The breeze caressed his body, as if to soothe him. The river invited him with a thousand arms: Come, come and hug me. He took a tentative step and waves rushed to embrace his ankles. Another step and they reached up to his knees, jumping, eager to climb up his body. One step more…
‘Swami…’
A voice from the darkness. He froze in fear.
‘Who is that?’ he called, squinting his eyes at the darkness. A figure moved from the bushes by the river.
‘It is me, your brother’s slave, Your Highness. Kattappa.’
Kattappa! Was he not dead? A ghost? Mahadeva screamed. He lost his balance and fell into the water. Kattappa pulled him up and fell at Mahadeva’s feet, apologizing profusely to the embarrassed prince. Mahadeva felt helpless and angry at the intrusion. He did not want to talk to any slave. He wanted to die. But what the slave said grabbed his attention.
‘Your Highness, there is grave danger to the maharaja and Mahishmathi. Vaithalikas may attack any time during Mahamakam. The maharaja has to be warned, but I cannot get past the sentries. They would kill me for I am someone who is thought to have deserted.’
‘How do you know about the attack?’
Kattappa quickly narrated to the prince how he had gone in search of his brother, and learnt of the Vaithalikas’ plans.
‘I am ashamed to say that my own brother is the biggest traitor. Next time I see him, I will kill him,’ Kattappa said.
Mahadeva was speechless. He was moved by the dedication of the slave. He had come back, risking his life, to save Mahishmathi. If what the slave said was true, he had to inform his father. The fort had to be secured.
‘Come with me,’ the prince said, grabbing the slave’s wrist. He started running to the opening of his secret path. He led Kattappa into it, and when they had emerged out of the well and reached inside the fort, Kattappa started towards Bijjala’s chambers.
‘Where are you going?’ Mahadeva asked.
‘Let me go to my master,’ the slave pleaded.
‘Your master?’
‘Yes, His Highness Prince Bijjala.’
‘You still consider him your master?’
‘Until I am freed by him or killed, I shall remain his slave.’
His master, who had treated him no better than a dog. Mahadeva shrugged and hurried to find his father or someone responsible. Someone who could thwart the Vaithalikas’ attack.
FORTY-TWO
Keki
Keki carried the present to Bijjala’s chambers. The prince had gone to tell Skandadasa to return to his rooms, and she wanted to keep his gift ready for him.
The sleepy guard at the palace wing in which Bijjala’s chambers were housed waved her in. She was the eunuch from Kalika’s den, and the guards were familiar with her face and her methods. He took the usual bribe and let her pass. She walked through the dimly lit corridor, suppressing her fear. Men never frightened her, and she was confident of her ability to talk her way out of any difficult situation. But an old palace like Mahishmathi scared her, especially when she was alone and in the dark. She loved bright lights, exotic perfumes and all the good things in life. Dark and damp palaces where rats scurried around were not her choice of a night outing. But this was her promise to the prince. In her profession, a promise well kept was an investment well made for the future. And she had given him her word that she would gift him something unsullied, pure and virginal. She had known Kamakshi would come for the celebrations and had racked her brains for a foolproof plan to get the girl into Bijjala’s chamber. Fortunately for her, the deer had walked into the lion’s den. Catching her so easily was luck beyond her wildest dreams.
As she had advised, the prince had removed his guards who normally stood sentry at the doors to his chambers. She fished out the key Bijjala had given her from her breast-cloth and turned the lock. The faint light from a lamp placed by the huge bed did not do much to diminish the darkness. Keki gently placed Bijjala’s present on the soft bed. She stood for a minute, admiring the beauty. The prince was going to love this.
