Gods, Kings & Slaves: The Siege of Madurai

by Venketesh, R.

  When Veera returned to the palace, he was feeling markedly lighter. But he knew that the future held nothing for him. Radhika had been anxiously waiting for him, hoping he hadn’t done anything foolish.

  Nothing could heal the wounded soul of the city. The screams of those who had lost their loved ones shattered the silence of the night. Then came the suicides. Many women who had been rescued from the Turks and handed over to their families were not fully accepted again. After a few days of ostracism, the women had no choice but to kill themselves. Veera on a routine ride heard a commotion and redirected his horse towards the side from which the sounds emanated. A chill ran down his back when he saw the corpses of two women hanging from a branch. The moment the news spread, as if it had shown the ideal way to women in torment, there was a spate of suicides. The easiest way was to tie a boulder around the waist and jump into the Vaigai.

  Old factions began to form, reviving feuds from the past. Townsmen complained that their wives, daughters or sons were missing. Soldiers began riding into the countryside and robbing the peasants. Vikrama immediately took disciplinary measures. Soldiers who misbehaved were executed in public and the corpses were not removed for three days as a lesson to others. He was now assisted by the young Parakrama in all administrative matters.

  For days at a stretch, not a word was exchanged between Parakrama and Veera, whose retreat was ignoble for someone like him who possessed the intense excitement and the expectancy of youth. He noted the weaknesses of his father and uncle with growing impatience. The country had lost all confidence in itself. Prosperity came in the wake of a wielded sword and Parakrama wanted to invade any nearby land to reinforce some confidence. He contemplated invading Lanka and restoring Pandyan rule there. Vikrama overruled him, saying that the nation had a lot of introspection to do before it could enforce their rule on someone else.

  The loss of the treasury wealth was an official secret but the government would obviously feel the pinch very soon. The Pandyan state would now face perpetual financial difficulties. Their allies would soon hear of the rout of their overlord. They would cease to pay the cess at the first available opportunity. The obese Ariyan Chakravarthi had already declared independence in Lanka on receiving his master’s desperate request for weapons and money. There would soon be messengers bringing tidings of declarations of independence by other provinces. Armies would have desertions. The two brothers had undone in a couple of months what their forefathers had taken almost two centuries to build.

  Vikrama’s attention was frequently drawn to the rivalry between Sundar and Veera. Scarcely had the nation been freed from the menace of the Turks than the half-brothers were occupied with their domestic disputes once again. It had become the affliction of his lineage, Vikrama realized, fearing the machinations of his own kinsmen rather than his enemies.

  The two on their part were not too pleased with Vikrama either. He had got all the credit for the campaign and now stood like a giant amid dwarfs. And he was being treated as the arbiter of their future.

  Vikrama had to take matters into his hands, for he was astute enough to foresee the repeated catastrophe that threatened his country time and again. He had to put an end to this internecine warring. After hours of deliberation, he decided on two necessities: the brothers had to be separated by miles of land in between. And they would be of more service to the empire by remaining out of Madurai. He would have to press for a permanent realignment of powers. He decided to call for a general council.

  *

  Despite the dilapidated state of the country, it was vital to chart out its future. The council meeting was to be addressed by the generals first. Vikrama would finally sum it up and the emperor would issue orders accordingly. The tone of the meeting became aggressive almost immediately. The generals faulted the plan to evacuate the city. They could not reproach an emperor directly, but their words were replete with censure.

  Veera initially wanted to oppose the calling of a general council. Was Vikrama vainly attempting to reinstate himself as the ruler? Veera was worried. Vikrama would certainly be a wise and effective ruler, but he had to think of his future too. But then, it was necessary to hold the meeting, his pride making way for the nation’s benefit. He now sat stone-faced in the council, realizing that the meeting was about him. The question implicitly posed by the invasion of the Turks was whether he was fit to rule.

