The Onus of Karma

by Rudra Krishna

  Without a word, Rama took the chillum from him and took a deep drag from it, before he burst out coughing.

  ‘Haven’t smoked much, have you?’

  ‘It has been some time. Last time was in my village.’

  ‘And which village would that be?’ Kailasan asked, cocking his head interestedly.

  ‘Damar, near Kanchipuram,’ Mohan broke in. ‘Have you ever been to Kanchipuram?’

  ‘Plenty of times,’ Kailasan replied.

  Rama took another drag on the chillum, but this time he didn’t cough. He handed it back to Kailasan.

  ‘Why didn’t you come inside the temple?’ he asked Mohan.

  ‘I didn’t feel like it, Rama,’ Mohan replied in a subdued voice. Rama looked at him, but Mohan refused to meet his gaze, content with staring into the fire. Rama turned away and found the ascetic looking at him with an amused smile.

  Kailasan nudged Mohan and, passing him the chillum, said, ‘Here, this heals almost all pain.’

  There seemed to have settled upon the group an uncomfortable cloud which Kailasan attempted to alleviate. When he found that neither of his listeners was interested in his talk, he fell silent.

  Rama asked Mohan, ‘Do you mind spending the night here? I am very tired.’

  Mohan shrugged in response.

  ‘Would you mind, Ayya?’ Rama glanced at Kailasan

  ‘Not at all. I’d be glad for the company. Shall we smoke another chillum?’

  ‘Let’s,’ Rama replied with a grin. ‘How long do you plan to stay here?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Kailasan replied. ‘As long as the fancy takes me, I suppose.’

  ‘Seems like you would survive better somewhere else,’ Rama said, ‘You said there weren’t too many devotees with food. Don’t you get hungry?’

  ‘Ah, but my needs are limited. Just that,’ indicating the chillum. ‘And maybe an occasional meal.’

  Mohan stretched out. ‘I think I’ll go to sleep,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Here, I’ll give you something to cover yourselves with,’ Kailasan said, as he reached into a sack that was by his side. ‘Go on. It’s quite clean,’ he continued, handing a blanket to Mohan. ‘Here, take one too,’ he said to Rama, as he handed him another.

  ‘Thank you,’ Mohan replied, unsmilingly.

  Rama and Kailasan talked for a long time after Mohan fell asleep. Finally, they too bid each other goodnight.

  Something awoke Rama. He was instantly alert, eyes darting around and ears straining to hear any movement around him. When he was sure there was no immediate danger, he raised his head slowly and looked at the two forms snoring gently by the still roaring fire. And then he heard it again.

  Someone was talking. Rama got up and followed the voice outside the temple premises. He walked down the slope and hid behind the trees by the side of the mud road. There weren’t too many trees, and the voices seemed quite near. Suddenly, Rama saw a familiar form in front of him, sitting on a rock by a tree and smoking from a chillum. It was Kailasan.

  ‘How …’ Rama began.

  ‘It doesn’t matter how I got here, Rama,’ Kailasan interrupted. ‘So, do you feel better now?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rama asked blankly.

  ‘Do you feel better now that Haider Ali is dead?’

  Rama caught his breath. How did he know? He looked at Kailasan, scared. He didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Don’t worry Rama, I am a friend, an old friend,’ Kailasan said, patting him reassuringly on the back. ‘So tell me, do you feel any better?’

  Rama thought about it for a moment before he replied, ‘No, not yet, but then, I’m not done.’

  ‘Do you really believe that killing Hastings will make you feel better?’ he asked, looking at him with that same ironic look in his eyes.

  Rama tried to suppress his fear; how in Shiva’s name did Kailasan know all this? He cleared his throat and said, ‘I won’t know until I have finished. I set out to do something, and I’m not yet done.’

  ‘Rama, this endless violence will only hurt you, and who knows what sort of effect it will have on your family. Let it end now. Killing Haider Ali may not have been so bad, but going after Hastings will probably destroy you and Mohan.’

  ‘How do you know so much, Ayya?’ Rama asked. ‘Who are you really?’

  ‘Did I mention that I knew your father?’ Kailasan replied. ‘I met him when he was on his way to Tirumala to hide the Sri chakra.’