Keki sighed, adjusted the pillow under Kamakshi’s head, and arranged her in a sensuous pose. She took out a small pot of perfume from her waist-chain. There would be extra reward for this perfume from Bijjala, Keki smiled, as she smelled its exotic fragrance. She dabbed some perfume all over Kamakshi’s body. The girl stirred. She would soon gain consciousness and find a prince in her bed. How fortunate! Keki untied the knot of Kamakshi’s breast-cloth but did not expose her breasts completely. She admired her art from various angles. Keki took the whip from the wall and applied perfume on it. She knew what Bijjala liked, and she prided herself on giving the best service to her clients. She placed the whip on the bed near Kamakshi.
Keki paused at the door one last time, appreciating the scene she had laid out for the prince, and then gently closed it behind her. She heard footsteps while she was locking the door. A shiver passed down her spine. Someone was coming. She stared into the darkness. The footsteps paused and then resumed. A spectre floated from the darkness and Keki’s mouth gaped open.
That slave who had died—Kattappa.
Keki was terrified. All her fears were coming true. Old palaces were the hunting grounds of ghosts, she knew it. She started running. From behind, she could hear the ghost of the slave calling out to her.
She ran for her life.
FORTY-THREE
Kattappa
Kattappa had reached the wing of the palace where Bijjala’s chambers were located after jumping over two inner walls. He waited on the veranda on the ground floor for some time, near the stairs that led to the first floor where the prince had his private chambers, puja room and game room. He was gathering his courage to face the prince. He paced the empty courtyard, wondering why there were no guards. Had the prince shifted his sleeping quarters? Suddenly, he thought he heard a noise from the chamber above. Maybe the prince was in his room, he thought. He ran up. As he approached his master’s door, he thought he glimpsed a figure slinking away, around the corner. He ran behind the figure, calling out to it, but when he reached the end of the passage, it had disappeared.
He returned to the door of the chambers. It was locked. His master was probably at the festival. He considered going in search of the prince, but it would be too risky—he might get caught, and would then be in no position to serve his master when he needed him the most. It was already late and Bijjala would come back soon to retire. He would fall at his feet and ask for pardon. He would take whatever punishment his master chose to give him. And he would never leave his side. He would wait outside while his master slept, guarding his precious life. No Vaithalika would ever harm his master.
Kattappa sat on the doormat and waited for his master to return. An uncomfortable memory cropped up. A good place for a dog. Shivappa’s words. He had no use for such thoughts. He tried to suppress it, but like undigested food it kept coming up. With rising anger, Kattappa realized that the greatest crime Shivappa had committed was not treason. It was shattering Kattappa’s innocence. Kattappa vowed he would not think like his wayward brother. He was his father’s son, a proud slave of the Mahishmathi royals. He would live and die for them. His father used to say, if it was a choice between one’s father and the king, a good slave would choose the king and slay the father. That was his dharma.
Kattappa waited.
FORTY-FOUR
Skandadasa
Skandadasa’s throat had grown hoarse from shouting. It had taken some time to calm the bear and bring the mob under control. He was relieved that the disturbance had not spread to the front of the crowd. It would have been embarrassing to face the king had it disturbed his enjoyment of the performances.
Soldiers dragged the bear, tied in ropes, to the mahapradhana. Behind the animal came the bear dancer, struggling to escape the grip of two guards who were holding him.
‘Shall I?’ One of the guards pressed his sword to the neck of the bear. A slight movement of his fingers would ensure the death of
the beast and its owner. Skandadasa looked at the beast. Its eyes did not speak of cruelty to him. He went near it and the bear looked at him with pitiful eyes. His soldiers were watching him. He could hear them whisper to each other. They were expecting him to kill the beast. If he let it live, they would attribute it to his caste. That would become another joke in town. He sat near the gigantic bear and extended his hand. The bear sniffed it for a moment and licked it. He let it do so for a while and then, with his other hand, he patted its back. It was such a mild creature. What had provoked it? He was running his hands through the thick black hair of the bear when his fingers touched something sticky. He rubbed his fingers together and smelled his hand. The smell of blood hit him. The bear had been wounded. Someone had purposefully stabbed it. It struck him like a thunderbolt. Where were the drummers? The bear was a diversion. He had been tricked.
