A girl had fished out his dhoti from the water and she brought it to him hanging from the edge of her fishing rod. She held it above his head and when he tried to grab it, she raised it higher, out of his reach. Everytime he jumped to try and get hold of it, he had to expose himself, and each attempt was greeted with cries of laughter. Another girl threw a rotten fish that slapped against his back, and soon they were using him for target practice. The oracle Nanjunda sat grinning like a monkey, enjoying the spectacle. Wait till I get you alone, Jeemotha thought as a fish hit his nose. He stood without moving, covering his privates with his tied hands. He would not give them the pleasure of jumping around like a monkey for his dhoti anymore. He debated jumping from the deck, but judging from the swiftness of the current and the gale screaming around the boat, he decided it was better to be naked than dead.
‘What is going on here?’ a voice rose above the din and silence fell. The girl who was teasing Jeemotha with his dhoti, dropped it over his shoulders and ran to join the rest of the women, who were now standing erect. Jeemotha stared at her, trying to look fearsome, trying to imprint her face in his mind.
‘Srimant, please cover yourself. There are young women around,’ Achi Nagamma said in a soft voice that could have belonged to any grandmother.
Jeemotha glared at her. More than anything, he hated her sarcasm. She was addressing him as ‘srimant’, as if he was some frigging highborn, as if he was just a soft-fleshed, dumb boy from some noble family. A sly smile came to his lips. ‘Devi, kindly untie my hands so that I can knot my dhoti.’
‘Why, srimant, you think my girls are incapable of even such a small favour? Hey girls, help the srimant tie his dhoti.’
The girl who had teased him came forward. She removed the dhoti from his shoulders. As she was tying it around his waist, he hissed, ‘Wench, you don’t know what you have done.’ She raised her head and smiled at him. She tugged at the knot of the dhoti to undo it. Jeemotha tried to stop the dhoti from falling down, but to no avail. It coiled around his feet. The deck shook with laughter.
Achi Nagamma thumped her stick and the laughter ceased.
‘Ally?’ Nagamma asked in a stern voice.
‘Pardon, Achi,’ the girl said. She picked up the dhoti and tied it around his waist again. Her fingers brushed his skin as she did so, and he cursed himself for the effect it had on him. This was so demeaning. She moved away with a sly smile playing on her lips. The ship heaved and creaked in the gale, but the storm was easing. The old woman stood with her feet firm on the moving deck, gazing at him. While he, who had been a captain of his ship for more than a dozen years, was finding it difficult to keep balance.
The waterfalls that streaked their way through the dense jungles of Gauriparvat had started appearing bigger and clearer. They were moving upstream.
‘So?’ Achi asked.
‘So what?’ Jeemotha raised his chin.
‘I am too old to play games, srimant. And going by what we all saw, you too are no longer a boy. Tell me who you are working for and I may think of sparing your wretched life.’
‘Do I look like a bloody servant?’ Jeemotha hissed.
‘Tut, tut. Mind your language, sir. There are young women around us.’
‘Oh devi, I am sorry. I know they are demure and bashful. My apologies,’ Jeemotha said, bowing to the women. They giggled. Achi raised her hand and again a taut silence ensued. Thunder clapped, rattling the ship.
‘It seems Indra is angry, devi. The god of thunder is roaring. Your treatment of an honest man has displeased him.’ Jeemotha smiled.
‘Honest? Of course… Srimant, answer one question honestly and I can persuade the girls to abandon their plans to throw you overboard to appease Varna.’
‘Oh no, water scares me. It always has, except…hmm… the time when I swam the entire night when my ship was wrecked near the black waters of Andhakara Bay, or the time when I was alone on a plank for two months after my boat was destroyed in the high seas.’
‘You have a talent for wrecking boats and ships, it would appear,’ Achi said with smile.
‘Oh it happens all the time. I am one unlucky man. Would you please ask your girls to go ahead and throw me overboard? I am scared, but maybe I can persuade myself to swim.’
