Song of the Ankle Rings

by Eric Alagan

  Now, this exotic executioner with a whisper for a voice and deep seeing eyes, gave hope. And even if he spun that hope in smoke, I was ready to grasp it. He had taken many lives. Perhaps he was privy to uniques which elude even the wisest of our sages of antiquity.

  ‘New life?’ My thoughts scrabbled, my voice hoarse, and it was all I could muster.

  ‘Yes, sir, a new beginning.’

  A new beginning, promised the man, and I had scant choice but to believe, for the alternative was—nothing! I had accomplished nothing in this life but brought disappointment to my parents and grief to my dear Kannagi. I wanted to flee my failures. Slink into the dark and hide my shame. I had reconciled myself to disappear without a trace. A coward’s wish, a loser’s prize. But a new beginning held the promise of redemption. And death, a new beginning, was a choice given the condemned from a pitiful selection of one.

  ‘Thank you, sir executioner. Thank you.’

  I softened my voice and smoothened my tone. The frightening man’s overwhelming sincerity and utter care for right conduct impressed me.

  The man did not reply but held my gaze, and for a moment, perhaps a blink, I received him. I saw god. I saw purpose.

  And I recalled the day, in the company of Anandan and a troop of attendants, when my dear friend and future wife Kannagi was away visiting her aunty, we had gone on a hunt. For sport, to gain a trophy to boast.

  We spied a tiger that had taken a spotted deer. As the magnificent lord of the jungle clamped down its jaws, the deer’s hooves flailed, piercing the air with sharp crooked jabs. Gradually, the panicked kicks ceased. The legs extended and retracted, and stopped. The deer’s eyes relaxed as a look of peace, and recognition even, swept over the animal. It had all happened fast, several heart beats perhaps, but my eyes saw and mind registered, and I retained the scene. Now I was that deer, and my executioner the tiger. He had stolen my terror and rendered me brave, and I was grateful to him.

  ‘Are there any last words you wish to convey to anyone, sir Kovalan? In penance for what I am tasked to do, I shall gladly do justice to your wishes.’

  ‘You are a kind man, sir executioner, but I do not wish to wreck my blameless wife, Kannagi, with dying words, for already I am the source of all her suffering.’

  I studied the court officials, witnesses to my execution, and after a moment, said,

  ‘But I have words for your king, Nedun-Cheliyan, and tell him, if you can muster the courage, that by denying me my day in court he has committed a deadly unjust. His sceptre is bent and his parasol stained. But I thank you also, sir executioner, for the gentleness you have this day shown me.’

  ‘I shall convey your words, sir, in this rest assured.’

  ‘Rest I will soon, sir executioner, and I have a wish of you.’

  ‘If it is within my power, sir Kovalan, consider it fulfilled.’

  ‘I do not wish my wife to behold my decapitated body or to see my blood spilt.’

  ‘I shall carry out your wishes, sir, and present you in a dignified condition to your wife.’

  ‘Thank you, and now untie me please, for I do not wish to die as a beast bound for sacrifice.’ Seeing the officials hesitate, I said,

  ‘I am a man, my friends, though perhaps not as brave as you. But I do not fear death, though this is an unjust verdict and sentence, and a cruel infliction upon an innocent. I will not flail my arms and wail, or flee around this chamber even as you reach and grab, and make a spectacle of such a solemn event. Neither will I shout myself hoarse, trying to borrow courage where there is none. I will not fight you or seek to vest injury upon you, for you have families and wedded wives awaiting your return.

  ‘Fear not sirs, my lamentations, during these precious few moments remaining. I will go peacefully and show how a true Tamil, who has eaten the rice and salt of Tamilakam, and drank from her sweet rivers, faces death.

  ‘But alas, the thought of my poor dear wife just now continues to plague me. I have not treated that chaste woman as well as a husband should have treated any wife. It wrecks my heart, which yearns for me to live. Not for myself, but only a little longer to shower her with the life she so richly deserves. For this reason, sirs, I beseech you, if you can find it in your hearts to release me for a few days and postpone my release.’

  My eyes, in desperate entreaty, studied the assembled men, but it was to no avail.