  That was the last thing Rama had expected him to say. As he opened his mouth to speak, Kailasan went on, ‘Rama, you’re an intelligent man and you are obviously going to make your own choices. You may not succeed with Hastings. True, you killed Haider Ali, but I don’t think Hastings will be as easy. He trusted very few of his own people, only the Morris brothers. Now that everyone is dead, he’s not going to take any risks. He has enough problems of his own anyway.’

  ‘Who are you and how do you know so much? You say you knew my father. Did you know that Hastings had Haider Ali kill my parents?’

  Kailasan was unperturbed by this outburst. His chillum had gone out, and he now emptied it by tapping it against the rock he sat on. He looked up at Rama and replied, ‘Yes, Rama. I knew it. I am sorry about it, but killing Hastings is not going to accomplish anything. Since you are determined to follow your chosen path, remember that you are responsible now for more lives than just yours. Now if you will excuse me, I need a flame. Let us go back.’

  ‘All right,’ said Rama. He was glad to get back to the light of the fire.

  They were walking back towards the temple when Kailasan put his hand on Rama’s shoulder and said, ‘You are going to Tirumala first, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Rama replied. ‘Is the Sri chakra still there?’

  ‘That is for you to find out. I do know that your father went there to hide it.’

  They walked on in silence till they reached the temple wall. Kailasan suggested Rama climb ahead of him, so he scrambled up the slope and down the other side, waiting for the other man to appear. As he waited, his mind raced furiously: how did Kailasan know so much? He still hadn’t answered any of Rama’s questions. Should he be more aggressive in his questioning? For some reason, Rama felt great respect and trust for the ascetic, but was wary of his omniscience. Several minutes passed, but the ascetic never appeared on top of the mound. Desperately, Rama scrambled up the slope, and from the very top, looked around everywhere.

  There was no sign of Kailasan.

  seventeen

  How? How did he die?’ Hastings screamed at his petrified aide.

  The secretary, a weedy-looking individual, kept silent. His employer almost never raised his voice at anyone and this new avatar of his terrified Cummins.

  ‘Well, Cummins?’ Hastings pressed.

  ‘I don’t know, sir. His son merely writes to inform us that Haider Ali is dead, and that we are to consider any agreements that we might have made with his father to be at an end.’

  Hastings stood at his desk and looked out of the window. The beautiful cloudless night was sparkling with millions of stars, but to Hastings, at that point, they all meant nothing. He was at a loose end here: Captain Johnston could find absolutely no information about Rama’s whereabouts, and now his only ally was dead. Without Haider Ali, he had no way of getting the Sri chakra. He couldn’t get any more of his countrymen involved. If word of his venture ever reached England, he and his family would be ruined. He could not risk that.

  No, he could not pursue this further. It seemed Rama had won.

  ‘Very well, Cummins. Make preparations. We will return to Calcutta.’

  eighteen

  When Mohan awoke the next morning, Rama told him all that had happened. Mohan heard Rama out in silence. When he had finished, Mohan said, ‘Well, Rama, it is your great good fortune that you have met such a man to guide you at this stage. He seemed like a noble soul as soon as I set my eyes on him.’ Mohan then got up
and went to the river to wash up. When he returned, he saw Rama had fallen asleep. Mohan covered his friend up with one of Kailasan’s blankets and sat by him. Rama needed his sleep.

  Rama awoke three hours later, much refreshed.

  ‘Are you sure that’s enough?’ Mohan asked him. ‘It’s still only about eight o’clock. You could sleep another couple of hours.’

  ‘I have slept well, Mohan, thank you. Are you feeling better?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Mohan replied, bashfully. ‘I am sorry I reacted the way I did last night. The fact that I was involved in the murder of a man was weighing heavily on my mind.’

  ‘Mohan, you know that that was what we had set out to do in the first place: take revenge for the atrocities that Haider Ali committed on our village and the murder of my parents. You should be glad that not only did we succeed in achieving what we had set out to do, but we got out of there in one piece,’ Rama replied.

  ‘Yes, I understand all that, Rama; it’s just that the way the man’s life went out, so easily, so quickly, took me completely unawares. It seemed a little pathetic to me that all his pomp, all his glory, came to nothing at the end.’

