‘No.’
‘All right then. Thank you for the help.’
‘Join me for a drink any time, Ayya,’ the drunk shouted, raising his hand in a salute. ‘I enjoy talking to intelligent people!’
As Rama walked away, he looked at the river and sighed. She looked so beautiful and peaceful; if she could be used for evil, anything could!
Six days later, the snake reared its ugly head. A cart carrying the salaries for the municipal employees was expected to arrive in a day or two. Normally it was escorted by ten British soldiers, but this time Rama decided he and his men would accompany the cart into Kumbakonam.
He received word that evening: the cart was nearing Thanjavur. Rama and his men joined the cart outside the district, much to the displeasure of the British soldiers, led by a Captain Randall, who insisted that they go ahead. Rama had to be content with leading the convoy, Nageswaran and his other deputy, a fiercely private individual called Karunakaran beside him, while Captain Randall and his nine men followed, riding alongside the cart.
‘We’re not going to be able to do anything from this distance,’ Karunakaran grumbled. ‘We might as well stay out of sight and see if we can stop them from getting away.’
Rama realized Karuna was right, but couldn’t stomach the idea of allowing the soldiers to get killed. True, he disliked the English, but to let them die? Sadly, he did not have a choice. Turning back to Karuna he said, ‘You’re right! Let’s go.’ And spurring his horse on, he sped away, followed by his deputies.
‘Let’s go towards the hills; we can get on higher ground.’ The hills were on the other side of the highway. They had a clear view of the river from the top.
Suddenly, Vasuki swam into Rama’s field of vision. Even though he had already realized that the snake was really a boat, he could not believe his eyes—it was so life-like! It had ten fearful heads and ten pairs of sinister yellow eyes. Smoke shot out from its nostrils as it swam towards the bank.
‘What is that?’ Nageswaran muttered.
Rama looked at his two deputies—they stood rooted, staring at the snake in the river with wide-eyed disbelief. Below, Captain Randall and his men had stopped in their tracks, awestruck by the sight.
As it reached the bank, a hatch opened on the snake’s back and two men jumped out and charged at the soldiers, swords in both hands. As the battle raged on, another massive figure jumped off the snake: Arunachalam. The soldiers were overwhelmed by the onslaught. Captain Randall tried rallying his men around, shouting words of encouragement, till Arunachalam’s knife silenced him.
Rama spurred his horse to rush to the aid of the beleaguered soldiers. As he sped downhill, he heard Karuna call out and, turning around, saw Nageswaran fleeing in the opposite direction. He didn’t slow down. As soon as he came upon the carnage, he saw the moustached thief, Veerapandi, attacking the hapless cart man. Rama rushed up to him, swinging his sword menacingly. Veerapandi ducked but the blade glanced off his shoulder. He lost his balance, dropping his axe from the pain. Scarcely missing a beat, Rama readjusted his grip on his sword and slashed at the dacoit’s neck. The blade hit home. Veerapandi scrabbled wildly at his neck, trying to stem the blood gushing out of his jugular. Then his eyes widened in shock and he keeled over, dead.
Seeing his accomplice fall, Selvam charged at Rama, brandishing swords in both hands. Rama brought his horse around to face Selvam squarely. From the corner of his eye, he saw Arunachalam moving to flank him. But Karuna rushed at Arunachalam, who braced himself to face the horse and rider. Just as it seemed that the dacoit would be trampled, he swung his axe and buried it deep in the horse’s chest. The animal buckled, throwing Karuna clear over its head.
Meanwhile, Rama had leaped off his horse and landed in front of Selvam. He spent the next few moments dodging the swords’ furious swipes till the dacoit made a fatal error. He paused for a split second to change the grip on one of his swords, his focus shifted, and Rama stepped up and stabbed him in the chest. Selvam fell, mortally wounded. Rama turned around to face Arunachalam, just in time to see him hack at Karuna’s thigh with his axe. The young deputy screamed in agony. Arunachalam threw his head back and gurgled in child-like happiness. He raised his axe to strike again when Rama barrelled into him. The two went down in a tangle of arms and legs.