  ‘Please, sir executioner, I beg you again, fetch my wife Kannagi and she will bring the second ankle ring and prove my innocence.’

  ‘Sir Kovalan, we have travelled this path many times already, and my answer remains steadfast. We are here to carry out royal orders and no more.’

  ‘If not the prime minister, please at least request the captain’s presence, for I suspect he is an upright man and will lend me his ears.’

  ‘Sir Kovalan, it was by the captain’s orders relayed directly to me, but handed down to him from the king himself, that has brought us to meet fate.’

  I sighed with heavy resolve and found renewed vigour as one defeated with back pressed to the wall but imbued with the nervous energy of the defiant.

  ‘If those are your final words to my plea, then tarry not, dear executioner, and be done with it. Delay not the fatal moment, for he grows impatient.’

  They untied the restraints and a small sting of heat burned my skin as the rope pulled away. I clasped my wrists and rubbed to rid the numbness, and broke into a sardonic smile.

  ‘What humour you find, sir?’ It was the executioner, genuine concern in his voice.

  ‘I am a few moments away from losing my head but continue to tend to little discomforts. Notice how my wrists have bloated and the bluish bruises beneath my skin.’

  ‘If you massaged your hands a little more, sir, you will feel better, will you not?’

  ‘You fell into the same trance, sir executioner, worrying about little discomforts. An ironic humour, do you not think?’ I smiled and said,

  ‘I know a man, a wonderful man with an easy humour, and the thought of him gives me some lightness.’

  ‘A dear friend, sir Kovalan, from Poom-Puhar, I suppose?’ said the executioner.

  ‘No, but a rough man, an Arakan of the hills.’

  He expressed mild surprise but I said no more, for already the guards had set about their tasks. They held my arms, one on either side, and led me up the three steps to the large stone slab. My heart pounded, wanting to break free of its cage. A terrible chill erupted in my lower back and swept over me in frigid terror, and I feared I might empty my bladders.

  The executioner had asked that I relieve myself. He had not offered water. Despite the correct manner in which he had treated me, I had thought of him as cruel. But now I valued his decision. He was right. My bladder did not brim.

  A light pressure on my shoulders brought me down to my knees. The curve in the upright stone slab, where my neck was to fit, looked clean. Was I the first?

  More gentle pressure and my head went down and the cold stone touched the skin on my throat. I dry licked my lips. After a long deep breath, I squeezed my eyes tight and waited in agony. I detected shuffling of feet, followed by rustle of fabric and clink of metal. I wish I could plug my ears, keep out the sounds. A tight bandage around my ears would have helped. Then, my air lost, I heaved rapid breaths.

  There was a sharp intake of air and I recognised it as the executioner. He must have raised his arms high. The blade.

  A low uncontrollable growl emanated from deep within my being. I felt a dull crunch.

  My eyes popped open!

  My sight went hazy and images blurred. I felt weightless, as if floating. I saw people, or rather, portions of their blurry bodies—arms, legs, faces—and heard vague voices.

  ‘Truly, he was a fearless man,’ said a court witness.

  ‘Yes, a brave man indeed,’ said the executioner.

  I stood beside the executioner, or so it seemed, and he stepped back as several guards pushed past him, heaving a stretcher made
of rough sack material. They descended the short flight of stairs and laid down the stretcher. Morbid curiosity pulled me to the headless body. A man placed something on the chest. My head! My popped open eyes. I looked ridiculous.

  ‘I will directly carry the news of the execution to the captain,’ said a court witness. ‘He demanded a detailed report and will be glad to know the condemned did not suffer.’

  ‘Please suggest, in view of the Romapuri delegation, perhaps we should not exhibit the head in the market square,’ said the executioner. ‘The captain has the wet heart and the wise head to accept the suggestion.’

  After the witnesses took their leave, the executioner—what was his name? I had not asked, and he had not granted it—knelt beside my body. He was silent, in contemplation or perhaps in prayer. He pulled the sack material over the corpse and addressed the jailors.

  ‘Bring me suture and needle, a bandage, and some fresh clothes for him.’

