Sugandhi Alias Andal Devanayaki

by T. D. Ramakrishnan

  When I reached home, my parents behaved as if they didn’t know me at all. They said they no longer had a daughter and asked me to leave. Even my mother, who had begged my abductors for mercy, had changed. My activist friends refused to help me because they were scared. After my experience, many of them gave up their activism. I later found out that the Lion had either misled or threatened them. Finally, I had to go back to the Lion with my two-month-old baby to beg for help. I was comforted by the thought that my baby was his. He took great pleasure in my pain and helplessness. ‘Pattavesi! This is your punishment. You must never open your mouth against the military or the government.’

  I begged for pardon. He didn’t say that he had forgiven me. But his henchmen took me to a small house. A woman was living there with her two-year-old child. She, who had lost her ability to speak for a while during the torture, understood everything as soon as she saw me. She looked after me and my baby, giving him to me only when it was time for me to feed him. I called her Akka and she addressed me as Nanki. Though the Lion never came to meet us, he took care of all our financial needs. But I felt revolted because I was living off a man whom I despised. I wanted to resume work and continue with my research in the department of archaeology. But they had dismissed me from service for being absent without notice.

  Only the Lion could help me in this predicament as he had placed severe restraints on me, forbidding me from going out or meeting people. I told the Lion’s henchmen that I wanted to meet him. Luckily, he agreed to meet me in a secret place. He told me that I shouldn’t bring my son. I had to wait for hours in the room. When he finally arrived, nothing had changed: the word ‘pattavesi’, his fat ugly arms around me and the stench of his sweat. I only smiled when he said, ‘I think you see now that rape and impregnation are the best ways to enslave a woman completely.’ He really fell for it when I told him that I had been longing to see him. As I was the one in need and had nothing to lose, I submitted to all his perversions and made him happy. I benefited from that. In the morning, he complimented me by saying that my looks had improved since childbirth and told me to get in touch with him if I needed anything.

  ‘Are you going to start your activism again?’

  ‘No, never. I like archaeology. I want to complete my work in that area.’

  ‘Let me see. But if you tell anyone, including your son, about your punishment – remember, I will kill you and throw your body into the sea. And, pattavesi, come back if you need sex.’

  He kissed me on both cheeks before he left. He gave me a large sum of money. A little while later, I was taken home in a chauffeur-driven car. I laughed at the irony of arriving in a tuk-tuk and leaving in style. The henchmen started addressing me as ‘madam’. I went to a supermarket and spent lavishly. I also visited a beauty parlour before going home. I bought gifts for Akka and the children. But she spat at me in disgust. She was an admirer of Rohana Wijeweera.

  Within a week, all the difficulties regarding my job disappeared. One of the Lion’s men informed me that I could join duty the next day. He had also arranged a car and a flat for me. A driver was sent to keep an eye on all my activities. Akka refused to come with me. Lured by the thought of comfort, I left her and took my son with me to start a new life in the flat. At the office, I realized that my absence of one-and-a-half years had been treated as special leave, and that I had been transferred with promotion. That was how I became the assistant director of the Sigiriya Heritage Foundation at a very young age. I was slandered but, funnily enough, no one spoke about my association with the Lion. Nobody imagined that the military general would have any interest in the archaeological department. I went to meet the Lion three or four times after that. As he had found a new prey by then, his interest in me had waned. He called sometimes to threaten me with death if I dared to speak out. He would crack ribald jokes about his prey. When he called last week, he spoke about Poomani Selvanayagam.

  You might be wondering why a stranger is telling you the story of her life. What I am about to say doesn’t require a lengthy foreword. But the joy I feel at the Lion’s death prompted me to write about all this. For thirteen years, I was silent. But I also have to tell you something else.

  The colonel’s wife, Anuradha, is a close friend of mine. We were neighbours in Colombo. She tried to protect me from the Lion’s trap. But my foolishness led me to disaster. She gave me your email address. She told me all about your movie project. She also told me that, while the white guy cavorts with his girl, you look at her with eyes full of longing. Her response when I asked why you didn’t hire a female assistant prompted me to mail you. She said you are searching for a friend called Sugandhi or Andal Devanayaki. When she told me you had travelled centuries back in your hunt, I was amazed. The name Andal Devanayaki attracted me. I too have been looking for this Andal Devanayaki. She is said to have lived a century ago. In 2009, after the end of the civil war, the Sri Lankan government had entrusted the archaeology department with a top-secret project. We had been asked to scientifically establish that Sri Lankan history was exactly as narrated in the legends of the Mahavamsa, Culavamsa and Dipavamsa. That is why the archaeological department started digging at certain locations. It is an effort to prove that Buddhist temples and Sinhalese culture have been in existence for over two thousand years. The search is easy, because we know beforehand what we are supposed to find. The archaeology department has a collection of artefacts found by European archaeologists from heritage sites like Anuradhapura and Sigiriya. Some of the minor artefacts from among these will be deposited in chosen sites and later discovered with great fanfare. We see it as political manipulation. As authorized Sri Lankan history itself is the product of great political manipulation, nobody considers this wrong.

