The Onus of Karma

by Rudra Krishna

  Dikshitar replied composedly, ‘Haider Ali’s men attacked my village three days ago on his way to Madras. We managed to repulse the squad, but he will attack again. According to the men we captured, he has set up camp some distance from the hill of St. Thomas and is waiting for the French to attack you from the sea before making his move. He has an army of over 10,000 infantry and 3,000 cavalry, and at least a hundred cannons. The man also said that the French have been to Srirangapatnam to train Haider Ali’s forces. We ourselves saw a camp to the north of here, another army whose numbers we know nothing about, outside the forests of the Red Hills.’

  Smith pondered over this information for a while. ‘And where are you from?’

  ‘A village called Damar, three kroshas west of Kanchipuram on the road leading to Vellore.’

  ‘Why would Haider Ali attack an unimportant little village?’

  Dikshitar thought for a minute before answering, choosing his words carefully, ‘Sir, I can’t presume to know Haider Ali’s motives, but considering he is on his way to lay siege on Madras, he probably attacked our village for supplies, and to loot our temple. Unfortunately for him, he underestimated our strength and we were able to defeat the small band of men he sent. But I am certain he will attack Damar again, if for no other reason than that we killed almost his entire squad.’

  Smith jumped to his feet; it seemed he had come to a decision. He had, however, one final question. ‘Why are you betraying one of your own?’

  ‘Haider Ali is no more one of our own than you are,’ Dikshitar replied. ‘But if it comes to taking sides, I’ll choose the British any day. Forget about my motives and worry about Haider; he has men on both the northern and western sides of the city and he’s poised and ready to strike. It would be in your best interests if you went to the hill of St. Thomas and met him before the French arrived.’

  ‘Yes, I think I will go out and have a look,’ Smith said thoughtfully. ‘In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you and your companion stayed in the fort as my guests. If your information is correct, then we will let you go. Otherwise …’

  And with these words, Governor Smith stalked out of the room and ordered his aide to prepare a scouting party.

  The British had sneaked up the hill to spy on Haider Ali’s troops the very next morning, and were caught. Smith was thus forced into an open war with Haider on the banks of the Adyar river, to try and save his scouting party and face. Like many foreign invaders before him, Smith made the mistake of underestimating his opponents and paid heavily for it.

  Haider Ali had divided his army into two sections. One was guarding the northern front of Madras against any reinforcements that the governor of Bengal or the Nizam of Hyderabad might send, and the other was on the battlefield that day. Unlike Governor Smith, he personally led his forces into battle and made his presence felt with his skill, both as a leader and as a soldier.

  It was, therefore, with an army of three thousand men that the British were forced to take on Haider’s thirteen thousand strong troops. The British fought bravely the whole day, but at sundown were forced to admit that they were being beaten soundly. Thankful that he was not facing the combined might of the French and Haider Ali, Smith realized it was time to open negotiations.

  Smith and Haider Ali met to discuss the terms of the treaty: mutual restitution of all conquests, something Haider Ali was more than happy to agree to as he had no intention of ruling so far away from Mysore, and mutual aid and alliances in all defensive battles. The British were forced to pay a sum equalling 10,000 pounds sterling to Haider Ali. The treaty was signed, and Smith returned to Fort St. George with his head bowed, prepared to be recalled to England in disgrace when the company found out how much he had lost, not only in terms of soldiers, but more importantly, in money and land. Warren Hastings, the governor general of Bengal, took over the running of the Madras Presidency as well and started to divide his time equally between Calcutta and Madras. It was four days before anyone remembered the two villagers from Damar who had risked their lives to enter Madras and warn the British of Haider Ali’s impending attack.

  ten

  It was a bright sunny day in the lazy little village of Damar. The horseman on the mountain overlooking the village seemed strangely out of place with the rest of the picture. Clothed in white satin robes that matched his white horse, he could almost be mistaken for the guardian of the village as he looked down on it, paying great attention to every movement from within. The gigantic turban complemented his loose clothing, and his huge moustache completed the image of some sort of royalty. The face was, however, not royal by any means. It was the face of a warrior; swarthy, with dull, almost inebriated-looking eyes that seemed part mournful and all evil, small and slightly puckered lips, and tiny ears that bore no piercing as was usual for a warrior or a king of those lands.