‘Hurry. Search the crowd. Apprehend any drummer and bring him to me.’
The guard who had placed his sword at the bear’s neck raised it to strike the beast.
‘No, don’t harm it. Ask the rajavaidya to dress its wounds. It has been hurt,’ he said. Let the others laugh at him, he thought as he patted the bear once again, but why should he take the life of a dumb beast because of his insecurities. He had been mocked and laughed at behind his back throughout his life. One more incident was not going to make any difference. He watched the soldier take the bear away. He wished the beast would look back to acknowledge his kindness, but it tamely followed the soldier. He turned to the bear dancer, ‘And you, swami, have a lot of questions to answer.’
Someone tapped Skandadasa’s shoulder and he turned in irritation. ‘Prince Bijjala,’ he exclaimed and gave a curt bow as an afterthought.
‘I have something important to talk about, Mahapradhana,’ the prince said.
Skandadasa frowned. ‘Prince, can we talk tomorrow? There is an important issue that I need to sort out.’
Bijjala folded his arms across his chest and stared at the mahapradhana. ‘It is about Gauridhooli,’ he said.
Skandadasa stared at Bijjala in shock. He looked around, afraid someone would have heard the word Gauridhooli. How did the prince know about it? It was only after being anointed as crown prince that he should have found out.
‘Do you want to discuss it here, or should we go to your office?’ Bijjala asked, glaring at the mahapradhana.
Skandadasa did not like the prince’s tone. Did the prince know about the Gauridhooli he had carried from the workshop? Was the prince aware of the workshop at all? Skandadasa felt angry and frustrated. He was at a loss for words.
‘There has been a security breach, Prince Bijjala. Some drummers have got in without the mandatory check at the gates,’ Skandadasa said.
‘It shows your incompetency. But I think that is the least of your problems. You have much graver things to answer for,’ Bijjala said.
Skandadasa glared at Bijjala. He clenched his fist. The prince had insulted him. He had questioned his integrity. Yet, he had to find out how much the prince knew about the workshop. ‘Fine, Prince,’ he said finally. ‘Let us go to your chambers to discuss this. I am sure I can explain everything.’
Bijjala faltered. This was not what he had expected. This was not part of the plan. He was supposed to take Skandadasa to his office-cum-residence.
‘No, we should go to your office,’ Bijjala said.
Something in his tone made Skandadasa alert. ‘Why? Your chambers are nearby. If you want to have a talk we can very well do it there,’ Skandadasa said, knitting his brows in suspicion.
‘No, we cannot go to my room.’ Bijjala said.
‘Why not, Prince?’ the mahapradhana asked.
Bijjala racked his brains for a suitable reason. He felt annoyed that Pattaraya had not told him how to tackle a difficulty like this. To hell with Pattaraya. He would handle it his own way.
Bijjala’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘It is none of your business. When I order you somewhere, you better come. I am twenty-one now, and you have no right to question my orders. I do not care what the custom says. I care a damn if some old books say a mahapradhana is superior to the prince of Mahishmathi until he is declared crown prince. To hell with your protocol. In a few days I will be anointed crown prince anyway. And then you will have to pimp for me if I order you to do so. You arrogant bear dancer.’
Skandadasa controlled his rising anger. A crowd was gathering around them to watch the prince and the mahapradhana’s spat. He was nervous the prince would foolishly talk about Gauridhooli.
‘Fine, let us have it your way. We will go to my office,’ he said with a sigh. He observed a smile that appeared like a flash on Bijjala’s lips. It vanished in a blink, but it put Skandadasa on guard again. As he walked behind the prince, he tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
How had the prince found out about what he had done? But why should I feel guilty anyway? I have done things only in good faith…Who could have leaked the secret? The answer flashed in his mind. Roopaka! Everything suddenly clicked into place.
