The Rise of Sivagami : Book 1 of Baahubali - Before the Beginning

by Anand Neelakantan

  After taking a few steps, Uthanga turned around. ‘If she is the lover of the prince, why is she staying in an orphanage?’ Uthanga said, eyeing Sivagami suspiciously. Sivagami’s face flushed. These people had no business spreading such rumours. She was no one’s lover. She had to tell Kamakshi as soon as they were alone.

  ‘Small people should not concern themselves with big things. Run, you devil, and do what I said or this Akka will get your hide whipped tonight.’

  They followed him up the spiral staircase, which creaked with every step. They could see Revamma on the other side of the courtyard with a group of boys and girls. The prince has been mobbed, Sivagami thought. They entered Kamakshi’s room. Uthanga had already piled up old rags and soiled clothes in a corner and moved a cot to one side. He was on his haunches, sweeping, and Sivagami’s bundle was on the floor.

  ‘Not exactly a chamber befitting the lover of the prince, but still…’ Kamakshi said.

  ‘Will you please stop calling me his lover? I am not anyone’s lover. I just met him,’ Sivagami said. From under the cot, Uthanga crawled out holding a squealing mouse by its tail. He started walking out of the room.

  ‘Hey, where are you going?’ exclaimed Kamakshi, grabbing the boy.

  ‘She is not the prince’s lover. I heard her say so. Leave me, bitch,’ Uthanga said, trying to wriggle out of Kamakshi’s grip.

  ‘You will do as I say, you devil.’ As soon as Kamakshi had said this the boy threw the mouse at her face. She screamed and jumped up on her cot. The boy attempted to make a dash for it but stumbled on the bundle and fell on his face. Sivagami rushed to help him up.

  The boy got up, and Sivagami was petrified to see that he was holding her father’s manuscript. For a moment the boy stared at it and Sivagami’s face in turn. She tried to take it from his hand, but he moved away.

  ‘Ooo, ooooo, what is this? Witchcraft?’ he cried. Sivagami tried to grab the book, but the boy ran out of the room with the manuscript. He ran through the corridor and Sivagami pursued him. She lunged at him. The boy was at the edge of the spiral staircase and, in a bid to evade her, he lurched forward. He suddenly lost his footing, and Sivagami could only watch in helpless horror as he tumbled down the staircase, hitting his head many times. She screamed. The boy was sprawled on the floor. Blood was oozing from his head, and he was not moving. Her manuscript lay a few feet away. She could hear screams and cries from the other wing. They had heard the sound of the boy falling or perhaps her scream. She could hear people running from the other side.

  The manuscript! Her heart was in her throat. With all other thoughts blocked out, she stumbled down the stairs, half-falling, half-jumping, and reached an eye-batting moment before the others had crowded around them. She snatched the manuscript and shoved it in the folds of her breast-cloth. By that time, everyone had reached.

  ‘Ayyo, ayyo, the boy is dead,’ Revamma beat her head with both her hands. There were angry murmurs.

  ‘I saw her pushing him,’ a gruff voice said, and Sivagami raised her head. Her eyes were bleary and she could barely make out his face.

  ‘No, he fell down, and in fact she tried to save him,’ Sivagami heard Kamakshi’s voice from behind.

  No, Kamakshi, I killed him, she wanted to scream. She bit her lips, trying not to cry, but the guilt overwhelmed her. ‘Ma Gauri, what I have done, what I have done,’ she mumbled, without expecting an answer.

  An argument broke out between Kamakshi and the other boy, while the other residents too joined in with raised voices. Revamma was crying hysterically. Sivagami felt numb. How could she have done it, she asked herself again and again.

  ‘He is not dead. He is breathing.’ At first, she did not comprehend what she heard. She vaguely recognized Prince Mahadeva’s voice. Through her tears, she saw the prince wiping the blood from the orphan’s face with his silk angavastra. He put his head on the boy’s chest and said, ‘I hear heartbeats. If we take him to the rajavaidya, we could save him. Do you have a cart?’

  Revamma hesitated. Her husband might have taken the official cart to some whorehouse.

  Without a word, the prince lifted the boy onto his shoulders. Revamma cried, ‘Your Highness, one of the boys will carry him. Don’t soil your royal clothes. He is just an orphan.’

  But Mahadeva ignored her and Sivagami watched as he left the orphanage gate carrying the limp body of the boy on his shoulders. At the gate, he turned back and caught Sivagami’s gaze. It sent a shudder down her spine. Did he know she had done it? She sat on the floor, her knees no longer strong enough to support the heaviness she felt.

