A queen of Malik’s erstwhile motherland – Gujarat – Kamala Devi was stunning. Many girls in the harem could arouse lust but Kamala Devi was exquisitely beautiful. She was so perfect that she was beyond ordinary men; if one king lost her, another gained her. No wonder Alauddin had her marked as favourite. She had been taken into the harem much before Malik had reached Delhi and was already acclimatized to the harem. Malik gathered his guts one day and walked up to her to address her in Gujarati, ‘Your Highness.’
She was stunned. ‘Did you just speak in Gujarati?’ she asked doubtfully.
‘Yes, Your Highness, I come from your land.’
She sighed. ‘Here we are, two strangers in a foreign land, brought together by nothing but the same language.’
From then on, Malik and Kamala would converse in Gujarati. They talked frequently and nobody stopped them because both of them held the Sultan’s fancy now. He told her about the route his life had taken. She asked him, ‘Do I then call you Malik or by your earlier name, Ram?’
Malik said with a face of stone, ‘The past is buried in a grave and it would do me no good to dig it up once again. I have a road called the future, on which I intend to travel. I shall be Malik Kafur for the rest of my life.’
After lamenting her fate for days, Kamala resolved to keep her will to live after hearing Malik’s answer. ‘You have taught me a lesson. No, Malik, I will not lose hope. I, too, have a life to live.’
Malika Jan was jealous of Kamala Devi and her disapproval was clearly evident. Since Malik was close to her, she began disliking him too. Then a rumour spread that Alauddin would legally wed Kamala. Once she heard the rumour, Malika stormed into Kamala Devi’s enclosure and lashed out against her, ‘You Hindu bitch, what do you think you are doing here? All the Sultan’s women, except me, are whores.’
No matter how humiliated, Kamala kept her cool. Malika did know a few ways of dealing with slaves, but any use of force would irritate her husband – and she knew what happened to those who infuriated Alauddin. Instead, she turned to Malik, who stood quietly beside Kamala. ‘As for you, slave,’ she looked at him reproachfully, ‘I will have you whipped.’ As a slave, he had to remain silent, though a few apt replies formed in his mind.
After Malika Jan had stormed out of the room, Manrk comforted Malik. ‘Don’t take her seriously. The Sultan has not spoken to her, let alone slept with her, in fifteen years.’ But he also added, ‘This woman has been responsible for the size of the empire.’
Malik was genuinely surprised. ‘Is it because of her father?’
Manrk guffawed, ‘Because of her disagreeable self. Alauddin wanted to get away as far as possible from her. And because he reached the empire’s borders and could go no further, he conquered more.’
Malik laughed politely but made a thoughtful statement. ‘The first month here I had nobody to call my own. The second month I had friends. The third month I have even made enemies.’
Manrk was turning out to be a close friend. He even began discussing politics with Malik, ‘Don’t judge Alauddin badly, Malik, in the light of his taxes and cruelty. In Alauddin’s reign, travellers can sleep securely on the highways, and merchants can carry commodities safely from the sea of Bengal to the mountains of Kabul and from Telangana to Kashmir. Rebellions are trounced, crime is suppressed, and for the first time, the citizen is made to feel secure. What was the idea of gathering wealth if his affluence could be looted, wives molested and children enslaved?’
The eunuchs wielded the real power within the harem walls. Since castration diminished their ability to impregnate women, eunuchs were often entrusted with tasks sultans would not delegate to other men. Malik was happy Manrk confided in him because he knew it was vital to have an ally in the harem.
The kitchens were under Manrk’s control, too. The Turkish had distinctive culinary elements and Turkish cuisine was always served in a nomadic-style tent, as if paying homage to their ancestors. The Arabs introduced them to even more culinary nuances through exotic spices from Asia. Food was an amazing everyday ritual and there were several kitchens and hundreds of dishes made on a daily basis. Leftovers from the kitchens fed another two thousand slaves.