  As he stood still, another horseman came up behind him and stood to his right. The second horseman, like the first, was attired in loose satin robes, but his turban was much smaller than his companion’s, indicating a lower rank. He was lighter skinned than the former and wore studs on his ears, though, in every other sense, he was a very nondescript individual. The first horseman hadn’t seemed aware of the new presence behind him until after a few minutes, when he suddenly said, ‘Well Nanjiraj, what do you think?’

  The second horseman looked at the head of the first without responding. He had always found it disconcerting, his companion’s ability to know what was around him at all times, almost as if he was always ready to be attacked. Nanjiraj had, many times in the recent past, contemplated just such an attack. His companion had grown much too powerful for his liking.

  ‘It seems as though we could finish them off easily, my lord. It looks too peaceful a village to mount any resistance.’

  ‘You would be surprised at how many times they’ve resisted me in the past. The last time I attacked this place was many years ago, after I had defeated Smith in Bangalore. That was soon after you had told me about this wheel of yours. At that time I sent in a squad to get whatever information I could and this peaceful little village managed to defeat them.’

  ‘It will be different this time, my lord. We have been extremely discreet in our approach.’

  ‘My intelligence is very clear. Ever since the old woman who used to head the village died, her son, the new headman, cut back on the village’s defence costs. If there is any resistance, it won’t be much more than a token effort, depend upon that. But I hope that Brahmin you killed gave you the right information. This village looks too small to hold such a large secret.’

  ‘The legend of the Sri chakra is well known, my lord, and Kanchipuram was very dear to Adi Shankara. Besides, the size of the village makes it even more likely that it is true. A bigger place would have too many people talking about it, until eventually it would be a secret no longer.’

  ‘Yes, well, just remember that Haider Ali allows no one to make a fool of him. I have already had to take on partners in this scheme of yours, and I don’t trust the white men.’

  ‘You can always get rid of your partners once you have the chakra, my lord.’ Nanjiraj smirked as he said this. ‘We need the British now, for they control these lands.’

  Haider Ali snorted as he replied, ‘I don’t need anybody. I could wade right in if I wanted and raze this village to the ground, and there isn’t anything that anyone could do to stop me.’

  Nanjiraj said nothing. He was used to these impotent ravings. He used to wonder why Haider Ali bothered to leave the Raja of Mysore alive when he was, in truth, already the emperor. He eventually came to realize that Haider Ali suffered from a massive inferiority complex, the same inferiority complex that made him wear a massive turban and grow a huge moustache. When it came to the Raja, it was this weakness that made him feel that it was the presence of the Raja on the throne that made him acceptable to the people.

  ‘We need to leave the rest of the village alive so that they can tell the priest’s son w
hat happened, my lord. Hastings told us …’

  ‘Hastings can say what he wants, Nanjiraj. I’m not comfortable with the idea of doing all this in broad daylight and leaving people alive to tell the tale.’

  ‘My lord, for now let’s stick with the plan. Hastings has the son within his reach, and the Brahmin clearly told me that each generation was told about his duty as soon as he reached puberty. We would definitely have a better chance if we sent the son a clear message that would frighten him.’

  ‘From what I have heard of this son, he is a real firebrand. What if he takes it on himself to avenge his parents? No, Nanjiraj, I am going to do my utmost to glean the information from the parents and the panchayat members too. Let’s see if we can still avoid collaborating with the British.’

  Nanjiraj bowed his head in compliance. ‘Very good, my lord.’

  The attack on the village was swift and decisive. Smothered by the sheer number of Haider Ali’s troops, Damar feebly capitulated.