  ‘Others might believe he fell but I know you pushed him. This Thondaka knows. You will pay for it, bitch.’ Sivagami saw that it was the same boy who had first accused her. Yes, it was me who did it, she wanted to scream. Punish me, she wanted to cry, but Kamakshi’s hands squeezed her shoulders.

  ‘Don’t spread lies, Thondaka,’ Kamakshi yelled at him.

  ‘He was my little friend, and if he dies, you better count your days,’ Thondaka hissed in her ears and hurried to follow the prince. Sivagami sat without moving, her face buried in her hands.

  ‘It was just an accident,’ Kamakshi said. Sivagami shook her head in denial. She had killed the boy. How was she going to live with the guilt? ‘Oh Amma Gauri, let the boy live, let him be all right,’ Sivagami prayed, covering her face, bereft of any courage to face the world. The manuscript felt heavy in her breast, the guilt in her heart was heavier. The orphanage was eerily silent except for the heavy breathing of Kamakshi sitting next to her.

  FOURTEEN

  Kattappa

  The palanquin followed the path by the river, but the terrain had become hillier near the shores. Shrubs looked like dark patches in the moonlight. Trees rose on either side, muffling the roar of the river. They were climbing up a hill. Kattappa sighed in relief. That had been a close shave with Prince Mahadeva. Keki turned and saw Bijjala bathed in sweat. She leaned, deliberately brushing her breasts against Kattappa’s face, and patted the prince, ‘Believe me, my lord, this trip is worth all perils. By tomorrow, you will be thanking this poor eunuch and showering her with pearls and diamonds.’

  As she leaned back, she winked at Kattappa. ‘Blackie,’ she whispered in Kattappa’s ears, licking his earlobe. ‘What is the one thing you would want to do before you die?’

  Kattappa snapped alert, and drew half his sword out of the scabbard.

  ‘Easy, slave boy, easy,’ Keki said. ‘It was just a question. There are black girls too in our den. We are going to see how well your little one can perform.’ Keki grabbed Kattappa’s manhood and, reflexively, Kattappa’s elbow jerked outwards, catching Keki’s face, cracking open her lips. The palanquin shook and Bijjala hit his head on its roof.

  ‘You bloody slave,’ Bijjala cried.

  Keki wiped the blood from her lips with the back of her hand and said, ‘It was my mistake, Prince. This blackie is too handsome. Poor Keki lost control.’

  Kattappa held on tight to the hilt of his sword and looked straight ahead. The palanquin swayed and creaked. The voices collectively singing ‘Ho-ho-ho-ho’ was the only sound other than the faint rush of River Mahishmathi. The prince was silent until Keki held out a horn. A sweet pungent smell filled the palanquin. Bijjala’s eyes widened.

  ‘Aswasakhti—the extract of the best grass from the Gomedaka hills,’ Keki said. ‘A swig of it and even the old fart Parameswara would become a virtuoso in the art of love. The drink of Kamadeva and Rati!’

  With trembling hands Bijjala took it. ‘For me?’ he asked like a child who had just got his first toy. Keki smiled. Kattappa considered grabbing the horn and flinging it into the river. The prince smelled it and emptied the contents of the horn into his mouth. The blood-curdling scream that followed scared everything around, with squeaking birds flying away from the bushes on either side of the road. The palanquin jerked and stopped.

  ‘You are trying to kill me,’ Bijjala cried, his tongue hanging out. He fa
nned it with his hands.

  Keki howled in laughter. ‘You should take a sip at a time, my lord. But I admire you. A whole horn of gold water in a single swig! That would have knocked down an elephant. Kalika’s girls are in for a treat; they will be swooning over you and will have great stories to relate in the morning. A man who can take a swig of Aswasakhti in one swig is a man more powerful than a horse,’ she said, and ran her tongue over her dark lips.

  ‘I am stronger than a horse,’ Bijjala said, slurring his words. ‘I am sorry, hic. Two horses.’ The prince laughed and held up three fingers in front of Keki’s face. He grinned and counted aloud, ‘One, two, and three. How many elephants did I say, Keki dear?’

  ‘Only two, my lord. And you said horses, not elephants.’

  ‘Oh did I? I hope you won’t hold it against me, Keki. Hic.’ Bijjala folded one finger. ‘Now are you happy? The arithmetic is right? Have you got more of that stuff, Keki darling?’ The prince reached and caressed Keki’s smooth cheeks. Keki kissed Bijjala’s hands and handed over another horn.