  Sundar wanted to make his presence felt too. He sensed Veera was weakening and wanted to snatch the mantle from Vikrama. He said, ‘We have endured worse. We can always invade other countries and get back our wealth. What can we do about people dying in invasions? We cannot physically lift all of them and run, can we?’ He looked around to assess the impression he had made on the gathering. He was pleased to find a few supportive nods.

  Vikrama tried hard to restrain his mounting anger. ‘Do you even know what you are saying? It was your quarrel that brought this misfortune on all of us. You believed it was your divine right to rule when you are just servants of the people!’ he shouted at Sundar, who sat down, peeved with his uncle once again.

  The meeting continued to drag. The members of the royal family competed for dominance, regarding each other with mutual suspicion and most unwilling to compromise. Sundar had renewed his desire to obtain territory for himself and Veera naturally adopted a hostile attitude.

  Finally, Vikrama got to the gist of the meeting. He turned to Veera and said, ‘It is better if you leave Madurai. You may have to take the territory in the south. This task, if well done, would be your way of serving your empire.’

  Veera sat in astounded silence, angered by Vikrama’s tone. Then he turned his gaze on the rest of the courtiers and immediately knew Vikrama’s words had been discussed and accepted as a consensus. Some of his allies raised their voices to support him, but Veera knew they were thinking of themselves. Having thrown their lot with him, it was a sink-orswim scenario for them. Veera’s men requested for a return to the status quo – or at the very least, refuse any concessions to Sundar. Vikrama refused to sanction such a course, seeing clearly that it would lead them on another collision course.

  All eyes were now on Veera. He had little will to fight the machinations of his ruling council. Here at last was the break he was looking for. ‘I will go,’ he announced, his voice subdued. ‘The opposition to me continuing as king has become so formidable that if I don’t abdicate, I know the standard of rebellion will be raised some day. For the welfare of our nation, and for our people, I shall leave.’

  Veera felt surprisingly lighter once he made his announcement. He had no resentment in his heart. Moving away from the arena of his greatest debacle would help remove the ugly memories of it. He felt the people’s urgent need for a change.

  The stunned council turned to look at Veera. He had aged considerably in the last few weeks, and his hair had prematurely become streaked with silver, a condition not unknown among soldiers who had witnessed many a grisly sight on the battlefield. They had expected he would throw a tantrum, so his willingness to abdicate made them look a little awkward.

  The people had been hard on him. To Veera, it came as a blessing he had not thought of. Some of his apprehensions were genuine – and it was true that the era of Pandyan might was over. Veera was also tired, physically and mentally. He just wanted to start afresh. He knew he had not done much to have his bravery woven into stories. So it was with a feeling of relief that he decided it was not his job to redeem the city from infamy and re-establish Pandyan rule.

  They had given him a way out, like a ferry to the far shore. Veera would get the traditional Pandyan strongholds in the south, untouched by the invading Turks. He and his lands would enjoy the wealth which springs from peace. His purpose in going away from his beloved Madurai was to be of greater use to the city he had loved than his staying there would be. But he still had a question everybody knew he would ask: ‘What of Sundar?’ He could have ensured that Sundar got nothing. But he was just curious about what th
ey would give him.

  Vikrama had expected the question. He knew that by putting Sundar in a weaker position, he could get Veera to leave Madurai. Sundar would be given territory in the north, which every invader had to cross, because the situation in Madurai was mostly of Sundar’s making. Nevertheless, this decision gave him a new lease of life. In a semblance of unity with his brother, he, too, would be given some territory to rule. He had finally won, considering that he had nothing a month ago.

  The Pandyan empire would now be divided into three almost-independent fiefdoms. Cooperation in any activity would be according to the will of their kings. The northern territories that once belonged to the Cholas would now be governed by Sundar, their grandchild. Veera would hold the traditionally Pandyan areas of the south. Veera could not contain his curiosity about the third fiefdom.

  ‘What of Madurai?’

  Madurai was the heart and soul of the empire. The man who ruled the city was the real ruler; the rest of them would just be namesake kings. Was Vikrama reserving the city for himself?

  Vikrama stood up to make the announcement: ‘Madurai and its middle kingdom will now be ruled by Parakrama.’