The Sultan and his princes ate on portable flat, low tables which defined nomadic mobility. Malik had to stand with scented handkerchiefs and napkins behind them as they ate. Using their spoons, the diners helped themselves to the food placed in the centre of the table. A Turk would bring his own spoon, or set of spoons, to dinner – the spoons would be carved in wood, mother of pearl, coral, horn, or gold and silver. Sayings from the Koran or folklore would decorate them. Once they were finished, Malik would hold out a copper ewer with perfumed water to wash their hands.
Six months into his slavery, Malik was entrusted with the hamam. The hamam was the royal bath house; Arabs believed that the heat of the hamam, which in Arabic meant ‘spreader of warmth’, enhanced fertility. When the Arabs captured Alexandria in Egypt, they reportedly heated the Roman baths for six straight months with documents and papyri from the fabulous Ptolemaic Library. As many as seven hundred thousand works were burned in the bath house.
Women took their daily dips in a hamam within their harem. It was a circular pond within an octagonal room, the walls latticed in sandstone slabs. Long hours were spent by the harem women at the hamam, where attendants ensured that their skin was kept flawless and soft with the help of oils. Massage attendants first rubbed their hands with pomegranate peel to harden them and give them a pleasant scent. Women spent hours being steamed, scrubbed, massaged, scraped and pumiced. In addition, it was here that the girls were adorned with henna.
When he was in a mood for it, the Sultan would visit the hamam and watch as the women splashed about in the pools. The girls went out of their way to catch his attention, as he could probably pick his choice for the night right there.
Again, only eunuchs, incapable of becoming sexually aroused at the sight of a nude woman, were allowed inside. The eunuchs would discourage women from paying too much attention to each other. It was not the strength of the eunuchs that the girls feared but their sense of intuition. Malik could hear their whispers from yards away and his eyes would note the smallest of emotion in their faces, sensing a trace of guilt.
From the hamam, Malik was promoted to becoming a night steward. It was an envied post, as the night steward was also much bribed. Many a concubine wanted to service the Sultan out of turn for it was during these times that they could ask him for favours. The Sultan in a pleased mood was known to give all the jewels that adorned him to the girl at dawn.
In harems, eunuchs were allowed to stand guard while their master made love. Most sultans were rather paranoid about their sexual encounters, feeling vulnerable and prone to enemy attacks during lovemaking. In fact, some believed that a man’s life left him for a wee moment when he ejaculated.
Alauddin’s bedroom was adorned with thick oriental carpets and tapestries to muffle the noise, and furnished with a fountain in the wall, the sound of cascading water making it difficult to eavesdrop on his conversations. The doors, arches and other woodwork in the room were intricately carved with erotic sculptures.
In his new role as night steward, the Sultan was usually guided by Malik. As the Sultan relaxed, it was Malik who would embellish the girl chosen for the night. Malik possessed an exquisite taste in sartorial elegance and use of jewellery, and he knew how to turn an ordinary woman into a spectacle of sparkling beauty in a matter of a few minutes. Above all, he was a connoisseur of aphrodisiacs necessary to enrich carnal delights through procedures that ensured prolongation of pleasure. Malik, who had learnt the art of mixing potions in Khambayat, provided effective stimulants to his master, making him seem a messenger from heaven.
Even sultans, who wrote the destiny of millions, were merely puppets that moved on the strings of a woman’s beauty, and the puppeteer was often a eunuch. They played upon the fierce rivalries and raw ambitions prevalent in the harem. History had seen e
unuchs joining forces with a scheming empress or a concubine in dark plots to do away with the heir apparent and place her own son in line for succession. If the intrigue was successful, the conspiring eunuch was in a position to usurp enormous authority.
Two years into his slavery under Alauddin, Malik was the Sultan’s personal attendant. It was a position every other slave coveted, so feared was the eunuch in such a position. Manrk wanted somebody he could trust in a post that made a slave stay close to the master at all times. He himself had countless duties to perform, and the Gujarati slave had lived up to the assessment he had made on the first day – that he was reliable and trustworthy.