  ‘Anything for my prince, but let me warn you, my lord, it is stronger than the previous one.’

  Bijjala snatched it and emptied it before Kattappa could even blink. The prince was now howling with laughter and he slapped Kattappa’s back in jest. ‘You are such a sweet black dog. A stinking dog, but my dog,’ Bijjala said, and howled in appreciation of his own joke.

  Keki said, ‘Wait till we reach Kalika’s den. You can swim in gold water there.’

  ‘Swim?’

  ‘Yes, swim; that too with naked apsaras.’

  ‘In gold water?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘With apsaras?’

  ‘Indeed, my lord.’

  ‘And they’d be naked?’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’

  ‘Oh, how sweet,’ Bijjala slurred before he fell unconscious. The palanquin swayed on. They turned from the river path and were now climbing a hill, and the carriers were panting with the effort. Kattappa wiped the drool from Bijjala’s mouth. Things were going awry and Kattappa wished he knew what he should do. Every nerve in his body was becoming taut, warning him of impending danger.

  Far away, through the curtains, he could see a faint glow of lights on the hilltop. Strains and sounds of music and laughter filtered through the woods. Kattappa felt Keki staring at him. He could feel her breath on his neck. Kattappa turned his head suddenly and found Keki’s face very near his own. Her pouting mouth opened to a wicked grin, sending a chill down his spine. Kattappa sat like a statue. Bijjala was snoring on his shoulders. To add to Kattappa’s woes, he kept worrying about his brother. He had to go in search of him and bring him back.

  Finally the palanquin stopped and Keki pulled back the curtains. She jumped out and stretched herself. Kattappa took some time to wake Bijjala up and help him out of the palanquin.

  The prince grinned like a fool and put his hand around Kattappa’s shoulders as if he were his bosom friend and not a slave. Kattappa prayed that no one would witness the travesty. He could get whipped for it in the morrow.

  When they turned towards the street leading to Kalika’s den, they found it congested with chariots and palanquins, haphazardly parked. Sounds of merriment—the cacophony of thakil drums and nagaswara mixed with mrudangam and ghatam, whistles and catcalls, shrieks and laughter—grew louder as they entered the street. Kattappa could see the tavern was guarded like the fort of a king. Even though it was more than a thousand feet away, he could spot at least a dozen sentries at the gate at the far end of the street. He noticed many more guards with spears stationed in the ramparts above the high wall. Shops selling herbs, scented oils, silk clothes and cheap brewed liquor lined either side of the road. The street was crowded with servants of noblemen, charioteers, cart men and palanquin men shopping for themselves or their masters. Buxom women with painted faces sat in the balconies while their pimps called out for patrons. They shouted out the expertise of their wards in the art of love from the entrance of the pleasure mansions.

  Bijjala looked around with wonderstruck eyes. A toothless pimp came and caught the prince’s hand. ‘Come in, swami, come to the palace of Mohini. Lovely girls with breasts like mangoes and nipples like grapes await you.’

  Another man grabbed Kattappa. ‘Sir, come in. Women with black tresses and skin as smooth as a black buck’s, eyes so lustful and lips so delicious—come to the home of Ragini.’

  Keki and her men drove the pimps away, but more kept coming. Pimps ran to advertise their wares and sing about their girls’ physical assets and how they could pleasure each part of their anatomy. A silk scarf fell on Kattappa and he looked up. A girl stood leaning on the balustrade of her balcony. Her breasts were exposed and she shook them at Kattappa. He shuddered at the sight and realized what he was holding was her breast-cloth. He heard a peal of laughter from above and, despite himself felt lustful. It is a sin, it is a city of sin, he kept telling himself.

  Bijjala wanted to enter the first house on the street, but Keki grabbed his hand and pulled him into a mansion on the left.

  ‘This is a secret way, Prince,’ Keki said as they entered a mansion.

  It was dark inside, but Bijjala could see many figures on the floor, or on creaking cots, entwined in various positions of intercourse, slithering, puffing and panting. An animal smell hung in the air. Primal sounds, love calls and grunts, punctuated by shrieks of laughter, all made the place dark as sin.

