Gods, Kings & Slaves: The Siege of Madurai

by Venketesh, R.

  The Pandyan, a much-dreaded invader once, was now feeling the sharper side of the sword.

  *

  Vani, the palace maid, had left the safety of the exodus and returned to the abandoned city.

  The king had remembered her and ordered her to move out with his entourage. She had been initially proud that Veera had thought of her at a time of distress. But after accompanying them for a couple of hours, she made a decision. Her son Chandran and she had paused by the side of the road as if resting, and when the rest of the royal refugees had crossed, she turned back towards Madurai.

  When they viewed the towers of Madurai, she was furious. The city had no defences to speak of and it would have taken another twenty years just to build the bulwarks needed to defend it. To the invader, the thought of attacking Madurai must have wrought fear at first. It was, after all, a culture which defied destruction – the city had existed for so long without falling to invaders. The enemy would imagine legions in shining mail armour ready to prevent his entry, with supplies that would scoff at the idea of siege. He would have been prepared to face tense muscles, ready to cut and cleave all those who desecrated the city. He would be surprised to find the city empty, its royal family deserting all that it held dear.

  It took her a good hour to enter the city. People had begun to leave the city in crowds. The streets were filled with thousands who had poured out with their belongings to escape the might of the sword.

  Vani did not know what she would do, now that she was back inside the city. The sound of the temple bells beckoned her, alerting everyone inside the city to danger – usually, the bells tolled only when the Vaigai flooded its banks. It took twelve men to ring the monstrous bell. Regardless of the prolonged pain in the ears due to their proximity and their bleeding hands, they continued to toil the bell.

  Vani and her son joined the others who had rallied to defy the panic and general cowardice, seeking refuge in the temple. They remained inside the city, despite knowing that those captured would face terrible treatment at the hands of the invaders. She was aghast. In the hurry, everybody had forgotten the gods. Vani beckoned a group of people waiting for somebody to lead them. In her years of serving the royal family, she had a dignity of her own so the men immediately assumed she was from a noble family and responded to her call.

  One of them had located the priest. Vani asked if the priest would conduct a last puja. She then told the men to bring slabs of granite. Somebody was mixing mortar with the water they had fetched from the pond of the golden lotus. She paced back and forth in the confines of the dark sanctum, uneasy and flustered. When the priest walked out, the lamps were lit and incense sticks were set alight. Vani looked at the lingam and prayed, What will be your state tomorrow, my lord? Will we have failed to protect you?

  She was woken from her daze by the sound of granite being dumped near her. A mason started building a wall just beyond the sanctum. Volunteers left to do the same for Meenakshi’s shrine too. The trick was to make the walls look as if they had existed forever. They did not want the Turk to place their accursed feet in the holiest of their places.

  When the wall was complete, a man stepped forward and said, ‘We could make a booby trap.’

  ‘Can it kill the whole army?’ Vani asked sarcastically.

  He ignored the jibe. ‘No, but if we are lucky it might kill their general.’

  It seemed plausible. The Turkish general would naturally like to enter the sanctum first.

  She nodded. ‘Do it, but be quick.’

  The men placed two tall planks of granite blocks a few yards apart. They balanced a larger slab as a roof over it so that if even one slab was touched, all the slabs would collapse on the person. A tripwire to trigger the fall was unwound and tied low to the ground to the vertical slabs. The booby trap was a temporary protection but they hoped it would scare the entrant and desist him from entering.

  Chandran had in the meantime scaled the northern temple tower through its central hollow structure. The view from up there was as panoramic as ever. He reminded himself that he was not there to enjoy the view; instead, he stood on tiptoe and searched the skyline for any movement.

  Soon enough, he espied a ball of dust growing in size and rolling towards them in the distant horizon. Beneath his feet the tower seemed to tremble. Though their arrival was imminent and expected, actually viewing the horde that had come to despoil their land was an awe-inspiring experience. Two civilizations were heading for a collision.