Roopaka must have helped the thief Nagayya run away from the workshop with the stones. Apart from the mahapradhana and the king, it was only Roopaka who had access to the slaves in the workshop and the world outside. He could have easily made contact with and tempted a foolish slave. He could have stolen the keys from the former mahapradhana, Parameswara, and used the opening on the roof to let Nagayya outside during low tide. The opening doubled as a flood valve, but only a few knew its actual purpose. That was the trap door through which the Gaurikanta stones were brought in. A few days after every Mahamakam, divers would fetch the Gaurikanta stones hidden inside the immersed Kali idol and bring them into the workshops. Until he had become the mahapradhana, even he was not aware of the existence of the workshop or what it was for.
Skandadasa felt frustrated at how flawed the security of the system was. When the workshop was designed, the river flowed over it during both high tide and low tide. Now the river had changed course, and the trap door was no longer in the middle of the river as it used to be. That was the first security lapse. The second was the fact that there was a key to open it from the outside, from the river bottom, as well as from the inside. He had got this corrected on his last visit to the workshop. He had made the slaves close the door permanently from the inside. Every Mahamakam they could break it open and reseal it. Now, to open the door, one would need a key for the outside, and simultaneously break the metal door from the inside. The only catch was the workshop could not be destroyed in case of an enemy attack. But who was going to attack Mahishmathi and conquer it? Mahishmathi had to fear its corrupt officials more than any external enemies. Skandadasa was willing to take the risk.
As they reached his office, Skandadasa started feeling uneasy. He had posted many dandakaras to guard the office complex, but the corridors looked deserted. Maybe they had sneaked out to see the performances. He vowed to give them a piece of his mind the next morning. But why were none of the torches lit? As he neared his home, he froze. Did he hear a door being shut?
The realization came rushing in—he was walking into a trap. That explained Bijjala’s insistence that they should talk only in his chambers. Someone was inside his house. Someone was waiting for him. Someone who knew about his one mistake, that he had breached security protocol and carried the Gauridhooli outside the workshop. Perhaps blackmail was their aim. He had confirmation from his spies that Bijjala owed a lot of money to Kalika’s inn, but he had destroyed the den. Maybe some of the pimps were harassing the prince and he was trying for an easy way out. Perhaps the prince and Roopaka were working together.
If they tried to blackmail him, he would trap them. He would pretend that he was scared and agree to their terms. Later, he would inform the maharaja and the two of them would be punished. That would put an end to the dreams of Prince Bijjala of being the crown prince of Mahishmathi. There were many precedents where a king chose a younger son over the elder. Mahadeva wa
s innocent and gullible, but a naïve king with a good heart was better than a stupid king with a cruel mind. Mahadeva could be moulded. Skandadasa thought of being a mentor to the young prince Mahadeva and smiled. It would be like the way Parameswara had been for Maharaja Somadeva. No, he would do better than his predecessor. Unlike Parameswara, he came from a humble background. He would be able to teach Prince Mahadeva to be more empathetic and kind to the common people. With his inherent good nature, Mahadeva would become an ideal king, and history would hail Skandadasa—the humble bear dancer’s son who rose to become mahapradhana—as the mentor of a great emperor. He would be Chanakya to a new Chandragupta. He smiled at the thought. He would teach these fools a lesson tonight.
He was a score feet away from the door of his home when the next thing clicked into place. The noise he had heard just moments before—the sound of something being shut—it could only be his drawer. Oh God! That made Skandadasa’s blood freeze. Someone was searching for something inside his room. It could only be the Gauridhooli. Roopaka could easily blackmail him without stealing the Gauridhooli from his chamber. He just had to demand that the workshop slaves be called as witnesses. It was someone else in the room. Someone who knew about and wanted the Gauridhooli. It was no stupid hustle by a broken prince and a corrupt official. It was something more sinister than that. How foolish he had been, dreaming dreams of glory even as he was being hoaxed like someone who was still wet behind his ears.
The Rise of Sivagami : Book 1 of Baahubali - Before the Beginning Page 35
