Veera found it funny. According to protocol, noble women did not talk to strangers even if someone had just saved their life. He decided to play along.
‘You mean, what do I do when I am not rescuing drowning damsels?’
The girl whispered something and the others quietened. She had sensed his need for respect. He was demanding that she speak herself and not through her maids.
‘May I know the name of my gallant rescuer?’ she whispered hoarsely. The effort made her cough. As he waited for her bout of coughing to subside, he was busy trying to recall who she was. The way she speaks, the way she carries herself – why is she so familiar? Her identity continued to elude him.
He didn’t want to tell her about his royalty. At least, not yet. ‘They call me Veera,’ he said, looking straight into her eyes.
A flicker of recognition passed over her eyes as soon as he spoke his name. Her lips mouthed something. He knew she wasn’t just repeating his name but had added ‘prince’ as a prefix. So she knew him. But who was she?
She stood up, preparing to go. It seemed she was not interested in frivolous conversation with her saviour. His throat became parched when he realized she was leaving. He hurriedly asked, ‘May I be worthy enough to know the lady’s name?’ The other girls looked at her as if seeking consent. She replied, coyly this time, ‘His Highness knows me well, if only he could probe his past. And as for thanking him for his act of chivalry, I would rather not, as he only remedied his earlier deed.’
Her words had an obvious nuance, a subtle undercurrent of knowing. Which girl, what deed? he wondered. She gave him a smile, one laced with a tinge of mischief.
Here was the most beautiful girl he had seen, most likely indebted to him for life, and yet he could not identify her. She had the leverage because she had discerned his identity and he had not. Leaving him with a startled expression, she began walking away. ‘I take your leave, Your Highness,’ she volunteered, ‘our scores are settled.’ Her tone was crisp and she uttered her statement in all clarity.
Matters were moving much faster than Veera had bargained for. His voice was still caught in his throat and a formless sound – more like a gasp – emerged as he desperately tried to think of some excuse to prolong the encounter. As Veera stood speechless, she slowly walked away, her hair dangling like wet ropes.
They knew each other, that much was certain. He was still rummaging his memory. Veera could not fathom what her words meant. After she had walked about thirty yards, she stopped as if pausing in rest and her entourage stopped with her. She faltered in her steps as if in the turmoil of making a decision. Veera smiled hopefully, his eyebrows arched in a query. She turned, and then in the most uncharacteristic gesture for a woman of nobility, put out her tongue. He alone heard the silent ‘nyaah’ emanating from her lips.
Everything came back to him in a flood. Sunanda! It was Sunanda, Sundar’s cousin. He slapped his forehead, exasperated at not having arrived at the answer earlier.
It was unbelievable. Who could think a brat could become such a damsel? She had obviously been referring to the well-deserved ducking he had given her in the palace pond. At least seven years must have passed since the incident. He felt a tickle of excitement as memories trickled in. She hasn’t forgotten the ducking, he thought, and then chuckled at her indignation lasting so long.
Veera was a changed man on their way back, subdued and dripping wet. Akshayan just snorted in response, the only audible protest of the evening. Infatuation was clearly clouding his friend’s judgement. He knew his words of counsel would fall on deaf ears and Veera could not be even mildly discouraged. Sunanda had overpowered his thoughts. He rejoiced with pride that she had recognized him. She certainly was not the unwashed tomboy with the lice-ridden hair of yore. A toad was the last sobriquet that would suit her now. He wondered why he had called her that. Not even a vague recollection of her childhood face came back, now that he had seen this beauty.
Akshayan kept his silence. He realized Veera had fallen hopelessly in love. It unsettled him; he was wary of the wiles of well-bred women. This girl could be a pampered daughter bred with an eye on the Pandyan throne. A tremor-like quiver on his lips indicated he was murmuring: ‘Beware of a woman’s words; harsh ones may hurt, but kind words could kill.’ That was his way of protesting, since he never tendered unsolicited advice.
It was a veiled message to Veera, a warning that he was treading on Sundar’s domain.