  Chandran lurched against the railing, grabbing it for support. He clutched it until his knuckles turned white. He quickly turned away from the riverside for he couldn’t bear the sight any more. He raised the alarm from the tower, then rapidly descended the staircase and joined his mother. They would have to leave now. Vani ordered all temple gates to be closed, though it was only a formality. One blow from the invaders and they would fall apart.

  While they were leaving, Vani noticed an old man sitting on the platform behind the shrine amid the stone elephants. ‘Why don’t you come with us, grandfather?’ she asked. ‘They will kill you.’

  ‘Dear daughter,’ he said, his wrinkles creasing even further with every word, ‘you have done your duty by Meenakshi. I have to do mine. Go in peace, you have succeeded.’ The steely resolve in his face told Vani that he would not be deterred.

  CHAPTER 27

  INSIDE THE TEMPLE

  Malik sent in the battering ram corps first. The equipment was heaped on a sandbank right next to the fort; his soldiers were ecstatic, for never before had their assault forces lodged themselves so close to a fort’s walls. No arrows or rocks greeted them, nor did the deadly spray of boiling oil that could blind a man and turn him insane. The men then positioned their ladders to scale the walls but the first battering ram had already had a massive impact. A crack developed in the infirm wall. It was just minutes before a gap through which ten soldiers could move inside had been made.

  It was the easiest assault in the history of fort captures.

  Malik’s troops were soon busy looting the shops on the streets around the temple. Some of the traders, who might have beaten a shoplifter black and blue the previous week, had not even thought of locking the doors when they ran away.

  Even Rayan was rueful. When he had been here last, these streets had thronged with humanity. The city was deserted now – not even the beggars who would plead for charity from every corner were left behind.

  But not everybody had been evacuated from the city in time. Fifteen thousand people had already been captured and among them were three thousand women.

  Despite the loot the commercial section of the city had yielded, Malik wanted to see the temples and assess the riches they held. As he rode towards the temple square, he was stunned at its size, for it occupied most of the city. The temples were built of an ornamental framework of carved stone, each soaring to over forty feet. Each temple was a treasure house, its sanctity preventing dilution by human contact. The square stretched for a whole block between four wide streets, intersecting each other at right angles. Other roads lay parallel to them and finally, led to the moat outside the wall. Malik smiled. It was tougher to defend a square city than a round city, which had a smaller circumference. No wonder the men had run away. There was nothing inside the fort to hold the garrison. Madurai’s people had spent a lifetime creating something for which they lacked an infrastructure to defend.

  Rejecting the offer of a regiment to safeguard him, Malik walked towards the Meenakshi temple. He took with him two soldiers and Rayan, who accompanied him with visible reluctance. The temple loomed large, and all the rumours Malik had heard came back to his mind. This single compound contained more wealth than all of Delhi.

  As Malik stepped within, an overwhelming feeling came over him. This, he knew for certain, would be the last country that would succumb to his plunder. Then the thought crossed his mind again: Here is an empty city with more gold than Delhi. He had troops loyal to him. Whereas the rest
of the generals professed loyalty to Alauddin because their wives and children remained in Delhi, Malik had no links with the capital. Perhaps he could even declare independence. He knew that Alauddin’s punitive arms were not long enough to reach him at Madurai.

  He shook his head at that odd thought; it was better to enjoy it while it lasted, rather than force fate to its utmost.

  Malik entered through the massive gate under one of the fourteen towers and paused to admire their workmanship. A surge of wind funnelled by the tall structures on either side rushed at them, carrying a layer of fine river sand. ‘At last we have some opposition,’ Malik joked. Rayan kept quiet; the evils of desecrating the greatest temple in this part of the world disturbed him.

  They entered a labyrinth of bat-infested corridors and were immediately assaulted by the darkness. Rayan was scared that there could be an ambush, but Malik with his uncanny senses knew the temple was empty – almost. He tried to orient himself. Though it was noon, the temple had been walled up on all sides to not let in any light. The smell of a burning wick assaulted his nostrils.