  All along, Veera had thought he had lost. But no, he had won. While the announcement was greeted with hushed silence, Vikrama stared hard at Veera. Was his intuition about Parakrama’s heredity correct?

  A small inkling of worry entered Veera’s heart. Did the all-knowing Vikrama know the secret of Parakrama’s birth and use it as leverage to arm-twist him into agreeing?

  The ruling council agreed that Parakrama’s crowning would save the dynasty from ruin. A better choice could not have been made. The men were relieved; Parakrama would be a better choice than his father and uncle. Vikrama’s plans far exceeded their expectations. He had certainly put a lot of thought into it. Being the ruler was no longer an enviable post, for Madurai would certainly not be easy to rule. The designs of providence had weakened the most powerful of empires. The common people had suffered much hardship and many would grudge the royal dues that had to be paid. Tax collectors were obliged to maintain a very low profile on account of the dismal defence capabilities of their kings. ‘The Turks took it away’ would be a common excuse for years to come. Madurai would have to be ready to face an endlessly regenerating string of looters.

  Veera rose to leave, signalling the end of the meeting. He had very little option but to act in accordance with the will of the council. It seemed that apathy and guilt had combined to deter him from offering even a token fight. He let the men around him decide the future of the country and with it, his destiny.

  Everybody was amazed that Veera had taken the defeat with equanimity. He walked out with regal dignity, evoking a twinge of annoyance in Vikrama, although he grudgingly admired him. All those gathered rose in respect as he got up to leave. Veera waved a vague hand at the assembly, ignoring the show of respect. He paused to speak. Most expected a final scathing attack on them, but they were mistaken. ‘I only pray that our sons may never see any wars again,’ he said, knowing very well that the era of peace was truly over.

  *

  Radhika had been anxiously waiting for him. She had a hundred questions to ask but restrained herself. He was thankful for Radhika’s mindfulness. She had already heard what the council had decided and could sense that he had accepted their decision.

  Veera went deep into thought. If only he had defended Madurai. If only Sundar had come a day earlier. If only the Turks had stayed a week longer in the city – if only one of these events had occurred, they could have crushed the Turks like grains in a mortar. But why had the Turks left in such haste? And how did they know to send the treasure back to Delhi first? Perhaps all of it was written in his destiny, Veera surmised. Perhaps the Pandyans had grown too fat off the land and the gods had decided they must be awakened. Perhaps the Turks were sent as divine retribution for their infighting.

  Till the division of the land was reorganized, the kings had to remain within the capital. Veera decided to move to Tenkasi, his new capital, after Parakrama’s crowning. Radhika had made all the arrangements for the transfer. A group of courtiers had decided they would move with him and a team had already left for Tenkasi to take over the administration. Sundar had also made preparations to leave for the north.

  It was the quietest crowning in centuries when Parakrama was made king. Men and women waited on the sides of the streets to greet their new and lawful monarch. Despite no official announcements, word had got out and Parakrama’s crowning took their minds off both the disquiet of the past and the dread of the future.

  Veera had decided to move out at dawn the next morning, but wanted to meet Vikrama the evening before he left. There was little scope for reconciliation with his brother, but he hoped to speak to his uncle once before he went away.

  Everybody, including him, believed Vikrama would stay in Madurai and guide Parakrama in his rule – for Parakrama was the youngest king Madurai had ever had and needed guidance. But Vikrama was nowhere to be seen. His room was empty and nobody had seen him leave – he had somehow eluded the sentries once again and left the city. The Pandyan empire was now in the hands of three powerful men, all scions of a thousand-year-old dynasty. But they were divided, each ruling over a separate fragment of the mighty empire it once was.

  CHAPTER 38

  EMPEROR OF ALL THAT HE SURVEYS

  All rulers, when they reached the zenith of their careers, inevitably begin thinking about posterity and the future. Alauddin wasn’t any different. Though he wanted his son to succeed him, he was disappointed that none of his sons was up to the mark. A wayward son could easily squander a fortune that took generations to build. It was the same with empires. He had had to sweat in distant battlefields to establish his fearsome reputation. His sons did not have enough time even for their orgies.

