*
When the twin ceremonies of Parakrama’s coronation and his send-off to Lanka were over, the disturbing feeling returned to Veera. In court the following day, he asked his courtiers all of a sudden, ‘What has happened to Sundar?’ He had ceased to think of his brother as a rival to the throne, but a team of spies kept track of his movements. But of late the reports had thinned down. Usually, they would describe how Sundar had been seen in areas bordering the empire. Suffering alternately between torrid temperatures and drenching rain, Sundar and his following had begun to look like mongrels. Veera had always felt strangely satisfied with the tidings. Sundar was guilty of patricide and had lusted for the throne. The only reason he was alive was because of the queen mother.
Surprisingly for Veera, the spies had something new to offer now. His brother had moved to the north, outside the boundaries of the empire, unlike his previous movements, which had predictably taken him into a vassal’s land and then out of it. What business does he have in the north? Veera wondered. Other details from the north came in quick succession. The north seems to have become a sudden hotbed of activity, Veera thought.
The espionage network gave him details of a group of refugees crossing over from Dwarsamudra into Pandyan lands. Veera was perplexed; something was happening in the north that his spies had no idea about. The refugees had been interrogated by the Pandyan governor at the edge of the empire, who told him about the Turkish invaders. Their testimonies corroborated the mercilessness of the invading hordes. The people of Dwarsamudra, protected by their king’s appeasement of the enemy, had escaped, but the fury of the foreigner had turned on people outside Hoysala jurisdiction.
The fugitives who streamed into Madurai were tormented, unhappy souls who had lost their most valuable belongings. Women were entirely without ornaments; perhaps they’d had to sell them to buy food. The governor had been puzzled enough to send their leader to Veera. He had testified that the enemy had come from faraway lands, did not believe in Hindu gods and was avaricious. Veera was bewildered, since no invader from the north had knocked at Madurai’s gates till now. All the battles that had decided the lives of the people in the south were between neighbours. Brothers, uncles and nephews fought each other. Two generations later, their grandsons fought each other. Was a brilliant invader at work or was he just playing on political divisions, pitting one king against another?
Halfway through the night, Veera woke up with a start and sat amidst his ruffled blankets. He had broken into a sweat. In the constant churning of a hundred unrelated thoughts, two had surfaced in his subconscious. The first was that Vikrama had warned him just a month ago. And with Sundar moving north, would he not meet the invader sooner than later? It was evident that Deogiri had entered into a ruinous agreement with the Delhi Sultanate, which gave the Sultan’s army an entry to the south. Deogiri had then aided the invader and others had followed suit. Men and supplies from the new dominions helped the invader move on further.
But surely the invader knew that the Pandyan empire could not be trifled with so easily.
The next morning, however, he wasn’t so sure. The espionage chief told him Sundar had been seen with the invader and gave him the shocking news, ‘They are on their way to Madurai, probably assisted by him.’
Suddenly, the situation seemed to be going out of hand. The threat of an invasion coinciding with his brother’s treachery made Veera’s anxiety almost unbearable. The very idea of spilling royal blood had once filled him with horror. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that he should have chopped off Sundar’s head.
Veera was amazed at Sundar’s incredible persistence. It had been ten years since he had left the throne, and he should have lost any hope of regaining it. Yet he now had another opportunity to interfere in the affairs of Madurai. Veera was struck by the fact that the enemy had a steersman who was the best guide to lead them to the gates of his city.
Sundar knew all the weaknesses that Madurai might have. The defences of the city had not been upgraded, and he knew how to get around the weaknesses in the fortifications. Perhaps without Sundar, Veera had a chance to fight off the invader. But Sundar would acquaint the invader with the chink in the armour – and once the invader was inside the gates, he would grab the crown as a reward. To him, his greatest foe was Veera.
CHAPTER 23
THE ARMY OF BELIEVERS
The Sultanate’s soldiers were resolute in their determination to rid the conquered lands of infidels, destroying every temple and converting every non-believer at the point of a sword. Malik had long ignored this religious zeal, for their fervour was directed towards their enemies.