‘Srimant, of course. I just hope you can outswim the crocodiles.’
Jeemotha cursed under his breath.
‘Son, enough chatter. Tell me, for whom do you do your noble work?’ Achi Nagamma took a few steps towards him, tapping her staff on the deck. He eyed her warily. Was it possible to lunge at her and knock her down? If he could grab her throat, even with his hands tied, he could easily keep her pinned and negotiate his freedom.
The warrior women were standing with their bows lowered. They had become lax, stopped considering him dangerous. He couldn’t blame them. It was difficult to be afraid of a man they had seen struggling to cover his shame with tied hands. Let them grow more complacent. Jeemotha shifted his weight from one leg to the other and looked down.
‘I am a merchant. I work for myself,’ he said.
‘Of course you are a merchant—and I am the queen of Mahishmathi.’ Achi circled him. A cold breeze hit his face. The boat swayed.
‘What do you want?’ Jeemotha tried to turn and face her, but she poked his head with her stick. He was tempted to grab the stick, but before he could attempt it, she had pulled it back. She came and stood in front of him, only three feet away. This was his chance.
He lunged at her and she swiftly moved to the side. Jeemotha fell flat on his face. Laughter shook the deck again. He tried to get up, but the tip of her stick pressed down on the back of his neck.
‘Srimant, when I was small, my grandfather told me about the sushmana naadi, the nerve that is inside your spine. He used to say that one good tap at the right spot is all that is required. Even a seven-decade-old woman like me can give a good tap. Srimant, would you answer or would you prefer to crawl for the rest of your life like a worm?’
Jeemotha had no intention to check the veracity of her grandfather’s knowledge of anatomy. Achi Nagamma pressed the stick a tad more and he felt dizzy.
‘Please,’ he croaked. ‘I will…t…talk.’
He felt the pressure ease and he slowly got up. The boat was taking a turn and the rowers were moving it closer to the shore to avoid a large protruding rock in the middle of the river. Water frothed at the base of the rock, while it flowed swift and deep in the rest of the narrow gorge. It required tremendous skill to row upstream through it. Devil’s Gorge, it was called. The graveyard of many ships, one of the toughest stretches in the river Mahishmathi. The water was deceptively quiet, but he knew it had strong undercurrents.
‘I acquire my merchandise—’
‘You mean, you raid villages, murder the men and take the women and children as slaves…’
‘Times are bad and business is poor,’ he said. The boat was passing the narrow gorge, its prow cutting across swiftly. A fine spray of water covered the deck. He had to time it properly. He could hear the sound of cascading water.
‘The poor is your business. You enslave them, peddle them like wares, kill, and rape, and maim without any mercy. But what we want to know is—who pays you?’ Achi Nagamma was now behind him. He wiped water from his face with his upper arm, quickly calculating his chances. He let her talk.
‘Men like you are a curse to humanity. How many families you have destroyed, how many kids you have orphaned, how many people you have kidnapped. Srimant, I have been trying to put an end to this business from the day I lost my family to a raider like you. My two sons were killed, my daughters-in-law taken, and my grandchildren went missing. For four years I roamed from one end of Mahishmathi to the other, raving mad, searching for my grandsons and my little granddaughter. Four years, till I met Hatayogi Sidheshwara, who cured me of my madness.’
Achi Nagamma was facing him now.
‘Obviously he did a bad job,’ Jeemotha said. There was a collective ga
sp. He heard a few swords being unsheathed.
A cruel smile played on the wrinkled face of Achi Nagamma. ‘Yes, srimant. You are right. And unless you are going to sing like a parrot about who buys the slaves, who pays you, where they are taken, you are going to find out just how mad I am. When the government does nothing to save its people, it takes a mad woman like me to do the job. This is my service to the king and my country.’
‘Maybe the king himself profits from our trade,’ he said. That was calculated to provoke. There was a murmur among the girls and the villagers.
‘I will cut off the stinking tongue that talks ill about our king,’ Ally said, coming forward. She had drawn out her dagger, but Nagamma stopped her by raising her stick.