‘You son of a whore!’ Arunachalam hissed as he got up and raised his axe. ‘You’re finally going to die today. I promise you!’
‘Come on!’ Rama replied calmly, circling the dacoit slowly, his focus unwavering.
Arunachalam charged. Rama stepped forward, ducking just a few inches to avoid the axe on its downward arc. He got on the inside of the swing and jabbed, hitting the other man’s chest. Arunachalam staggered, eyes wide in pain and disbelief. Rama glanced at Karuna, who was desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood from his leg. When he turned his attention back to Arunachalam, he saw that the dacoit had rallied and was preparing to rush at him. Anticipating his move, Rama feinted to the right and, as Arunachalam moved to protect himself, slashed at his left shoulder, making a deep gash. Arunachalam dropped his axe and doubled over in pain.
Rama ran over to Karuna and took him in his arms, comforting him, telling him again and again that everything would be all right. He hauled Karuna onto the cart, then bound up Arunachalam’s hands and legs and roughly bundled him in as well. He went around the battlefield, quickly checking the status of the fallen soldiers—all but two were dead. Rama had absolutely no time to lose. He lugged the inert forms into the cart, tied his own horse to the back and taking the reins, set off at a gallop.
The drive to the hospital was the fastest Rama had ever accomplished. He knew Karuna and Arunachalam had both lost a lot of blood and he didn’t want either of them to die. He had to find out who had financed Arunachalam’s operation and the motive behind it. As for the soldiers, he doubted if they would make it.
When they arrived at the hospital, Rama jumped off the cart and rushed inside shouting for help. Orderlies arrived and quickly bore away the injured.
Moments later, Nageswaran rode into the hospital yard. He pulled up when he saw his superior and quickly dismounted. Rama looked levelly at his deputy for a long time. Then he said, ‘I need you to ride over to Madras first thing in the morning. The governor owes me some money, again.’
four
Two boys ran against the wind. Rama, slim and fair, quite tall for his age; the other, Mohan, shorter, curly haired, was more robustly built, though not as fair as Rama. The boys were about twelve years old and were racing up the slope to cheer their village in their battle against Haider Ali’s men.
Mohan’s father was on the battlefield, fighting for the village. Rama’s father, on the other hand, would never scrimmage with other men. He was a Dikshitar, the temple’s head priest, guardian of a proud heritage.
Rama, however, was beginning to understand that he did not want to be a part of that heritage. The idea of priesthood did not interest him in the least. He was more inclined towards the work that Kandasamy, Mohan’s father, did. Kandasamy was the village blacksmith and one of the town’s best sword-fighters. Rama, fascinated with weapons, had spent a lot of time since childhood with him, learning the art of sword-fighting. He also learnt to use the axe and bow with great precision, and mastered kallaripayattu, the local martial art form.
When Rama was five, a sanyasi known only as Periyavar made the Damar temple his home. No one knew where he had come from, but they did know for certain that he was a very learned man. Quite as a matter of course, Periyavar took over the responsibility of Rama’s education. He had acquired immense knowledge over many years of extensive travel across the subcontinent and he was more than willing to impart it to the young boy as an ongoing series of talks about life, the universe and philosophy in general. He also taught Rama yoga.
One day, when Rama was eleven, he went to the temple to see his teacher. He found that Periyavar had left the previous night, leaving a note for his young pupil.
Please forgive me for not taking your leave, but I did not wish to say goodbye to you. You see, my child, I came to Damar with a purpose which I have achieved now. My hasty departure is prompted by two things: your intelligence, which makes my prolonged stay in Damar inadvisable if you are to develop on your own, and the fact that I have grown much too attached to you.
Rama, you are a phenomenal boy. One of the greatest experiences of my existence has been to watch you grow, and to have had a hand in it gives me a sense of fulfilment; especially when I consider my past failures. It gives me a sense, time and again, of the great balance of Brahman that one small stone can completely tilt the balance of life in a pond, on whatever scale it may be. Remember that, my son, and please always remember me as your guru.