CHAPTER 13
THE TRAVELLER FROM VENICE
Veera was to be provided with an allowance from Lanka’s tribute, making him far wealthier than many of his peers. But he did not want to think about it. He had stolen the Buddha’s tooth with the lofty aim to end a bloody war, but had ended up making a profit out of it, turning the act into one of common thievery. The bhikku’s noble behaviour in face of his larceny made him feel like a brigand.
And now Kulasekharan asked him to take care of a rather delicate affair: Veera was to meet the Lankan king Parakrama Bahu on a courtesy call. If Veera had defeated the Lankans in a battle, he would have loved to meet the vanquished king. But his conscience squirmed at meeting the person who would once have been the proud protector of the tooth relic.
Ariyan accompanied Veera to Ruhunu, the Lankan capital. The king met them over a luncheon where he introduced the prince and the princess too. The Lankans were very possessive about their women and it was rare for outsiders to see them, so Veera was surprised at this break in protocol. Ariyan nudged him, ‘The princess is about to leave; why don’t you speak to her?’
Veera looked up at the princess with indifference. Then, as if on cue, she looked up precisely at that moment and blushed, her ivory face suffused with saffron. His father’s master plan finally dawned upon him. It would make the Lankans eternally friendly and also have Veera firmly latched in matrimony before he returned. But there was no way he would walk into the snare.
After the meal, betel leaves, areca nuts and lime were served on a silver plate. The men relaxed. Parakrama Bahu was now ready for more serious conversation. He began, ‘Your Excellency, I am so sorry we could not engage with you and witness your prowess in the battlefield. Still, how did you like our country? Our viharas, in fact, must have interested you tremendously.’
Veera was not ready for a duel of words. He asked, ‘Where is the relic now, Your Majesty?’ The relic had been sent to Madurai the very next day after its capture, and the Lankan king had been made to wait for three days before he could meet Kulasekharan. He had to accept all the Pandyan terms without any objections, and only then could he return with the relic. It must have hurt.
‘It is not in Subagiri, of course. We are moving it further south for its safety,’ he said.
‘The monks of Subagiri must have moved too,’ Veera remarked.
‘Most have, but the chief bhikku hasn’t.’
‘What of him?’ Veera asked, as the image of the aging bhikku in a deserted vihara flashed across his mind uncomfortably.
‘He died the morning after the incident,’ the king said as he reached for a betel leaf. Veera winced as if somebody had spit on him.
*
‘I want to return home; apply to the king for permission immediately,’ Veera told Ariyan on their way back. The general wasn’t surprised. He knew Veera would never fall for their feeble attempts at forcing a marital alliance with the Lankans.
‘Yes, Prince, I will send a messenger. There is a vacuum in your heart and I hope it gets filled back home. I pray that your return will be as rewarding to you as your stay here has been to us.’
It was two years to the date of his departure that Veera finally returned to his motherland. His acumen and bravery in ending the war had had an immense effect on his prospects. Accustomed to second-class treatment, he wondered how the establishment back in Madurai would treat his endeavours now.
When permission for his return was granted, his mind was put to rest. Ariyan bid him a warm goodbye. ‘Prince, I am happy to have served with you. I only wish I had been born forty years later to serve under you as I have served under your father.’ Veera acknowledged Ariyan’s heartfelt words and hugged the old general.
He boarded his ship exactly where he had disembarked two years ago, in Kankesan Thurai. The discipline in the ranks broke down as the army bid farewell to its prince. Some wept, some laughed but as the ship shuddered in its first move, the troops roared in unison.
The boat landed at Dhanushkodi, on a wharf where a crowd awaited him. Once his sail had been sighted on the seas, word had spread and people had left behind all their chores to throng the narrow piers. Veera could not wait for the boat from the shore to reach the ship. He found a firm grip restraining him. He could sense Akshayan behind him. Victorious heroes were supposed to follow protocol and not wade across the sea.
Two years had sped by, like the landscape to a swift rider. Sunanda must have settled into marriage and even got used to Sundar’s whore-mongering. He dreaded a life in close proximity to her. The routine of war had removed Sunanda from his mind, but landing on Pandyan soil set him back once again. Halfway through the campaign he had been informed that an heir to the throne had been born. ‘The nation was in raptures,’ he was told. He begged to differ. It is too early to celebrate; even the boy’s father has not been appointed crown prince yet. Veera was thankful that Kulasekharan had desisted from appointing his brother the crown prince. Obviously he must have resisted a lot of pressure from the queen.