  Haider’s first move on assuming control of the village was to summon the panchayat members. After he had identified and tied up Dikshitar, he came straight to the point. ‘Where is the Sri chakra? I know you have it hidden somewhere in this town.’

  Every man kept silent.

  Haider Ali turned his soldiers and, pointing to Dikshitar, ordered, ‘Find this man’s wife and bring her to me.’

  Rangamma was hiding in the crowd but when she heard the order, she broke down and began weeping hysterically. The soldiers grabbed her and dragged her to Haider Ali’s feet. He asked Dikshitar in a chillingly conversational tone, ‘How would you feel if I told my soldiers that they can have their way with your wife?’

  Dikshitar’s voice was hoarse with rage and panic. ‘For god’s sake, leave her out of this.’

  ‘Then tell me what I need to know.’

  ‘We don’t know anything! What are you talking about?’

  Doraisami, one of the weavers, came forward and shouted, ‘Have you no decency? I promise you we know nothing about any chakra. Please, for god’s sake, leave her alone.’

  At this, Haider Ali let go of her and stalked forward towards him until they were standing a foot apart, noses almost touching. Haider Ali was slightly shorter than Doraisami, and he didn’t seem to like that for, a second later, he pulled his sword out and slashed Doraisami’s right arm, just above his elbow, almost severing the whole arm in one blow, before screaming at him, ‘Who is this god you speak of? Yours or mine? My god says all of you are sinners who should die.’

  He wiped his sword clean on the veshti of the writhing form of Doraisami, and with that, he walked back towards Rangamma, sheathing his sword in its scabbard. He called out, ‘Anyone who knows anything, tell me now, or your chief’s wife is going to become an army whore.’

  But nobody responded. Dikshithar called out in agony, ‘Please, she knows nothing about what you are asking. Please leave her alone.’

  ‘All right. Men, you know what to do!’

  Sivaraman, the village schoolmaster, came forward and fell to his knees.

  ‘I swear to you. It was taken away after you attacked us the last time, and none of us knows where.’

  ‘I am inclined to believe you, but I’m also certain that at least one of you knows where it is now. And unless you tell me, your headman’s wife is forfeit. Men, proceed!’

  Two soldiers dragged Rangamma into a house. As her screams echoed around the village square, a deathly silence fell, punctured only by Dikshitar’s desperate weeping.

  Haider Ali was quiet for a while, and then addressed the villagers, ‘If you don’t tell me where the Sri chakra is, this is what will happen to your wives as well.’

  Everyone was silent; no one knew anything. Dikshitar strained futilely at the ropes that bound him, but not a word escaped his lips. The chakra was a cruel master: it demanded sacrifice and he was devoted enough to make it without question.

  Haider Ali’s men came out of the house, looking smugly satisfied. Other than an occasional whimper, the village heard nothing.

  ‘Resisting me will get you nothing, Dikshitar. Tell me the location of the Sri chakra and I will spare your lives, else I will burn your wife.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Dikshitar shouted. ‘I promise you I don’t. Please leave my wife alone. You’ve hurt her enough.’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ Haider Ali replied.

  Two soldiers ran into the room where Rangamma was and dragged her out. She was naked, bruised, bloody and barely conscious. A collective gasp went up when the crowd saw her. Dikshitar lunged at his restraints, howling with rage and grief.

  Haider Ali raised his voice. ‘It is your stubbornness that has brought this upon your wife, Appayya Dikshitar. This is your last chance …’

  Dikshitar sobbed helplessly. ‘Please, I really don’t know anything about the Sri chakra.’

  Haider Ali walked up to Rangamma and plunged his sword in her chest as Dikshitar stared in horror.

  Haider Ali then signalled to Naniraj. ‘I don’t want to waste my time here anymore. Finish off the priest, then raze their house to the ground. Look everywhere. Find the chakra and bring it to me.’