‘Patriotic rebels? That is amusing. Your devotion to the king is touching. Oh, how I love patriots, especially when they roam around troubling honest businessmen,’ Jeemotha laughed.
‘Save your dirty tongue for the taverns, srimant. This is Achi’s durbar. Only truth will prevail here.’
‘Truth is what I spoke. I raid on the king’s orders.’
Jeemotha enjoyed the agitation he was causing. The girls were consulting Achi Nagamma. The little fall would be after the bend, and the Yamakanda Fall, ten ship lengths away. It would be too risky to wait till then.
The sun had burned holes in the dark clouds, and shafts of sunshine stretched from the skies to the wavy waters. Silver crests decorated the dark waves. What a great day to die, he thought. A few more steps and he could jump over the deck, but that would be too close to the rocky shore. If he could run towards the stern, he could hope to catch the deeper part of the gorge. It was going to be a tough thing, to swim in this current with his hands tied. Hopefully the current would carry him away from the gorge. But it was a choice between dying in some damp cell at the bottom of this stinking boat and a watery grave, befitting a sailor. To hell with it. He should not be thinking morbid thoughts. He had survived much worse.
‘Old wench, without people like me, Mahishmathi’s treasury would be as poor as yours if you took to whoring.’
This time many swords were drawn out. Ally screamed, ‘I want to see what his wretched intestines look like! Achi, let me at him.’
‘Back, stand back I say, Ally,’ Nagamma tried to control her agitated followers. They were waving their swords at him and screaming murder. Jeemotha inched closer to the edge. He counted the number of steps that would be required to reach the stern. Fifteen feet. Maybe he could make it. He took off. Nagamma had been facing her followers but she heard him moving; she turned towards him and froze.
‘Ally,’ she roared, and the younger woman took her sword from her scabbard. Without breaking his stride, Jeemotha turned on his heels and kicked a keg that was rolling on the deck. It flew and caught Ally on her face. She fell on her back. Two women rushed towards him from the captain’s cabin side, yelling in a shrill voice, their swords raised over their shoulders, but he caught hold of the shrouds and swung himself up. He somersaulted over the swinging swords and landed astern. An arrow struck the captain’s cabin and quivered a finger’s breadth away from his neck. He could hear the women warriors running towards him. A spear whistled past his ears. A wooden keg whisked past his shoulders and exploded in front of him, spilling wine. He slipped and fell, scrambled up and ran. A sword shaved off the heel of his shoes. A lasso caught his left leg, but he shook it off before it could be tightened. He could hear the old woman shouting, ‘We want him alive. Ally, get him, get him alive.’
He swung on the sail rope and jumped atop the captain’s cabin. A heartbeat later, he heard the thud of someone else landing on the cabin roof. He could see the water roaring past the stern, twenty feet below. It looked scary and no sane person would dare to jump into Devil’s Gorge. He stole a glance and saw Ally lunging towards him. For half a beat, he hesitated. She caught him by his waist, trying to pin him down on the deck. He took hold of her hands, lifted her up and, dragging her with him, leapt into the screaming, howling, frothing black waters of Devil’s Gorge.
TWENTY-FIVE
Sivagami
Sivagami had almost finished washing the huge pile of clothes when the messenger came to summon her to Upapradhana Skandadasa’s office. It had been a few days since Revamma had taken her there, and she had been dreading the call since then. Had Skandadasa found something that would implicate her in some unknown crime? Or worse, did the book contain something that would taint her father?
Thondaka taunted her from the first-floor veranda as she walked with bowed head behind the messenger. Revamma was excited about the whole situation and wanted to go with her, but the messenger refused to take anyone else with him. The upapradhana had specifically asked that only the girl be brought in.
Sivagami entered the office of Skandadasa with a quivering heart. When the door closed behind her, it startled her. She saw Skandadasa immersed in his work. There were many manuscripts scattered on the table.