After two days of riding, they finally arrived in Madurai. When the familiar towers of the Meenakshi temple loomed in the skyline, Veera realized he had missed his beloved city. How many times would she banish him only to embrace him later? His excitement rose as the retinue approached the city.
The southern gates of Madurai were open, but there was nobody there to welcome him. He wondered if it was a slight but Akshayan offered the solace that they had arrived an entire night before they were expected.
The king had left a message with his mother that Veera was to meet him two days later at the court. The prince was in his villa when the minister of finance arrived to audit the Lankan expedition and they had spent a good part of the afternoon meticulously going over the accounts of the war machine that was the Pandyan empire – Veera would have preferred a siesta instead. The salaries of the soldiers, their upkeep and other expenditure had been tabulated already. The plunder was also accounted for. The levy of taxes on the subjugated nation or the tribute to be paid by the king who had sued for peace was mostly fixed on this balance sheet – which would reflect the efficiency of the general who ran the operation.
The Pandyans did not want to invite trouble from their citizens by taxing them too much for a foreign war. The Chettiar moneylenders usually funded the wars at reasonable rates of interest – not too low so as to enrich the king, but not too high either, lest he get tempted not to repay any amount at all.
The minister was visibly pleased with the accounts. Veera had followed the rules. He had also made sure they fought with tightened belts. As the wizened old man gathered the accounts in the fading light, he said, ‘His Majesty the king has asked Your Excellency to meet the pale-skinned visitor from across the oceans.’
The man with the pale skin and golden hair was the talk of town. He looked like one of the Yavanas, Greeks, who’d cross deserts and seas to reach this part of the world. The minister felt it was his duty to brief Veera on the visitor. ‘He arrived by boat from across the oceans at the pearl fishing port, Kayalpattinam. He has come from the land of Venice and has travelled to almost all the major empires of the world. He is here studying the Pandyan empire now. Perhaps the king wishes Your Excellency to be exposed to developments in the other parts of the world.’
‘What language does he speak? Will I nee
d an interpreter if I have to see him, or does he come to see me?’ Veera asked him.
‘Your Excellency, the visitor speaks Tamil as well as we do. You may make your own arrangements for the meeting as you wish.’
Veera accompanied the old man to his door. ‘What do they call him?’
‘Marco Polo, Your Excellency.’
*
Two days hence, Veera was ushered inside the court hall, where the king was seated alone. He prostrated himself on the ground and the king placed his hands on his shoulders in a token support to lift him up. As Veera stood up, he saw that his father had aged. ‘Your hairline has receded further, Your Highness,’ Veera said in fond concern.
‘It is this crown,’ Kulasekharan said as he scratched the rash on his head – the result of wearing the crown all morning. True, very true, Veera thought, for more reason than one has this crown greyed your hair.
His stature in his father’s eyes had grown, he realized. Kulasekharan addressed him with respect now. Even if he discounted the fabulous tales of his son’s endeavours with an understanding of human limitations, it was still an honour. Tripped by fate, Veera had slipped in the race to the crown, but had quickly picked himself up and rejoined it, and had now forged ahead. He was building a mountain pebble by pebble, and the Lankan expedition was one large boulder added to the heap.
The prince was very happy with his meeting, more so because within the king’s palace he had not seen the queen, Sundar, or Sunanda and her child. Sundar was on a campaign near Kanchi. The other two had chosen not to come out. Anyway, he had the visit from the traveller to look forward to.
*
Marco Polo promptly arrived at noon that day, walking within his own shadow. Veera saw that his face was not as fair as local gossip described it, for it must have been scorched by the tropical sun. He stood still for a moment as the profundity of this man’s achievements sank in. He had travelled a great distance – probably greater than Veera could travel in ten lives.
Gods, Kings & Slaves: The Siege of Madurai Page 20