  The uninhabited temple was a dark, damp and comfortless building. The brooding silence was occasionally broken by the flutter of disturbed bats and the smell of bat excreta was overpowering. Humans had left these temples alone for three days and the flying rodents have taken over, Malik mused, and yet man dreams of living till eternity.

  Two large demonic statues with enlarged incisors and swollen tongues stood at either side of the main temple’s entrance. Rayan knew they were the guards – the Dwarapalakas. Their torches threw grotesque shadows off them.

  ‘At least they have not run away,’ Malik chuckled. Rayan clicked his tongue in distaste; this was not a place to joke around. They opened the door with a push and stepped inside the temple. A stone-paved corridor that stretched both to their left and right greeted them. Rayan would turn back every four steps to see if anybody was following them.

  The temple was deserted. Rayan was astonished, for he had expected at least some priests to stay back to look after their gods and offer a last-ditch resistance. No. It seemed that everybody had vacated the premises. Walking slowly, they neared the far edge of the temple and came to the inner sanctum.

  Rayan informed Malik about the gods he could expect to see here: The lord Shiva, called Sundareshwara here, was the premier male deity and Meenakshi his female equivalent. Though Chidambaram was holier than Madurai, this temple was richer. Malik smiled; he wasn’t a pious person, although one could say he worshipped gold.

  They walked into the narrow sanctum. From afar, the wall Vani had hurriedly got constructed was visible. ‘What a poor show of workmanship,’ Malik said. The men of the temple had built a barrier of stone to mislead the invader into thinking that the idol was missing. But in a dark space where no breeze could reach, the moist mortar had given the game away.

  One laughing soldier walked ahead to shove the wall with one hand, while the other held both the torches. Rayan stepped forward, but Malik felt something amiss. He held Rayan’s arms so forcefully that he cried out in pain. Malik wanted to stop the soldiers too, but just then the man tripped. And with a sudden whoosh, a slab of stone fell on the two soldiers’ heads.

  *

  When he realized what had happened, Rayan let forth a string of howls.

  Malik nearly jumped out of his skin. It was an ingenious idea. A tripwire laid close to the ground would loosen an overhead weight. His eyes flashed in anger. The bastards had fixed a booby trap and he had been the target. He wondered if more traps had been set within the temple – not because of the number of people it would kill, but because of the terror of the supernatural it would raise, just as the trap had evoked in Rayan.

  Minutes after the mishap, Rayan was still setting Malik’s nerves on edge. Malik held his hand comfortingly, but in reality, it was to restrain him from running away. The darkness had doubled Rayan’s fear. A sudden tiredness overcame him and he sat on a platform, quite nervous now. All he wanted was to survive, to go back and tell his people of the revenge he had taken for the sufferings of his ancestors. He burst out into sobs. Malik could smell the fear of his perspiring companion. It was natural, considering what had happened in the last few minutes could send a sane man over the brink. But Malik was enjoying himself, despite Rayan’s discomfiture. Such experiences were beyond the reach of most mortals. Rayan whispered hoarsely, ‘We should come back with more men.’

  Malik overruled him. ‘Just imagine the panic if the soldiers hear what happened to these two. They will think it’s black magic and we will have a full-scale mutiny.’ The enemy had sought to create an illusion that the looters were heading straight for a burning hell, despatched there by a rock falling from heaven.

  Once their eyes got accustomed to the darkness, they found that they were at the edge of a hall. Malik, too, sat down on the platform for a moment of contemplation. The two guards must have gone to their death imagining some infidel god had struck them with thunder. Malik was not too perturbed. The trap did not seem like an organized military effort. The men who did it must have thought, correctly so, that the head of the expedition would take it upon himself to open the wall and be punished for it. He stood up, unable to resist the thrill of the surprises that lay beyond the turn. Rayan reluctantly followed him. Malik could visualize the danger ahead. A complaining companion would make it worse.