But now their religious agenda did not fit in with his plans. Malik was worried. He now had Hindu allies and soldiers too, who would be offended at the pillaging under the Islamic banner. Marching on from Dwarsamudra, he had warned his Turkish generals that the temples on the way should be left untouched. His decree was judiciously followed for ten days, and many temples, each greedily eyed by his armies, were left alone with great restraint. That gave Hindu soldiers accompanying him a sense of relief, but it was too good to last forever.
The Sultanate army lost on average ten soldiers every day due to exhaustion, old age or disease. The mullah who accompanied the armies to organize the prayers and perform the last rites for dead soldiers thought Malik’s religious diplomacy would deprive them all of a place in paradise. Amir Abdullah was a short man with a balding pate, his remaining hair as dark as the shadows of the night. His countenance gave away little, considering that he had volunteered to accompany the army to a place where the Islamic sword would cut down heathen cultures and establish the rule of the Caliph. He was upset when temples stood proudly as an Islamic army marched by. The general was not doing his job. Land was not important. A place in heaven was. Amir Abdullah decided that the time was right for him to step in.
*
A temple tower rose above the coconut palms alongside the highway that led them to Madurai. The owners of the houses surrounding the temple seemed to have fallen on hard times, for their homes were desperately in need of repair. But the temple stood out, flawless, the soft glow of granite filling the village. The wooden flag post, clad in copper, stood tall in the courtyard, and surprisingly, the temple doors remained unlocked.
Amir Abdullah was overjoyed. He stood on top of a rock and flung both his arms wide, pointing them towards the heavens. ‘Soldiers of Islam, why do you ignore your duty?’ he began his speech, meant to impassion his fellow believers. ‘Serve the will of Allah. An infidel temple stands here insulting us and yet we pass it by without defiling it, as Allah commands us to.’
A general hum of assent followed his last words.
Amir continued, realizing he had a willing audience, ‘Destroy it, fellow Mussalmans, raze it to the ground and ensure your place in heaven!’ At the mention of a place in heaven, all hell broke loose. The discipline in the ranks collapsed as everybody rushed forward to ensure their place in paradise.
The soldiers from Dwarsamudra stood sullenly aside, looking on coldly and disapprovingly. They had no apprehensions about killing other Hindus, but to defile a temple meant the loss of their caste, and yet they could do nothing about the pillaging.
Sundar sent one of his soldiers to find out why the ranks were breaking up. The ashen-faced man came back with news of the temple being looted and destroyed. Sundar’s head began to spin.
The ensuing pillage continued till the night, and the stillness was broken with the screams of men being slaughtered or a hidden girl being found. It was sickening. Sundar realized his fellow allies weren’t men who just wanted to conquer. They were venomous vermin with the scantiest of respect for the cultures they crushed. He felt nauseated. He had hoped for a chance to return to his capital as a conquering king who had avenged his wrongful unseating, not as an accomplice of a temple looter. He wanted to complain to Malik, but was made to wait for an hour before he was granted an audience.<
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As if to goad Sundar into reacting, Malik simply announced, ‘This is a small incident, Your Highness.’ He was buying time while he pondered over Sundar’s complaint. While Sundar struggled to find words that would not endanger the campaign, Malik broke his infuriating silence, ‘Your advisors have managed to plant some stupid sentiment in your head, Your Highness. A king of your status has little need for such qualms.’
Sundar was confused. What status did he refer to? His royalty, or his dependence on Malik for his future?
Malik finally said, ‘I will attend to the matter. But I may not be able to restrain my companions.’
Malik knew his alliance with Sundar would ultimately break down, but he was hoping to be closer to Madurai when it happened. He realized that if he did anything to placate Sundar and somehow stop the looting of temples, his army might lose its frenzy, which he needed when they finally arrived in Madurai.