  ‘This way, this way,’ Keki said, never letting go of Bijjala’s wrists. Kattappa followed, stumbling through the darkness down a narrow corridor. Lamps burned in rooms, and smoke snaked up to thicken and hang under the low ceiling. Each room had a couple in it, some had more than one. Kattappa walked, careful not to look, but there was no escaping the sounds. A girl came running out of a room, chased by a man. She collided with Kattappa and he recoiled when he realized that she was as naked as the day she was born. She giggled at him, but the man who came running behind her hugged her from behind. They fell before Kattappa, laughing and screaming. Before he could react, the man took the girl from behind like a dog. The couple had cut off Kattappa from Bijjala. Kattappa stood frozen, not knowing what to do. The corridor was too narrow to side-step the couple.

  Keki and Bijjala were about to turn into one of the many corridors. Kattappa closed his eyes and stepped over the couple. The girl caught his legs. ‘Come, I want you,’ she cried, reaching for his dhoti. The man slapped her buttocks and she laughed and shrieked with pleasure.

  Kattappa struggled to get out of the girl’s grip. By the time he was free, Bijjala and Keki had vanished. He ran, stumbling down the corridor, ignoring the lewd comments of the girl about his manliness. He saw Keki and Bijjala vanishing into a hole in the wall. He ran and reached the door just before it closed completely. Kattappa forced his arm in to wedge open the door. He could see Keki taking Bijjala down a flight of steps. The door was crushing his arm. He could hear some pulleys being operated by slaves, in all probability hidden in some cavity in the wall. He knew if he gave up, he would be left outside Kalika’s den, and the prince would totally be under Keki’s control. He held on with all his strength, pushing the door back with both his hands and, slowly, he managed to get his shoulder into the gap. That gave him some more leverage to push open the door. He slipped in and rolled down the steps. The door shut behind him with a bang. He saw Keki look back and then hurry along. As he ran down the steps he thought he saw anger flash in the eunuch’s eyes. He reached them just before a door was about to cut Keki and Bijjala off from him.

  ‘You won’t give up, will you? Bastard,’ Keki hissed.

  ‘My place is beside my master,’ Kattappa’s voice echoed in the empty, unlit corridor.

  As the door creaked open, the soft sounds of a veena being played floated out. From the damp, dark corridor that smelt of rat piss, they stepped into dazzling brilliance. The fragrance of exotic perfumes hung in the air. It was a world different from what he had seen
just moments ago. His feet sank into soft carpets. Intricately carved pillars soared high and vanished into darkness many feet above his head. Carved sculptures of couples in coitus, as per various positions described in the Kamasutra, adorned the walls. Pillars had beautiful yakshis carved on them, slim waists, curvy buttocks and round breasts with pointed nipples, holding a lamp on their palms. All the lamps were lit, and in their golden lights, the yakshis looked surprisingly alive and gorgeous.

  At the centre of the hall, there were high cushions arranged on the floor. Gold-plated hookahs were kept near pillows. The pillars around this space had ornate mirrors hanging from them, and the light from the gold-plated peacock lamps placed near them lit up the area, giving it an ethereal glow.

  ‘Devasabha,’ Bijjala swooned.

  ‘Yes, my prince, and apsaras will be here soon,’ Keki said, making him sit on one of the cushions and pushing a hookah near him. Kattappa stood behind Bijjala, drinking in the luxury of the place. Not even the durbar of Mahishmathi looked so glittery. Inlaid jewels in the walls sparkled as flames danced in the breeze that came through jalakas. A foot-tapping rhythm emerged from the mrudanga and Prince Bijjala’s eyes widened in pleasure and surprise. The veena switched to a faster pace and the sound of flutes soared. Bijjala, still half-drunk, started tapping his feet. Kattappa stood impassive, both his hands on the hilt of his sword and his eyes fixed on a dancing flame.

  ‘Where are the apsaras?’ Bijjala asked, in a voice that betrayed impatience and excitement. Keki smiled and clapped her hands above her shoulders. The walls around them split into many panels. For a moment, in rooms behind the walls, there was a glimpse of women dressed in the finest clothes, standing in dancing positions, before the panels rejoined to reflect Keki and the two men again. With each clap of Keki’s hands, panels swung open again, and each time the dancers were in a different pose. Bijjala squealed in pleasure. He joined Keki in clapping their hands and soon the panels started spinning, gathering speed according to the rhythm of the mrudangam. The effect was startling. Bijjala could no longer sit on the beddings on the floor. He ran to one of the dancers, only to find that just before he could reach her, the wall had swung close and another on the opposite side had opened to reveal a different dancer in a more sensuous pose. Bijjala started laughing in excitement. Cussing and swearing, spewing lewd comments, he started running from one closing panel to the next open one. The teasing continued until Bijjala became furious and flung a hookah on a panel that had closed on his face.