Veera was silent. Was it a twinge of nostalgia or a feeling that the most important event in his life had just happened, and not a day of his life would remain untouched by today’s events? He had saved a life but had forfeited his heart. He hoped she had forgotten the details of that childhood fight. But then he thought rather dejectedly, I wouldn’t forget anyone who calls me a toad. Or for that matter even forgive them.
*
It was a week before he would see her again. The Meenakshi temple had been decorated for its annual festival, its arches festooned with plaited coconut leaves – tender ones which were a pale yellow rather than green. Madurai was agog with excitement. The king and his entourage were welcomed at the temple by priests chanting the Vedas. They offered him the poorna kumbam – the ceremonial pot – as a mark of welcome.
A hush fell as the royal women entered. The gold braids of their saris caught the sunlight peeping through the gaps in the roof. Their retinues preceded them with the puja paraphernalia, girls with plates of fruit and flowers balanced on their shoulders. This was followed by two nagaswaram players, who were accompanied by a man beating his drum. Then came a bejewelled palanquin bearing the insignia of the fish on its sides, which signalled to all that the queen had arrived. The palanquin was lowered in front of the deity, and the queen alighted. The other occupant of the palanquin was Sunanda. She was wearing a Kanjeevaram sari made of hand-woven silk and braided in gold. Veera thought, The bird is flying high in the skies of favour. The other women of nobility followed suit. All the women were wearing the same colour: a bright mango-yellow, with a green border. While the older women wore saris, the younger girls wore bright skirts in the same colour.
Sunanda looked different, Veera thought, remembering her damp tangle of hair the other day. Today, her hair was lustrous, like cascades of silken black. The thousand lamps added an almost blinding sparkle to the diamonds dangling from her earlobes.
Veera was fighting a losing battle to not look at her. Dressed with the utmost care, she looked stunning and was perhaps the most beautiful girl in the temple at that moment. An aura surrounded her, an aura of luminosity. When he looked at her bosom, shaped like ripening mangoes under her yellow sari, he shook his head. He was experiencing rather unholy feelings in a temple.
Veera had chosen the second row because he knew the queen would sit opposite the king, while Sunanda would sit a little further away, according to protocol. Veera had chosen a seat where he was diagonally across Sunanda, and could see her without being seen. He was further hidden by a row of men dressed in their lofty headgear of gold and silk.
He noticed her eyes darting about. His ego told him she was looking for him. It was obvious she could not see him. He knew he would have to get up to receive the temple honours and wanted to add a flourish of dramatics when she saw him first.
The priests continued with their yagna in the tremendous hall of the temple. The men sat on the left of the sacrificial fire according to tradition, while the women sat on the right. The hall was filled with the smell and smoke of burning ghee, which the chief priest was pouring into the fire with a wooden ladle. Then he took a bigger ladle and placed fruit, flowers and a silken robe and offered them to the flames. The fire, as if surprised by the sudden onslaught, ebbed but soon rose again to consume the offerings. Agni was the messenger of the gods, and he would transport these offerings directly to them without any delay. Then a gold coin was dropped in. Veera wondered if the gold would go to the gods or if the priest would come back in the evening and poke in the embers f
or a shiny blob.
The solemn ceremony required all the members of the royal family to come forward and receive the honours when called. Obviously, Kulasekharan would be the first. All his titles were read out, including the countries that paid levies to him – a rather long list – till he deemed it fit to get up from his throne. The priest tied a piece of silk embossed with gold braids around his head and gave him a garland, holy ash, a lemon and some flowers. Veera’s name was announced next. He stood up and edged his way into the centre respectfully, without disturbing the people in front of him.
His name reverberated in Sunanda’s ears like a loud gong. She saw him getting up from the second row. The king looked at his son proudly, while the queen lowered her eyes. Sunanda heard a sigh or two from the girls seated behind her.
All eyes were riveted on the prince. He did not wear a crown as Sundar did, but he did not need it. Gone was the adolescent gait. He strode in like a lion. Sunanda hoped against hope and even muttered a silent prayer that he would turn towards her when he crossed her.