  But certain positive developments have occurred. In the third month after rejoining work in 2002, I was able to retrieve an ancient palm-leaf manuscript written in the Pali language. I found it seven kilometres from Sigiriya, in a village inhabited by the Vedar community. They conduct some strange rituals based on this palm-leaf script. It is said that these rituals allow you to communicate with the dead and that they can be used to make spirits obey your commands. A Tamil Buddhist monk, Sree Vallabha Buddhanar, wrote this thousand-year-old text titled, Susaana Supina or The Burial Ground of Dreams. The heroine of this narrative is Andal Devanayaki. I am familiar with the ancient Pali script, so I could understand it easily. I wrote an article on that text. But further research yielded no results. It was then that Anuradha told me about you. If you are willing to cooperate, please reply.

  I replied immediately.

  Dear Archaeologist,

  Have you read the novel, Cemetery of Dreams, by the Iranian writer, S. Mostofi? He lives in the US now. It’s not a work of great creativity. It’s a thriller based on the US hostage crisis in Iran. Quite readable. But there are certain common points that the novel shares with the realities of your country. I’m not an archaeologist like you, but it is possible that we can be friends.

  What your friend told you about me is not completely true. I’m not sexually frustrated. She might have been voicing her own desires.

  I’m eager to know what you have discovered about Andal Devanayaki. I am happy to tell you what I know about her. But I don’t like this game of hide-and-seek that you are playing with me. As the Lion has been cremated, who do you fear now? Plan a trip to Jaffna. You can also meet your friend.

  12

  I was very eager to learn more about the Susaana Supina that the archaeologist had told me about. But she never replied. Luckily, a friend, Gayathri Perera, came to my rescue. Gayathri, who was the daughter of the famous Sinhalese novelist, Karunaratne Perera, had been my classmate at the Film Institute where I had learnt to use the camera. She now worked in Colombo with an NGO called HOPE. She also made documentaries for Al Jazeera. As she was close to the murdered Lasantha Wickrematunge, editor of The Sunday Leader, the Rajapaksa government kept a close watch on her activities. She requested us to participate
in a campaign organized by human rights activists against the Galle Literary Festival.

  ‘Hi Peter! Are you still in Colombo?’

  ‘No, I’m in Jaffna.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘The same project, the movie on Rajini Thiranagama.’

  ‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? And you come from John Abraham’s land. Isn’t it better to commit suicide rather than produce a movie with Rajapaksa’s alms?’

  ‘This is not a government production. They are only supporting us. A Hollywood company is producing the movie.’

  ‘No, don’t try to tell me that. Don’t justify yourself. Anyway, it’s up to you. I know it’s not something I should tell you now, but I called thinking of my old buddy Peter. We have started an online campaign against the Galle Literary Festival. We are requesting writers around the world to not participate in it, as a protest against the terrible human rights violations and repression of self-expression in Sri Lanka. The campaign was started by HOPE and Reporters Sans Frontiers, an outfit based in France. Many eminent writers including Noam Chomsky, Arundhati Roy and Orhan Pamuk have declared their support. You too should support us.’

  ‘Gayathri, in this situation? And I’m not a great writer either.’

  ‘Come on. Don’t you realize that if you get involved in such projects, you will have to sacrifice your individuality? When are you coming back to Colombo? I want to see you alone, without that casino girl.’

  ‘Hopefully next week. I’ll call you as soon as I get there. But tell me, have you heard of the Susaana Supina?’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The Susaana Supina.’

  ‘I’ve heard of it. But I can’t remember where.’

  ‘It’s an old palm-leaf manuscript recently unearthed at Sigiriya.’

  ‘Oh! I had read an article about it. But more interesting is the story written by Meenakshi Rajarathinam in Bambarayak, a Sinhalese magazine. It fills in some gaps in the history of the Sinhalese race. I can send you a link to the magazine’s website. It is the Sinhalese translation of a Tamil story. You can also read the Tamil version online.’

  She sent me the link immediately. When I clicked the Tamil page, a green-and-red top started spinning. The same top my mother had given me to stop my questions about my father. Unable to bear the painful memories that the spinning top was leading me to, I wondered whether I should shut my laptop. And then the inevitable happened.

  The Story of Devanayaki – Part II

  By Meenakshi Rajarathinam

  It took me more than three months to read the Susaana Supina found in Sigiriya. Though I had to stay in Sigiriya, a friend working at the heritage site made arrangements for me to read the book in peace. I wish I could translate Sree Vallabha Buddhanar’s entire book into English. But it will take a long time. For the time being, I think I should complete Devanayaki’s story based on the available details.

  The first part of the story ended when Rajaraja Chola conquered Kanthalur Salai. In many legends associated with Kanthalur, and in Poomani Pananaar’s ‘Kanthalur Pattu’, Devanayaki does not commit suicide, nor does she escape from Kanthalur. She joyfully leads the victorious Rajaraja to her bedchamber. We might wonder how Devanayaki, who considered Mahendravarman to be her Lord Padmanabha, could do this. Sree Vallabha Buddhanar begins his Susaana Supina by raising this doubt. How could a woman forget the man she loved so easily and lead his enemy to her bedroom? How could she feel passion when the arms stained with her husband’s blood encircled her? How could she open the windows of her mind and body to him? Buddhanar himself answers these questions in one sentence: ‘A woman is like a river. A river that wants to flow.’ I am not sure what he means by this.

