a company of soldiers. When Veera returned, Tara and Radhika were waiting at the foyer. Two servant girls rather sleepily performed the aarti.
Veera looked at his mother. Grey-haired and prematurely aging, she was still serenely beautiful. Tara had found recognition at last through her son. Realizing the sombreness of the occasion, Radhika made Veera and his mother sit together for dinner, a quiet get-together for three very important people in the empire.
When they retired for the night, Veera crashed on his bed – tired, mentally and physically. Radhika sighed. ‘So I will not be making love to a crown prince tonight. I will let that pass but my head will burst if you don’t answer one question.’
‘What?’ he murmured sleepily.
‘Wasn’t it the queen who got you the post?’
Women, Veera wondered as he nodded in agreement and began to snore.
CHAPTER 16
A REBELLION QUELLED
The Rajput king Hammir Dev Chauhan, a descendant of Prithvi Raj Chauhan – the last Hindu king of Delhi – held the impregnable fortress of Ranthambore. Rajputs built their fortresses on the highest of mountain peaks where men of other races would suffer perpetual vertigo. They sometimes linked three or four peaks with large stone walls creating a cavity in between, the basin serving as a giant rainwater cistern for the besieged to grow their crops. In military terms, it meant they could endure a siege forever.
Ranthambore was not of any strategic importance. Alauddin could easily skirt the fortress; for him, it was just another lofty mountain with a fortress at its top. However, the Mongol generals who had deserted the Gujarat campaign had taken refuge with Hammir Dev. Not able to lay his hands on them, Alauddin had punished their wives and children. He could not wait to take revenge on the men themselves, but his correspondence with the Rana had been met with a stony silence. Alauddin could almost hear the echo of their laughter from within the mountain fortress. He entrusted the job of silencing their laughter to Ulugh and Nusrat Khan, along with fifteen thousand regulars and three thousand horsemen. Their combined forces were now assembled at the base of the mountain.
Security had been slackened, for the enemy was believed to be a long distance away. And that led to the undoing of Nusrat. Whether it was a lucky shot or the skill of a well-versed marksman, nobody found out. But it was the end of an illustrious career. Nusrat had no time to see the well-rounded stone that had been projected from a sling high above from the fort’s ramparts, but he definitely heard the thud on his skull – the last sound he heard. It was almost ridiculous. Nusrat Khan, who had survived a variety of menacing weapons his adversaries had wielded, had been killed by a well-aimed stone.
After long deliberations, Malik was finally chosen to give the bad news to Alauddin. The Sultan visibly reeled from the shock. He had lost a second general – after Zafar. He whispered hoarsely, ‘Nusrat has gone, what will I do now?’ Leaning on Malik, he recited the Fatiha for his general, then decided to leave for Ranthambore himself. To Malik, the news that they were to travel was like a breath of fresh air. Several months had passed with him toiling aimlessly in the harem and nothing much to do.
Alauddin ordered his army to be readied for the trek into the desert. Advance parties left immediately to create outposts to prepare for the army’s movements, setting up camps at pre-arranged places near water and food resources, and burying jars of water where no wells were present. The twenty-five thousand strong army and the Sultan’s retinue left Delhi at the onset of spring. Like an overweight woman, Alauddin’s army straggled under its load and moved slowly towards the fortress. They were in no haste. The siege at Ranthambore had dragged on for more than a year now without any result. As the entourage moved, Alauddin’s anguish slowly disappeared. He began smiling and people wer
e no longer uncomfortable in his presence. As news of his lighter mood spread throughout the camp, the retinue took time off to loosen up and songs could be heard around bonfires at night.
On the seventeenth day of the march, the forces camped at Tilpet, a Rajput town. Set in the foothills, rainwater had always trickled towards the valley and had encouraged a dense forest to grow around the town. As the army marched closer, the welcome smell of fertile earth greeted them. The advance party had done its work well. Having seen the dust storm kicked up by the approaching army, they had collected the required fodder and water and stored vast quantities of food. The slaves had done a remarkable job setting up residential quarters for the nobles and harem tents had been as tastefully decorated as was possible in an hour’s time.
Alauddin’s personal harem of forty wives and concubines and slave girls was under the charge of Malik. The forty women would suffice for the campaign if rotated properly in the Sultan’s bed, but Malik had to calculate well. God forbid seeking a girl from the local territories for the Sultan; local girls were okay for the foot soldiers, but the Sultan needed women who had been trained in the subtle art of gentle lovemaking.
Once the camp had been set up, preparations for a hunt were made. Dense forests alternated with grasslands at Tilpet and excellent game was available throughout the year. Messengers from Ranthambore had told the Sultan there had been absolutely no change in the siege situation, so after that it was easy for Alauddin to declare a hunt.
On previous occasions, he had hunted from horseback and on foot. Chasing big cats by following their spoors, he had speared them from a distance often considered unsafe. The animals’ skins had been stuffed and now ornamented his palace rooms as proof of his bravery. But things had changed since then. A life of laziness had vanquished the energetic monarch, who could not chase his quarry any more; he would not hunt at all if he had to exert himself physically. But the landscape of Tilpet offered a better solution – he could have the game driven towards him.
Gods, Kings & Slaves: The Siege of Madurai Page 26