‘Sit down,’ he said, without raising his head. She walked to the table and stood near the chair meant for visitors, but did not sit. She saw he was reading her father’s book and her heartbeat increased.
He raised his head and indicated with his eyes that she should take her seat. Finally, she sat down, but stayed on the edge of the chair.
‘Where did you get this book from?’ he asked.
She wracked her brain to come up with a plausible explanation. Nothing came to mind.
‘It is just a devotional book,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Oh, looking at you, it is quite difficult to imagine that you are devotional. Do not throw at me what I said to mislead your orphanage chief,’ Skandadasa said, leaning forward.
‘It is my father’s,’ she said, looking down at her toes.
‘Bhoomipathi Devaraya’s, eh? Traitor Devaraya’s?’
‘My father was no traitor,’ Sivagami looked up, her nostrils flaring.
‘I am not so sure, now,’ Skandadasa said.
She did not reply. He was watching her reaction. She did not flinch.
‘How did you get it, and from where?’
‘I took it from my home.’
‘Bhoomipathi Thimma’s house?’ Skandadasa asked, his eyebrows furrowed.
‘No, I said my home,’ Sivagami said.
‘But that is closed. Sealed by royal decree.’
‘I broke it open, went inside the mansion and retrieved it. An old servant told me about its existence before I was sent to the orphanage. That servant is dead, so don’t bother going after her,’ she said. Sivagami leaned back to sit firmly in her chair. Now that she had told the truth, she braced herself for whatever consquences would follow. She crossed her arms, threw back her head, and looked at Skandadasa confidently.
‘You are a spirited girl.’ A trace of a smile appeared on Skandadasa’s stern lips, but it vanished in a flash. His voice became grave, ‘Sivagami—that is your name, right? Yes, Sivagami, I want you to listen to what I say carefully.’
Sivagami nodded, but she was becoming increasingly tense on seeing the expression on Skandadasa’s face.
‘This book does not belong to your father. Your father stole it.’
Sivagami slammed both her fists on the table and stood up. Her chair fell backward on the floor behind her. ‘How dare you say that!’ she said.
‘There is no need to get worked up, girl. I have sufficient proof, or rather most of it. This book belongs to the Royal Library of Mahishmathi. I have been diligently working on creating records of everything about this kingdom. There was a fire in one wing of the Royal Library twelve years back, a few days before Mahamakam. Many books were destroyed in the fire. And this book was supposed to have been one of them.’
He put a bundle of palm leaves before her. ‘This book was part of the royal archives. Easy to identify as it was the only book in the Paisachi language. The rest are in Sanskrit or the tongues of the south, Arabic, Greek, Chinese and various other languages. It was marked as missing. Th
e slave who guarded the library was arrested but was finally let off since he had become insane. You might have seen him. He goes by the name of Bhairava and sometimes rows a boat for a living. I was a junior official at that time and I remember it.’
Sivagami remained quiet.
‘Now, the question arises—how did the book come into your father’s hands? And how did Bhairava suddenly go insane? Was the fire an accident or was it a ruse to steal this book? Bhairava used to be a close friend of the maharaja’s slave Malayappa. Was he driven insane in order to save his life? The slaves have medicines that can drive a man crazy, so I would not rule that out. Or is he just acting insane now? I have many questions.’
‘Why are you telling me all this?’ Sivagami asked. ‘My father is dead, killed by the king. He has been branded a traitor by people like you. How does it matter if he was a thief too?’ Sivagami’s voice cracked.
‘It won’t make a difference to him, girl. But it would make a great difference to you. The difference between life and death,’ Skandadasa said in a low voice.
‘What do you mean? The bloodthirst of the Mahishmathi royals has not been appeased yet?’ Sivagami asked derisively.
‘Listen. Your father was considered a man gone astray. He disobeyed the king and did something detrimental to the interests of the nation. But the maharaja acted leniently with him, for he believed Devaraya was a good man.’
The Rise of Sivagami : Book 1 of Baahubali - Before the Beginning Page 25