  It was under these circumstances that he told Malik, ‘None of my sons can follow in my footsteps, just as no grass grows in the shade of a giant tree.’

  Malik laughed aloud. ‘On the contrary, it is good for your well-being, for had they followed the footsteps of their father, it would have led them to you with an assassin’s weapon.’ Alauddin chuckled and his mind went back to the good old times when his ambition to conquer one-fourth of the existing landmass on earth could have been realized. He had never been more pleased; he now headed an empire larger than that of his nominal master – the Caliph of Baghdad.

  It had been quite an ordeal, killing his generals and exposing his army to risk. But it had brought him unmitigated success. When the Khans, who had ably assisted him, had died, his hopes had shrivelled. Then came a lowly slave who conquered more land than his four Khans put together. He was a godsend, a gift from the heavens to replace them. Every other general had vices – alcohol, women and meat – but Malik stood out like a mullah in a whorehouse compared to them.

  Another way to leave an imprint on history was to build lofty monuments that would testify to his might. Alauddin always took time off to climb the Qutb Minar’s stairs and survey his capital from above. He had once told Malik, ‘I love climbing to the top because it is the only place in Delhi where the damned tower is not in your line of sight.’ Malik knew the words only masked his true feelings.

  With the onset of old age, men start to grow cobwebs in their brains. Now that his empire was bigger, Alauddin wanted a taller tower, one that would dwarf the Qutb. He declared he wanted to build the Alai Minar, a victory tower that would have twice the radius of the Qutb and be twice as tall, next to the expanded Quwwatul-Islam mosque. But once the building began and the new Minar was sixty feet high, the architect realized it just wouldn’t stand. True enough, it had started to crumble, tottering almost ridiculously. Beside himself with anger, the Sultan sent for the architect and called him a hundred abusive names. Then he called for his guards to whip him. Before the last crack of the whip, there was a thundering crash. Everyone stared at the new Minar; it had come tumbling down – and all that remained of i
t was a cylindrical rubble.

  Sitting in his antechamber, relieved that Malik had taken over all his administrative duties, Alauddin would gaze into a wall where he would see distant lands being pillaged and vassals from all over the world bowing before him. He felt a sense of gratitude for being treated as the real conqueror – a feat he realized he did not have the mettle to accomplish without his slave. How naïve is Malik, he thought, the scales of power had shifted to him long ago and yet he doesn’t covet the throne.

  *

  Malik’s sword never settled in its scabbard. Vassals were kept under check by the army that he sent out frequently to tramp across their territories. When the king of Deogiri withheld his tribute for a year, Malik returned to the vassal’s land, attacking him with twice the ferocity till he brought him to his knees. No border was sacred. Kingdoms were dismembered, so were their rulers. If a kingdom capitulated, Malik was usually content to let them be. Only those who resisted faced the sword. Word quickly spread of the wrath of the Khiljis, and many found it easier to submit than to resist.

  The Sultan’s dependence on Malik aroused a good deal of jealousy and led to various palace intrigues against him. Independent spies followed him in search of any clandestine affairs they could report to Alauddin. But their efforts came to a naught. Either the eunuch’s intentions were too clear or he was just too clever for them.

  The combination of an inert Sultan and a deft eunuch seemed to be working to the benefit of the empire. The Sultan would lapse into a morose hush, absorbing Malik’s words as he kept up a steady monologue. He felt immensely better when Malik discussed reports from the vassals, but would get bored when he described market control and reforms that would benefit the people.

  *

  In the amity that followed the southern expedition, Malik equipped the fortress at Siri. He repaired the existing walls, constructed siege engines and stone catapults. He maintained outposts at Samana and Dipalpur to check the infiltration of the Mongols. He appointed Ghazi-i-Malik as the governor of Punjab. It was not an enviable job, but the man did it extremely well. Where once people refused to farm out of fear of the Mongols, productive agrarian activity flourished once again.