  ‘I understand what you are saying, Mohan. For king or commoner, death looks the same.’

  Rama and Mohan left soon afterwards, stopping at a small village to eat. They continued on to the town of Thiruchanur, at the foot of the Tirumala hills. Leaving their carriage in the temple, they went on foot towards the hills.

  The walk uphill took them about four hours, and they were utterly exhausted when they reached. The little town of Tirumala was built around the temple, and what a temple it was! They could see the structure from afar, and even at that distance, it filled them with warmth. The Sri chakra just had to be here, Rama felt. But he would have to find a way to speak to the head priest. The duo took a room in one of the numerous free guesthouses for pilgrims and after they had freshened up, they walked around the town to get their bearings. It was about four in the evening when Rama and Mohan went into the temple. The place was extremely crowded and it took them about an hour to go through.

  After the darshan, Rama asked the priest at the shrine for the whereabouts of the head priest, and was given directions. At his house, Rama had to wait a while before he could meet them. When Rama introduced himself, his name seemed to have no effect on the priest. He was disconcerted; he had been sure that the priest would know of his father’s visit. He then mentioned his father’s name, but the other man shook his head and said that he had not made Appayya’s acquaintance, then asked Rama the reason behind his visit.

  ‘I thought you were a friend of my father’s,’ Rama said, deciding against telling the priest the true purpose of his visit. ‘I merely came by to pay my respects.’

  ‘I am so happy to welcome you. Have you been inside the garbagriha yet? You have? That’s wonderful! Isn’t he a beautiful deity?’

  Rama nodded as he rose to leave. ‘By the way, are there any shrines to Shiva in this town?’

  The older man didn’t need much time to reply, ‘I’m sorry, Venkatesha is the only god in this town.’

  Rama thanked the priest and left. The sun had almost gone down, and by the dim light of dusk, he saw Mohan sitting across the street, waiting for him. Rather than go through the humiliation of an interrogation by the Brahmin priest, Mohan had decided to sit outside. Rama looked at the hundreds of pilgrims all around him—every face seemed so peaceful! His father must surely have left it here. Dhanapal had said so. But he had also said that it was behind the Shiva lingam in Tirumala, and the deity of the temple was Vishnu.

  Maybe Dhanapal had simply lost his mind, Rama thought to himself. There didn’t seem to be any other logical explanation for it.

  ‘Well? Did he know anything about it?’ Mohan asked when he walked over to him.

  ‘No,’ Rama replied slowly. ‘I have a plan, Mohan. You’re probably not going to like it, but it’s the only way.’

  ‘Well, let me hear it.’

  When Rama told him, Mohan shook his head vigorously. There was no way he would do it, he kept repeating, oblivious to Rama’s incessant pleas.

  ‘I can’t believe you convinced me to break into a temple!’ Mohan muttered to Rama, as they climbed the roof.

  ‘Sshhh!’ Rama hissed. ‘No more talking.’

  They were climbing the roof of one of the temple’s administrative buildings. They reached the top of the roof, the central beam, and from there were able to look at the other side. The intricately patterned golden roof of the temple shimmered in the night, reflecting the light from the blazing torches. Rama stared at the roof. There was something about it that seemed very familiar. What was it? And then he saw it.

  A solitary silver arrow was attached to the edge of the side that Rama was looking at. Surely he knew that arrow. And then he remembered; it was the silver arrow that his grandmother had gifted him on his eighth birthday with a bow. Like most childhood gifts, Rama had lost the arrow and forgot completely about it. So this was where it had landed up! Rama saw the hand of his grandmother behind this and her memory caused his eyes to momentarily well up with tears.

  Gesturing to Mohan to join him, Rama pointed out the arrow to his friend,‘Recognize that?’ he asked Mohan.

  ‘Are you talking about … no … wait, is that your arrow?’

  ‘Yes, it is. My father and Dhanapal must have left it here as a sign for me.’

  ‘So this must mean we are on the right track.’

  ‘I think so,’ Rama replied. ‘Come on, let’s go down that side.’