At first, Rama had been hurt but he read the letter again and understood fully what his guru had to say.
He had continued practising sword fighting and kalaripayattu, but his interest in these disciplines was purely academic. His parents would never let him take part in anything that wasn’t strictly ‘Brahmanical’, which excluded everything other than shlokas and studying. Rama had, however, found allies in his grandmother and his guru, who had convinced his parents to allow him to pursue his interests as long as he didn’t compete.
The two boys reached the top of the hill. The sight that greeted them was one being played across many parts of the country. The geographical entity now called India had been largely peaceful. While the north had faced much of the brunt of the invading Mughal armies which controlled that entire region, the south had remained largely free of strife. But with the advent of the British, violence found a place in their lives. Sandwiched as they were between the Mughals in the north and west and the British in the south and east, Damar was the site of many battles, and still they resisted.
The present battle was between an advance party sent by Haider Ali, the ruler of Mysore, and the people of Damar. The patrol wanted to take over the food supplies of the town to feed the hungry army. Haider Ali was marching on the fort of Madras, having successfully ended Smith’s siege of Bangalore. The band of forty soldiers, though heavily outnumbered, was holding its own despite heavy losses, largely due to its superior artillery.
Periamma, the village chief, stood at a distance, surveying the battlefield. She sensed the two speeding boys approach. Without turning around, she said, ‘There you are, my child! I was wondering when you would arrive.’
‘Mohan keeps slowing me down, Paati. How long have you been here?’ Rama asked his grandmother.
‘Since two hours before dawn; we have been on the lookout for any other parties that might be on the way.’
‘Are we sure this is the only group?’ he asked.
Periamma turned around to face him then. She was a diminutive woman with an oval face and a hawk nose. She was believed, in the village, to possess psychic powers: her large eyes, deep and mysterious, only reinforced this impression. She was an unusual widow, still wearing a parting in her hair and a maroon nine-yard sari. She was over fifty but her dark hair and her carriage belied her age; she looked a spry forty.
‘I’m sure, Rama. I’ve been watching the lands all around, and you know how far I can see.’
‘I know, Paati. Have you eaten yet?’
‘Yes. Raju brought me some idlis about an hour ago. Have you?’
‘Yes, Amma served me those idlis too.’ Suddenly, changing track, he said. ‘Paati, you know I can help out with all these things!’
‘Rama, you are the smartest boy of your age. You will be an adult soon. I can’t take away what’s left of your childhood. I know you are more than ready to help out, but I pray that you won’t have to.’
Rama only shook his head. Though he fully understood the import of what his grandmother was saying, he didn’t enjoy being treated like a child. He said to Periamma, ‘Something should be done about this, Paati. Our own people are killing each other.’
‘And how do you propose we do that?’
‘One way out, Paati, is to unify all the kingdoms.’
‘But, Rama, that’s the way of the despot. A military solution is not the answer. The only way to unify people is with love, not force. Fear has never unified anything, and your war won’t be any better. People will still die. The only way things will end, if ever, will be through compromise, weak and grudgingly made.’
‘Compromise is necessary.’
‘Why Rama? What makes compromise necessary?’
‘Because people are different.’
‘Then what is really necessary is the acceptance of that fact,’ she said. ‘You and I aren’t the same, but we haven’t compromised on anything. We accept, and even like, the differences. We just need to accept that each one has a different set of beliefs, and respect their right to think. Morality and religion should never be forced.’
‘But Paati, doesn’t someone need to control society?’
‘No, but man is the most wretched of all the animals. His history is defined by the greatest problems he faces and not, like other animals, by his successes. Our karma is so soiled by thousands of years of cruelty and misery that all we do is steep ourselves continuously in pain. Laws will always be broken, and law enforcement will always be indispensable, but that isn’t the same as control.
‘I feel a time of great misery coming on. This change of guard, with the British taking over in the north, has only strengthened their position in the south. They’ve gone from being businessmen to prominent landowners and, if all this talk is to be believed, are already ruling half the continent. Those who once ruled will have to get used to being ordinary citizens, and that will create tension everywhere.’