  When the Chola army marched into Kanthalur after having killed Mahendravarman and thrown his body into the sea, Devanayaki and Parvathy were the only women left in the palace. The rest of them had been captured while they were trying to escape through underground routes. Kanthalur tradition demanded that the victor, whoever he might be, should be greeted with respect. Those who do not have the strength of mind to do so, try to escape. ‘Don’t worry. The victor owns both the land and the women.’ Though Queen Parvathy said that they would welcome the emperor in accordance to tradition, they didn’t know anything about him. Devanayaki had wanted to meet the emperor ever since she had heard that his stern demeanour hid a loving heart. Though life at the palace was luxurious, Devanayaki had been getting tired of it. The main reason was that Mahendravarman had begun to tire of her when he realized that she too could not bear him a son. He was also much older than her.

  It was Queen Parvathy who welcomed the emperor with ceremony. Devanayaki merely helped her. But the emperor had eyes only for Devanayaki. Realizing this, she tried her best to attract him. The Chola army beat drums and rejoiced. The emperor felt that it was all a joke. When he remembered that he had given orders to his lieutenants to stop the queens from leaping into the fire, he could not contain his laughter. He had expected a group of women pleading for their lives and their chastity.

  ‘This is a surprise. This is the first time that I’ve been received like this in a palace I’ve conquered. Was your ruler that bad?’

  ‘Well … this is … the tradition in … Kanthalur…’

  As Queen Parvathy fumbled for words, Devanayaki explained, ‘It is because our ruler was such a good man that we receive you in this manner. He insisted that we should not break with tradition, come what may. That is the way of Kanthalur.’

  ‘Then where are the others? I see only the queen mother and her daughter. Don’t the rest of them believe in these traditions?’

  Queen Parvathy’s face fell when she heard herself being addressed as the queen mother. Devanayaki, on the other hand, felt happy. Now there was no need to compete with Parvathy. She smiled enticingly at the emperor. ‘This is the tradition. Only the queens have the right to do this. Poomani Pananaar’s song says that the winner owns the land and the women, and that he must be welcomed with lit lamps and a vermillion mark on his forehead. It is because this is your first military victory that you are surprised.’

  The emperor was impressed by the sarcasm in her words. ‘She knows that this is my first victory. She looks beautiful too. She must be Devanayaki, who was said to be helping Mahendravarman in administration and defence, or she would not speak so boldly.’

  ‘Are you Devanayaki?’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

  ‘I’ve heard a lot about you. You must join me for dinner, and afterwards too. Don’t trouble the queen mother. Let her sleep early.’

  The Chola military commanders celebrated all night with song and dance. Kantha flowed like a gushing river. They ravaged the beautiful women of Kanthalur. Those who resisted were killed and thrown into the sea, and those who obeyed helplessly were mocked and tortured. During this time, the second line of the military was looting and setting fire to the town. Lured by Devanayaki, the emperor hastened to the palace, spending only a little time with his commandants.

  The army inspected every nook and corner of the palace carefully. They prepared the food. Realizing that she had nothing much to do, Queen Parvathy went to bed early, leaving Devanayaki to handle everything. Devanayaki respectfully invited the emperor inside.

  ‘Can I trust you?’

  ‘If you can trust the sun, you can trust me too.’

  ‘My gurus have advised me not to trust the enemy’s women, and not to eat the food they serve.’

  ‘But I’m not the enemy now.’

  ‘How can I trust you? I’ve heard that the women of the Chera empire are very clever and that they hide swords, knives and poison in their clothes.’

  ‘Your cooks prepared the dinner. I have only love and respect for you. You can search me to see if I have any weapons or poison on me.’

  Asking the soldiers to leave, the emperor approached Devanayaki. Devanayaki bowed her head coyly. The emperor stood still for a moment, lost in her mesmerizing beauty.

  ‘Please
don’t misunderstand me, Your Highness. I don’t have a sword or a knife.’ She started removing her jewellery and garments. He stopped her. The emperor trusted her completely. She dressed and served him food.

  ‘Your Highness, how do you govern the territories you conquer?’

  ‘We don’t carry any unnecessary burden. We take the gold, the precious stones and the weapons we seize back to Thanjavur. We also take elephants, horses and intelligent girls like you. Before we leave, we burn the city.’

  ‘A good king like you should not do such things. People will consider you a thief.’

  ‘But they are not my subjects.’

  ‘After you won the war against Mahendravarman, you became our king. The people here are your subjects, including me. It is your responsibility to ensure our happiness.’

  He felt that she was right. ‘Why did I never think in this manner?’ Most of her questions were related to governance and military affairs. He was pleased when he realized that she was quite knowledgeable in these matters. He felt that he could achieve a lot if he had someone like her by his side. The ministers he had appointed only agreed to everything he said and never asked any questions. ‘You are asking many important questions. But first, let me ensure your well-being.’