  And mounting his horse, he left.

  eleven

  Rama stopped at Damar on his way to Madras. He needed to find out what had happened before his parents died. As he neared the village, he could see that the British had been very active. The towns had changed; Vellore had a fort and the British military was overwhelmingly present. Rama had changed his Western clothes for a traditional veshti and angavastram, and a few days’ growth of facial hair made him look, passably, like a cartdriver.

  Damar too had changed. The houses looked different, there were more of them, and the school building had doubled in size. Although his appearance had changed over time, the villagers recognized him, but none greeted him. In fact they all seemed to be avoiding him. Perplexed, Rama went straight to his family home. The house he remembered, with the courtyard and thinnai, no longer stood. All that remained was a couple of charred walls and the brutally dug up plot of land.

  Rama examined the rubble, devastated. He went next door to Sivaraman, the village headmaster’s house and knocked on the door.

  Sivaraman’s wife, Lakshmi, hurried out. ‘Yes, Thambi?’ she asked, not recognizing him, ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Namaskaram. I’m Rama, Appayya Dikshitar’s son. I used to live next door.’

  Lakshmi stared at him for a full minute. Then she went back indoors. A few minutes later, Sivaraman came to the door. Shock, grief and fear warred on the schoolmaster’s face.

  ‘Yes, Ramaswami? What do you want?’

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Ayya, but I was wondering if you could tell me what happened to my parents.’

  Sivaraman looked torn between conflicting impulses. Taking a moment to compose himself, he said, ‘Perhaps you heard, Rama. Your parents were killed some weeks ago.’

  ‘Yes, I heard. Who killed them?’

  ‘It was Haider Ali. He was after the Sri chakra. I’m sorry Rama, but you must leave. The British are everywhere. If they find you here, they will go after you and the village all over again.’

  Rama was shocked by the haste with which he was being dismissed, but he also understood Sivaraman’s need to protect Damar.

  Sivaraman’s eyes clouded over with grief. ‘Perhaps this village was too small to bear such a heavy burden. It took away your family and brought us only sorrow.’

  ‘This responsibility is ours, Ayya, whether we like it or not. And I intend to fulfill it as best I can.’

  ‘My best wishes are with you, Rama. But I cannot tell you more.’

  Rama felt a wave of frustration rise in him. Why was Sivaraman so reticent? Perhaps Mohan would be able to explain things better.

  When he reached Kandasamy’s house, Rama found the front door closed but could hear sounds of hammering from the rear. He went around to the back and saw a bearded, muscular man hammering on a red-hot horses
hoe. Rama called out, a little hesitantly, ‘Mohan.’

  The young man looked up, and stared at Rama for a second before exclaiming, ‘Rama! Is that you?’

  In spite of the weight in his heart, Rama couldn’t help but smile. The friends warmly embraced. Then Mohan held Rama at arm’s length and exclaimed, ‘My god, you’ve grown so tall! You look like Shiva himself.’

  ‘And you, Mohan? You look like a wrestler. How have you been? And your parents?’

  A shadow crossed Mohan’s face. ‘They’re all right, Rama. Will you join us for lunch?’

  ‘I’d love to! I haven’t eaten properly for two whole days.’

  ‘Come on in then. We’ve been expecting you to arrive for a while now, but could not be sure about when.’

  Rama grasped Mohan’s arm and looked him in the eye. ‘I met Sivaraman. He said Haider Ali was after the Sri chakra, but he refused to tell me anything else. What happened to my parents?’

  Mohan took a deep breath and spoke. ‘Haider Ali overran the village. There was nothing we could do, there were so many of them. We tried but they beat us back. Haider kept asking about the chakra. I didn’t know what it was then, but people have been talking about it since. Did you know about it?’

  Rama paused a bit and replied, ‘Yes, I did. What did he do to my parents?’

  ‘Forget it, Rama. You don’t need to know the details.’

  ‘But I do, Mohan. And you are the only one who can tell me.’

  Mohan sighed deeply. ‘Rama, Haider Ali knew exactly what he wanted. He went straight to your house and pulled out your parents. When your father would not give him any information about the chakra, he … he had your mother raped. Then, he killed both of them.’