‘What if Haider Ali wins?’
‘He can’t. He’s not a good enough leader, and he has too many enemies within his own kingdom. Those men down there are forced labourers; they don’t fight out of patriotism or ideology.’
Just then a loud cheer went up below. The last surviving soldiers had laid down arms.
‘Ah, it’s over,’ Periamma said, with a satisfied rub of her hands. ‘Let’s go down and talk to these men. It’s a pity they had to lose so many before they surrendered.’
As they made their way downhill, Rama marvelled at how agile his grandmother was. Mohan walked a few steps behind, as always, and stayed silent. Rama hated this system, which degraded his friend only because of his birth, but there was nothing he could do about it. Mohan gently nudged Rama and indicated that there was something he wanted to say.
‘What is it, Mohan?’ Periamma asked.
‘Nothing, Periamma, I was just wondering why the Hindu kingdoms don’t join forces.’
‘There’s no such thing as a Hindu kingdom,’ Periamma said as they reached the village. ‘We aren’t defined by who we worship, but by what we achieve.’
As the villagers made way for their chief, Rama walked into the ring with her. Mohan stayed back with the crowd. Periamma walked up to the defeated soldiers and looked at each of them in turn.
‘You,’ she said, addressing a man who wore a metal band around his left bicep. ‘I presume you are the leader?’
‘Yes, Amma. My name is Prithviraj.’
‘Well, Prithviraj, my men won’t hurt you. But I do need to know if you’re expecting reinforcements? Why did you attack us?’
‘We just defeated Smith at Bangalore. The emperor wants to attack Madras soon, before the British can counter our forces.’
‘And what does our little village have to do with that?’
‘We had orders to seize whatever food you had available. The emperor’s son Tipu is bringing down reinforcements tomorrow, but he won’t attack you—he’s a good person.’
‘Tell me, Prithviraj, do you enjoy working for Haider Ali?
‘He pays us on time,’ he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.
Periamma considered that for a few minutes before she asked him, ‘And what are his plans for Madras?’
‘H
e’s laying siege to the fort.’ He hesitated before continuing. ‘The French are attacking from the south and the sea. Haider Ali has made a pact with Dupleix.’
‘If he wins, we’ll be ruled by Muslims!’ Dhanapal, one of the village’s soldiers, said, echoing the crowd’s sentiments.
Periamma looked at Prithviraj for a few minutes, a vacant expression on her face. Then, as if she suddenly became aware of her surroundings, she shook her head and, turning to Dhanapal, said, ‘Take them outside the village and set them free.’
‘We should kill them, else they’ll return with the rest of their soldiers.’
‘No, they will not. But, even if they do, we can’t kill them now,’ she pointed out, ‘they surrendered to us. But I want to talk to Prithviraj; he will stay back.’
With that, she turned on her heel and walked back towards the village. Dhanapal followed, a surly look on his face as he roughly yanked Prithviraj by the ropes that bound him. When they had reached the door of the panchayat house, Periamma turned to him and said, ‘Stay here. I want to talk to him alone.’
They came out about half an hour later, Periamma preceded by Prithviraj. She instructed Dhanapal, ‘Send some people out to summon all the panchayat members—immediately!’
When the last of the five ‘wise men’ of the village had arrived and was seated in the hall, Periamma stood up and said, ‘Guardians of the village, I have just received some disturbing news. Before I go into the details, there is a secret that only my son and I am aware of, and which I now need to share with you.’
Everyone in the circle nodded in ready acceptance. If Periamma said it was so, then there was no argument.
‘We all know the story behind our temple. It was built by the Devas as a tribute to Shiva and consecrated by Lord Vishnu himself. You know of the immense power of the temple. The truth is, when Adi Shankara received the Sri chakra from Lord Shiva, he brought it to Damar, to my husband’s ancestor, who was priest at this temple, and put him in charge of protecting the wheel. Adi Shankara stressed the enormous power of the chakra and the disaster that would ensue if it fell into the wrong hands.’
The Onus of Karma Page 4