No, Veera was not going to turn. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, like an archer’s. But, just as he was crossing her, he could not resist and his lips curved in a smile. When he returned, he looked straight at her. But it was Sunanda’s turn now. She gave him a look that made him feel transparent. Her gaze seemed to pass through him as if he was non-existent.
When the function was over, most courtiers dispersed. The rest of them, mostly royalty and their relatives and friends, stayed behind. Veera was surrounded by his mates, but he found himself continually distracted by Sunanda’s presence. Her laughter was loud enough to attract his attention. His eyes darted frequently to where she was. She kept talking to Sundar as if to stir up Veera’s jealousy.
If this is your game, I can play it too, and play it well, he thought. At least he could see her reaction if he flirted with the rest of the girls. Veera crossed over and went over to where all his cousins were. They immediately surrounded Veera and their flirtatious banter seemed the loudest now. To many of them, a bachelor was a challenge to their sexual skills. Veera found it difficult to maintain coherence in his speech as he had to turn every now and then to watch Sunanda’s reaction, if there was any. But the girls were not bothered with his disjointed conversation as they felt rather pleased that Veera should come and talk to them. As the acoustic level of their chatter increased, so did Sunanda’s voice. The temple reverberated with the two sets of conversations set off by an undercurrent of feelings.
After a few minutes Sunanda walked off in a huff. It had been an inconclusive battle. He thought wryly, If only she had been my uncle’s daughter instead of his.
*
As he waited for his breakfast, Veera was in a happy mood. He whistled and hummed alternately while snapping his fingers to keep the rhythm from faltering. When Vani entered the room with two plates and a tumbler, Veera fell silent. If Vani had noticed his new exuberance, she kept quiet. He gulped down the food and rushed out.
Veera realized he was in love. Love to him meant the basic urge to own and to be owned. Love enabled a person to perceive the world through the eyes of another. His feelings towards Sunanda were an amalgam of lust and love. When he made love to Vani that night, it was an act without feelings, but if she realized it, she did not mention it. That was one more thing about love. It added exclusivity to relationships.
In fact, after that night, Vani began to avoid him lest he feel guilty. She knew the limits of her power over him. She had the wisdom of discretion – when to travel hand-in-hand and when to be a bystander and watch the flow of events.
Veera knew he had to talk to Sunanda, but he knew his limitations. He could surely not speak to her inside the palace. But how could he let her know of his deep adoration when he could not even get a chance to do so? He saw her once from his terrace. She was chattering animatedly to another girl. He noticed that she had plaited her hair into serpentine braids and was awestruck by her tiny waist, which effortlessly bore the weight of her bosom. He had rehearsed a sequence in which he would meet her. He re-ran it a hundred times in his mind – but he just did not get a chance to translate it into reality.
He made it a habit to go to the pond where he had saved her in the evenings. He knew she may not come as it would be distressing to return to a place where she had almost died. But he hoped against hope. For a whole week, he waited for almost an hour. Then one day, when he had just about decided to return, he imagined the tinkling of an anklet. He turned, holding his breath with disbelief when he saw it was actually Sunanda – she was standing a few yards away. She had dressed like a commoner with very little jewellery, lest she attract attention.
‘I hope this evening finds you in good health and cheer, Your Excellency,’ she said. It was a simple and harmless greeting. Yet it turned his face crimson and churned his stomach. He wanted to reply, but his tongue tripped midway once again. He was not the orator his father or uncle was, but he could at least speak without losing his voice. Yet his voice was trapped within his throat like a rodent in its burrow.
‘May I sit?’ she asked. He nodded, still tongue-tied. She sat close enough for her perfume to envelop him. He turned around nervously. Akshayan had vanished. Knowing him well, Veera knew he would be on the lookout for intruders so that they could be assured of privacy.
‘Thanks for coming,’ she said.
Veera was baffled. ‘I should be the one thanking you; I was here first,’ he contradicted her.