  22: Late for Salvation, Early for Vengeance

  MADURAI WAS IN THE throes of carnival. Slow-moving rivers of humanity filled the streets. Produce and people overflowed the markets. Games of martial prowess attracted pressing crowds as men chased and subdued raging bulls, and raced horses, camels, and chariots.

  I guided my two salt-streaked horses across a crowded field where a tug-of-war, pitting an elephant bedecked with garlands of flowers against a long string of heavy sweaty men, was in progress. The elephant, the crowd favourite, won as expected and a thunderous cheer went up. Everywhere, there was an abundance of brilliant flowers, and tall colourful drapes caught the breeze and waved. There were competitions pitting archers, athletes, and the ever-popular game of chadukudu, where two teams of men chanted, breathless as they raided their opponent’s side. In every street, vendors shouted themselves hoarse, pitching their vocals against the blare of trumpets, clash of cymbals, and boom of drums.

  As I approached, people gazed in awe. Seeing a young woman ride a horse, and with such unbridled confidence, many passed comments of admiration. Many more expressed outrage that a woman dared ride with legs astride a horse’s back, an uncouth spectacle. My horses were nervous and often neighed and bobbed their heads as I guided them through the knotty crowds.

  The palace, an impressive structure of gleaming white marble, rose into the blue sky. The wide boulevard leading to the palace was a sea of people, dressed in fine garments and bright colourful turbans.

  Before the massive palace gates, emblazoned with medallions and pennants boasting the many achievements of the Pandyan lineage, stood soldiers wielding javelins and large curved shields. Romans! Light brown skin, red tunics, and intricate breast plates. On both flanks stood equally resplendent Pandyan soldiers, several ranks deep.

  Taking the lead were two officers: a young Pandyan and a weathered Roman. Swords sheathed and hands resting on hilts, they stood with legs planted firm on the ground. The impressive contingent had attracted a thick unmoving crowd.

  As I nudged my horses out of the throng and towards the gates, the Pandyan officer, an angry junior captain, stepped forward and two soldiers hurried after him. He gestured that I should dismount.

  ‘I wish to present a petition to the king.’ My voice rose above the din, but the man, fired with importance and impatience, gestured for me to alight. I repeated my demand. ‘I wish to enter, to present a petition to the king.’

  Again, my mare, nervous, stamped and tip-toed. I patted the animal to keep it calm. When the soldiers grasped the reins of my horses, they snorted and crab-walked, and it took all my skills to keep them from backing into the crush of onlookers.

  ‘Get off your saddle!’ ordered the Pandyan officer. ‘Now!’

  The soldier’s command and my matched defiance quietened the straining crowd. They fell silent and tried to catch the exchange.

  ‘Or what will you do, sir?’ I said. ‘Will you manhandle me, a woman, even as your Roman guests there stand witness?’

  ‘You cannot barge into the palace grounds, heedless of invitation and decorum.’

  ‘I have a petition for the king, sir, and ask you to let me pass, for my wound is wet and my heart parched of pity and thirsts justice.’

  The young officer threw a sideways glance, conscious of the eyes on him. He scoffed and said,

  ‘Look behind you, woman. Among that lot many hold up petitions too, all clamouring for justice to seal some slight. The quota for the day was long ago filled but they continue to plead under the burning sun. Be gone! On your way with your thirst for mischief as I am charged to use force to reclaim the peace if you so disturb it.’

  ‘I have no wish to disturb your peace purchased by the point of a spear, sir, but will frustrate you if I must, to see the king.’

  ‘You can and will have your day in court, woman, but not today. Do not put up a show for our Roman guests. Be gone, I say again, for my patience is not without limits.’

  ‘My patience is also not boundless, sir, and do you not recognise these horses, worn as they are from a taxing ride, to be from Prime Minister Sagasana’s own stables? Scrutinise the markings on their coats before you attempt to shoo me away as if I were a pigeon come to sully your pompous parade.’

  The young Pandyan officer, taken aback, recovered and gestured. A soldier, a man of some years, inspected the rumps of the horses, letting his fingers run and pick on the fur. After which, he whispered into the officer’s ear.