*
The land around Chidambaram was dotted with temples amid communities that had spent their lives in peace, so they were badly equipped to defend their villages. Temple after temple began to be looted by the Turks and no lightning came down from heaven to strike them dead. Sundar remembered that he himself had coaxed the monster. He shivered when he thought of the so-called military strategy meetings he’d had with Malik, in which he had described the easiest route to Madurai and the weaknesses of the fort. But then, he had only visualized himself as the king of Madurai. The rattling of the empty pods from the trees above during his exile in the forest would often find its way into his dreams and mimic the pearls of the crown. He would wake up with a start and a void in his heart.
The Turks found Pandyan cities to be abandoned. The local population didn’t offer any serious opposition. Malik just broke open the temple gates, removed the gold and let a few zealots burn the temple.
Sundar’s determination to continue the march with Malik grew weaker. After all, it was his country they were looting. Malik could have stopped them if he wanted to. The breaking point in their relationship came once Malik decided he would raid Chidambaram. There was no reason to touch the temple as it did not fall on the route to Madurai, but Malik knew of the wealth within the coffers of the temple of the dancing god, and he routed his armies accordingly.
When the towers of Chidambaram came into view two days before reaching it, Sundar could sense the excitement within the army.
At a much-delayed meeting, Sundar tried to convince Malik that he would ask the town to surrender and a reasonable gift could be made in lieu of a promise that the temple would not be destroyed. Malik did not give any signs of having heard him, and remained motionless. After a silence that was deafening, he said, ‘I have learnt to withhold promises I have no capacity to honour.’ A snap of his fingers and a soldier immediately appeared inside the tent.
‘You may escort the king to his tent,’ Malik announced. That was the end of the meeting.
Once Sundar left, Malik was slightly perturbed. Ten years of exile had not softened Sundar’s royal spirit. He had to take care not to lose sight of him.
*
The Turkish army moved straight to the towers of Chidambaram.
A black cloud settled down upon Sundar’s mood. Chidambaram was the temple of the Cholas, his maternal ancestors who crowned themselves here. It finally struck him why Malik had chosen Chidambaram as a stopover: to get wealthier and build the confidence of his army. It would be loot without any resistance.
Sundar had been edgy all day. He had disgraced his family time and again. And now he had done business with the devil. A stream of tears arose unashamedly. He felt foolish for his decision to ally with the enemy. He had forfeited his divine right to rule but then it was never too late to redeem himself. The gods would forgive him.
While he was brooding, Sundar suddenly realized he could still make amends. He could still warn Veera well ahead of Malik’s invasion. His resolve grew. To his sullen followers, Sundar seemed to regain his composure. It was clear he had decided what he had to do.
Sundar left in the night. He could not bear seeing Chidambaram being destroyed. He sent one of his lieutenants to warn the Dheekshitars, the family of priests who maintained the temple. He would later discover that the Dheekshitars had escaped the Turks by a hair’s breadth, and taken away the idol of Nataraja to safety. Once freed from the confines of the Turkish camp, Sundar moved southwards.
Malik was woken up when the Turks found Sundar missing. He grimaced, realizing that Sundar had escaped. He’d had a head start, so there was little chance he could be caught. He knew Sundar would probably warn the other villages along the way too. But that would have little impact on the overall objective of the campaign. His escape was diverting at best. Sundar had promised Malik much, but promises were only strands of a cobweb. It would never bind a man.
After a moment of uncertainty, Malik said, ‘We have no further use for him. Who needs a guide on such a well-marked road as this? One just has to follow the temple towers to lead us to Madurai!’
CHAPTER 24
THE PROPHECY COMES TRUE
Tidings of the destruction that had befallen the border areas crept into the capital. Several local governors had sent messages of distress to Madurai; the lands around Kanchi belonged to old Pandyan enemies and the conquered vassals had not been allowed to have an army of more than a few thousand men. They could not engage the Turks in battle, so they refrained from taking out their weapons.