  The hall with its carved columns led to many different sanctums, shrines of a hundred gods. Malik instinctively licked his lips. He knew that centuries of piety had embellished this temple to make it rich beyond measure. All other temples would pale into insignificance before it. He could almost picture bejewelled deities burdened by layers of jewellery waiting for him.

  They walked down the hall, keeping well away from the inner sanctum. As long as they were outside the temple, Rayan had been an excellent guide. But the moment he entered the temple, the darkness perplexed him. He was desperately trying to recognize some landmark in the unlit surroundings. He had visited this temple several years ago, but it had been lit up with a thousand lamps then. Though this temple stood for everything that had destroyed his religion, it had still impressed him: the devotional music of the nagaswaram accompanied by the drums, the magnificent ceremonies, the tolling of the bells, the chanting of hymns and the holy camphor before the idols, which were smothered in garlands of colourful flowers.

  But now it was different. With no torches to illuminate the way, the darkness was absolute. In the aftermath of the booby trap, it disoriented their senses.

  Malik and Rayan inched their way between the two rows of pillars. Some light streamed in through the slits in the roof. Whenever they neared a slit, they paused and tried to assess the way forward. Malik stopped at the end of the corridor and listened, hearing nothing but his own breathing amid the bizarrely audible hiss of silence.

  The temple was desolate. There was not a soul in place. Just bats, hundreds of them. Rayan’s eyes leapt from corner to corner. Suddenly, Malik could feel Rayan jump. He had snatched his hand away as if it had been burned. He looked at him, and saw that his eyes were fixed on an area further down the corridor.

  Indeed, a flicker of motion had caught Rayan’s eye to his far left. ‘Sire,’ he whispered feebly, and pointed towards the end of the dark corridor, where a small section was perceptibly well-lit. Sunlight peeked through another crack as the rays struck the ground, making it shine like a gold ingot.

  Within that circle of light, Malik noticed an old, bearded man who sat so absolutely still that he had merged with the walls like a statue. When they came nearer, they saw him regarding them from a raised platform that surrounded the sanctum. Malik was genuinely surprised to see him; he was a lone figure, perhaps too old to run along with his fellowmen.

  CHAPTER 28

  EXILE

  Each step they took was a step further from home. It was evening by the time the royal procession reached Paramkunram, where the hill-fort towered over the plains surr
ounding it. The crowd of refugees had thinned by the time they neared it. They looked like vagrants; cold, wet and tired, they could not comprehend why their king had not defended the city. No Pandyan had run away for three hundred years.

  Veera cringed upon hearing the sounds from a thousand souls wandering aimlessly. Paramkunram could not be taken by an enemy force unless its inhabitants were starved. But it was not a very large fort, and all the people who had accompanied him would crowd it out – they would run out of rations in two months.

  His people knew what they were experiencing now was nothing compared to the troubles they had yet to face. The coffer of hope was now almost empty. Yet, the children continued to play, unaware that their futures were being bartered away.

  The royal family was allowed first inside the fort. Others would have to spend their nights in the open. Royalty was respected even when they were fleeing.

  Nature was not kind to them. Torrid temperatures in the morning and cold nights tormented them. Most were already ill after the prolonged exposure to the heat. Some literally crumbled in tired slumber under the shade of huge trees.

  Turning north from the ramparts of Paramkunram, Radhika pointed out an orange glow in the direction of Madurai. She saw the overcast sky. ‘It must be raining in Madurai,’ she said. Veera turned to gaze in the direction of the capital. The orange column climbed to the skies instead of descending from it. It sickened him as he realized what it was. He averted his eyes lest she see him cry. ‘They are not clouds of rain,’ he said, ‘that is the smoke of Madurai burning.’ A sob escaped his lips and his body shook under its impact.

  *

  The second day in exile was uneventful. Under different circumstances, they could have even enjoyed the display of nature. Dragonflies, butterflies and moths with their brilliant colours surpassed the flowers in the glory and variety of their hues. Peacocks moved majestically along the jungle tracks.