  ‘And so they are, it would seem,’ said the Pandyan, and with renewed confidence he continued, ‘and stolen perhaps. Instead of an audience an arrest might be in order.’

  ‘Are you a fool, sir, or has the sun robbed you of good judgement?’ I said, and someone from the crowd behind me laughed.

  ‘If I were a thief, how did I enter your stables? Were you sleeping on the guard? And why am I presenting myself here with irrefutable evidence if as you so hastily concluded I stole these horses?’

  In the silence that now hung over the place, my voice carried and elicited more sniggers from the crowd. I detected empathy from certain segments but for most of the people my exchange with the Pandyan was turning out to be quite a show and they lapped up the unfolding drama.

  The older soldier whispered to his officer who lent weight to the counsel so offered. After several moments, the officer said something under his breath. The older man saluted and hurried away, shouting to the guards to open the wicket gate.

  The young Pandyan said in softer tones, ‘I seek authority from the Captain of the Guard, my lady. Meanwhile, for I notice your ankles quite swollen, would you like to dismount and flex your stiff limbs a little?’

  But I did not move. Seated high, my gaze travelled beyond the contingent and the gate, and to the manicured path leading to the sprawling palace complex.

  The sound of birds caught my attention, prompting me to look up. All manner of fowls were in flight, high up and heading west; a dark shifting cloud of fluttering wings in a strange never-ending procession.

  The soldier of years, the one who had hurried off earlier, rushed back as if chased by wild dogs. The Roman officer, the red plume on his helmet dancing in the brisk breeze, followed the man’s progress as he ran past to the Pandyan officer. The two conferred in whispers, the older soldier urgent and the young officer expressing surprise.

  ‘Please dismount, my lady, and enter by foot,’ said the Pandyan officer as he took my mount’s bridle in his hand. ‘My men here will escort you. Fear not for your horses, for we shall water and take good care of them until further news.’

  Even before he had completed his words, I swung my leg over the horse’s lowered neck and landed on the dusty ground. The crowd gasped with admiration. There were whispers of woman, some gentle and others less so.

  Without a word, I strode past the officer. The horses snorted and blubbered, and this time I felt it. The ground shifted under my feet, ever so slight. All along I had supposed the pressing crowd and noise unsettled the animals but now I suspected another source. The soldiers
, all at attention, betrayed no movement. In this, they behaved as did the people in the village. I turned and the crowd, intent on my actions, had also not sensed the disturbance underfoot. Instead, the people cheered and waved, thinking my intention in turning to look back was to garner their encouragement. Some threw petals, others followed suit, and several strings of flowers snaked into the air and landed around my person.

  Remembering the task at hand and anxious of the confrontation awaiting, I summoned my outrage to bolster my courage. I walked fast, almost at a run, with the two soldiers trying to keep ahead of me without themselves looking ridiculous. We headed for a wing of the impressive smooth-walled building and entered a modest door used by lesser officials. I followed the hurrying men down long, narrow corridors and quite often had to stand aside, hard against the wall, to allow on-coming servants to pass.

  After a bewildering number of turns and racing down endless corridors ending at doors, they showed me into a parlour. It was of modest proportions and sparse in its furnishing. Swords and shields hung on the wall. A soldier’s room.

  A woman appeared, and from her attire and deference, a maid-servant. She offered water and a tray of fruits.

  ‘Please refresh yourself, my lady. My master will arrive soon.’

  Before I could detain her to interrogate who her master was, the woman vacated the room, locking the door as she exited. In the cool shaded space, fatigue took over. I felt faint, probably from the morning’s relentless activity and an empty stomach intent on grumbling its discomfort. I swayed and grasped a chair and sat down. It was not hunger or fatigue but the ground that had moved.

  It was a long wait and as impatience was about to froth forth, the door opened with a snick and an impressive man, in fine silk tunic and a thick black moustache, entered. A scimitar hung from his broad waist belt. He did not have the raw round strength of the Arakan but the sculpted muscles of a man who had toned his physique in regimented training. Behind him came the maid-servant and a guardsman.

  ‘You must be Lady Kannagi.’