  They climbed down the other side of the sloping roof and jumped down into the main complex where the garbagriha was located. Nobody was around, so Rama made his way stealthily to the door with Mohan right behind him.

  The massive front door of the garbagriha was locked. Rama examined the huge padlock for a few moments. He was sure Mohan could open it with his dagger. The light from the torches was bright enough for him to pick the lock by.

  After nearly fifteen minutes, the lock clicked open. It was pitch dark inside, so Rama took one of the lamps down from the wall and stepped inside. Although he had seen the idol before, the sight that met his eyes now took his breath away, and he finally understood what Dhanapal had meant. The idol that stood before him was not the Balaji that he had prayed to that evening, but Shiva, in all his glory, with the Ganga flowing out of his matted locks, a crescent moon on his forehead, and the snakes on his chest and arms. There could be no mistaking it.

  Without the armour, Rama saw the lord of Tirumala for who he really was. It was the only Shiva temple he had seen with Shiva depicted in human form, apart from Gudimallam.

  Trembling with excitement, Rama turned to Mohan who stood transfixed by the idol in front of him. ‘That’s what he was talking about,’ Rama whispered excitedly. ‘The Shiva in Tirumala!’

  Mohan said nothing but only stared. Rama got busy right away. He ran to the idol and examined it carefully. The front was completely solid, but there was a loose slab at the back of the pedestal. By the light of the lamp, Rama started examining the slab and everything around it until he found what he was looking for—a small circular projection behind the left heel of the sculpture. When Rama pressed on it, the stone slab which formed the back of the pedestal slid downward, revealing an alcove. Rama carefully put his hand inside and felt around; his hand touched something soft. Holding the light to the base, Rama peered in. It looked like a cloth parcel of some sort, just like the one in which the Sri chakra had been wrapped when Rama first saw it.

  He put his hand in and lifted it out. It seemed heavier than he remembered. He opened it hastily, and then let out a startled cry.

  ‘What happened?’ Mohan asked, as he darted forward. ‘Are you all right?’

  In response, Rama held up a small square little wooden plank, a wry smile on his face.

  ‘Looks like we have been made fools of this time. This is all there is.’

  As he held it up, Rama looked
beneath the plank. Nailed to the underside was a folded sheet of parchment. Rama carefully took the nail out, and opened the sheet. It was addressed to him.

  He took a deep, long breath and started reading by the light of his lamp.

  My dear son,

  If you are reading this, my prayers for your future have remained unanswered and you have been called upon to bear this burden that has cursed our family for over a thousand years. For this, I am truly sorry.

  You must be wondering about the Sri chakra; I never brought it here. I hid it somewhere else, and continued travelling to Tirumala to deceive anyone who might have been following me.

  My son, when I saw you on that riverbank that night, covered in blood, something inside me snapped. I have grown sick of the Sri chakra, and my only desire is that you never have to carry that burden. Only I know the location of the chakra, and the secret will die with me.

  I don’t know at what stage in your life you are reading this. Whatever your age, I want you to always remember that I love you very much, and your duty henceforth is for you to live your life the way the gods intended it. You are hopefully already the temple priest, but if not, remember that is what your future should be. Work hard to achieve it with success.

  All my best wishes,

  Your father

  Rama read this letter three times over. He looked up at Mohan who was looking down at him expectantly.

  ‘It is not here. My father never brought it here.’

  ‘What? Does he say where he kept it?’

  ‘No,’ Rama replied as he got to his feet. ‘He wanted to spare me the responsibility of protecting the chakra. It’s out of our hands now.’

  ‘So what now?’ Mohan asked.

  ‘Now we get out of here.’

  nineteen

  The Sri chakra was not in Tirumala. There were no more clues as to where it might have been hidden. Rama and Mohan had decided to set off down the hill as soon as they discovered that it was not there. It was an hour to daybreak when they got out of the temple, and they had barely got out of the temple town when Mohan decided that he needed a break.

  They sat by the side of the path watching the pilgrims making their way out of the town. Their break-in would not be discovered. They took nothing, and locked the door behind them. Rama showed Mohan his father’s letter, and after reading it Mohan said, ‘There. Now that we know the chakra is safe, we can get on with our lives.’