‘Not today, Prince,’ she laughed, ‘I thanked you for the whole of last week.’
Veera remained quiet. Silence reigned once again and both continued to gaze at the still water where their future had perhaps already mingled.
‘If you don’t want to talk, I shall leave,’ she said, making a gesture as if she was getting up.
Alarmed, Veera held her hand. And immediately jerked it off realizing his folly. It seemed as if she did not mind his touch, though.
‘Will you come here tomorrow?’ Veera asked, pleadingly. Every man courted a woman as a beggar would seek a rich man for alms.
‘I may or may not,’ she said and walked away.
The next day he was there earlier than usual, and just as he had feared, she wasn’t there. As he lingered at the banks, he fidgeted like a child. Disappointed at her not coming, he felt a flare of anger and took out his ire at a plant, kicking it hard. He stopped when he heard a laugh. Sunanda emerged from behind a tree. ‘What can a mere plant do when kings are angry?’ she commented with a glint of amusement in her eyes.
‘Why were you hiding?’ he queried angrily.
‘To see how you would feel if I hadn’t come.’
He felt so weak before her. But curiosity got the better of him. ‘What would you have done if I hadn’t bothered and walked away?’
She looked at the plant, now bent backwards with his kick. She squatted and helped the plant regain its posture with a gentle touch. ‘I would have killed this poor plant instead,’ she said and lowered her eyelids in modesty.
Captivated by a girl brimming with mischief, his heart beat fast. Once the invisible barrier was broken, rivers of emotion flowed like water through a shattered weir.
‘As a kid I hated you with all my heart,’ she admitted.
Veera laughed, ‘But why did you hate me so much?’
‘I still do,’ she said with a strange look. ‘I hate you with all my heart for making me love you so much.’
His mind soared like an eagle in a windless sky and he struggled to stifle the urge to kiss her. She looked him in the eye and smiled. She continued, ‘I saw you once. You had come home for a holiday and I saw you from the balcony. I was never allowed to go out. I could not even talk to Sundar.’
A stab of jealousy seemed to wrench his heart. The mention of Sundar broke the spell she was casting and brought the conversation back to reality. She bit her lip the moment she mentioned his name.
‘Why do you talk to Sundar?
�
�You can’t be jealous,’ she chided him with mock indignation. She closely observed his face for a reaction.
They spoke about themselves, but much of it was new to Veera. She loved the chirping of birds. She could identify half a dozen species, including differentiating between the male and the female. Veera marvelled at this skill but wondered what type of a person would spend time on such a hobby. The palace had an aviary, but an ammoniac smell pervaded the area and Veera avoided going there.
She spoke about politics. ‘Once,’ she said, ‘all this land paid tribute to us. There was no Pandyan on the throne at Madurai. Now we depend on you for our livelihood.’ A tinge of sadness marked her words, and Veera couldn’t help feeling that he would have gladly overthrown his father and given Sunanda the land.
It was tough having her so close, to hear her speak and feel her presence but not touch her.
*
On their third day of meeting near the pond, Veera gathered up his courage and asked her, ‘Shall I recite a poem to you?’
‘About what?’
‘You!’
Without waiting for her answer, he began reciting. Tamil poetry sounded best when sung to a tune, but Veera was afraid his voice would break in the middle. So he recited it, as one would narrate prose:
Your eyelashes are like heartless whips,
And flexed like a bow your reddened lips.
Many arrows of love within your glance,
And your chiselled nose is sharp like a lance.
Gentle girl, why make war on me,
Release my bonds and make me free.
A smile lit her face. Nothing was as intoxicating as adulation, yet she looked at Veera doubtfully after he finished the ballad. Her mind was plagued by doubts about who the poem’s author was. Pandyans, though warriors on the battlefield, were connoisseurs of poetry. But she was yet to meet one who could write.
‘You know what I like about you. Poetry and possessiveness–’ She stopped abruptly.
‘It is like saying I love you because you adore me,’ he said, the hurt evident in his voice.
Gods, Kings & Slaves: The Siege of Madurai Page 10