Veera finally realized the danger; he could lose more than just the northern territories if the Turks had their way. Their army was moving like the wind straight to Madurai. No vassal king had arrested its progress, and its superhuman attributes became more menacing the closer it came to the capital. Parakrama’s coronation now seemed like foolish grandeur; the Pandyans had but raised themselves to pedestals of river sand, easily blown away by a mighty wind. Veera wanted to send a team up north to verify the facts, but there was little time for it. They had to prepare themselves. He gave orders for a general war council. Without warning, a great misfortune was about to befall a nation that was already weakened, with a major section of the army still in Lanka.
But with or without Parakrama, Madurai would be easy to take. With his council of ministers, Veera took an inspection of the fort and the bastions which revealed the shortcomings. The city’s weaknesses were reflected in the broken walls, the cracked mortar and the unkempt moats – the word ‘defenceless’ underscored the city’s vulnerability. Vikrama’s words echoed in Veera’s head like a temple bell each time he remembered them. They seemed to be offering the invader the city on a platter, for Madurai had neglected its defence. Nobody had dared attack it for two hundred years and slowly the palisades had collapsed. Veera, too, had concentrated on routine administrative matters, so much so that his soldiers had lost the edge in their military prowess.
Madurai had swelled with migrants. It was like a light that beckoned people who wanted to make a future. Rather than build their huts across the Vaigai and pay through their noses to cross the river by boat every day, they had built their hovels on the land adjoining the fort wall. People had turned a blind eye when a neighbour had borrowed a stone from the fort walls for his house’s foundation. The moat had slowly silted up, and of late, it was being used like a public road to travel around the old town.
Veera had been deceived by the prolonged peace and had let the swords of Madurai rust. He felt the ground slipping from under his feet. Silence fell upon him as the realization dawned. The Turk could not be allowed to come near his city. But how could he do that? City after city had fallen to their power. The Turks were incomparably superior, man for man, to the strength their most formidable military adversaries in the south could summon.
Intercepting them was out of question, too. The most efficient Pandyan armies were across the ocean and if the remaining soldiers fought a battle now and lost, the returning army would be too small in numbers to fight the enemy. They had to be together for maximum
potency.
The generals and the king held a council that could resolve their course of action. To prepare for a siege was absurd, for the city was just not defendable in the current state of affairs. After a short discussion, they proposed that Veera could not remain in the capital to become the vassal of the Turks, but needed to move out before the aggressor set foot in the city. ‘We will harass the invader once the royal family has been secured,’ the generals suggested.
Veera knew a campaign like the Turks’ depended on the will of one single person, and his need to have his ego satisfied served as the driving force of a million men who marched along with him. His spies had conducted the most extensive debriefings of the refugees and had gathered every scrap of information, and had found that man was a general named Malik Kafur.
‘But what of the man himself?’ he questioned his spy, who had just come from the north.
‘He is not a Turk, but looks more like us. He does not have the glassy eyes or the reddish-white complexion of the Turks.’ And with a pause indicating that he was giving some unconfirmed information, the man said, ‘The rumour is he is not a man.’
Perhaps they had already deified him, Veera presumed.
The spy continued, ‘The refugees say the leader of the Turks is a neutered man, a eunuch.’
It was as if a thunderbolt hit Veera, forcing him down on the throne. The whirlwind of memories threw up the words of the oracle he had met with Sunanda. Her words remained as fresh as if they had been uttered the previous day: ‘No man or woman can defeat you, but you will be defeated.’ He had assumed he would be defeated at the hands of a god or by fate. But she had meant a genderless human, a eunuch. He felt a tinge of fear. For the first time he thought of the possibility that he may have to leave Madurai.
*
The invaders were moving faster than expected. Over the week, more refugees had entered Madurai. The loss of their security had imposed its toll on them. But it gave them some hope that Madurai was the last bulwark of Hinduism and would protect them.
Gods, Kings & Slaves: The Siege of Madurai Page 37