The Onus of Karma

by Rudra Krishna

  The sixth door led to a larger room, with lockers lining all the walls. The next room was filled with cupboards instead of lockers. They entered quietly and closed the door behind them. There were six large wooden cupboards, three on each side and one smaller one next to each set of three. Rama went to one of the cupboards and opened it. Inside, twelve cleaned and loaded muskets were lined neatly against the back wall. They opened all the cupboards in turn. Two contained pistols, four contained muskets. One of the smaller cupboards had belts of musket cartridges, and the other contained bullets for the pistols.

  ‘Take two muskets and two pistols,’ Rama told Mohan. ‘Take whatever ammunition you need. Do you know how to use a pistol?’

  ‘Can’t be too different from a musket, right?’

  ‘Right. Make sure you unload all the guns that we don’t take. We’ll fill up one of the sacks they have used to line the cupboard with all the remaining ammunition and dump it somewhere.’

  Mohan nodded in agreement.

  Half an hour later, Rama cautiously peeked out of the room to ensure that the coast was clear before he proceeded down the hallway, followed by Mohan, both men armed to the teeth. Apart from their own weapons, each man carried two muskets—one slung across each shoulder—and a third in his hands, two pistols tucked into the waistband and a heavy sack of surplus ammunition. They exited the building quietly and ran for cover under the shadows of the fort walls. They found large drains at frequent intervals that seemed to lead to the moat outside, and it was into one of these that they stowed away the sacks.

  At length they reached the western end of the fort and moved along the wall until they came to a projection, beyond which, on one end, was the northern face of the governor general’s mansion. As they stood behind this projection, Rama saw that about twenty yards straight ahead of him was another building that seemed to have a few lights on. Rama wondered what was in that building, but only for an instant. Midnight struck and brought him back to the task on hand.

  He looked back at the governor general’s mansion just as a guard came into view. Mohan was right behind, and Rama signalled for his friend to come alongside him and take a look. Just as Mohan started to, Rama pushed him back against the wall. Two new guards had come into view and the four guards who had been patrolling walked towards them and started talking to them.

  Rama looked at the western wall of the governor general’s mansion. Could he make a run for it? Rama had just reached the decision that it wasn’t worth the risk when the four guards who had been patrolling around the mansion walked away and the two new guards took up position. Rama’s mind was racing furiously. Could these guards be using the guns that they had unloaded? Probably not. They would have noticed that the ammunition was missing, and since no alarm had been raised as yet, it was unlikely.

  After the two guards had been patrolling for about five minutes and Rama was sure the coast was clear, he signalled to Mohan to come to his side again. Rama whispered into his friend’s ear, ‘I’m going to shoot the next fellow who comes this side. Get ready to run across and pick up his body. I’ll be right by your side, and then you follow me into the mansion. All right?’

  Mohan nodded in affirmation, and Rama took a bolt out of his quiver and fit it in the crossbow before putting it to his shoulder and waiting for the guard. It didn’t take too long. The guard turned the corner within moments, and he had taken barely six steps when Rama shot him in the throat, and he went down silently.

  Mohan had the body in his arms, it seemed, even before it hit the ground, and Rama was by his side, quickly running in front of him towards the front door of the mansion, which was open.

  As they ran, Rama looked to his left at the expanse of the fort. There was nobody in sight. So far they had been completely unseen. He was still running when he took another arrow out from his quiver and fit it in the furrow of his crossbow. The muskets made a clinking sound as they ran, and Rama was positive that the sound would wake up everyone in the mansion. Mohan deposited the guard’s body behind a pillar next to the door, and followed Rama inside.

  The living room of the governor general’s mansion was split into a smaller section on one side, with low comfortable wooden chairs, and a larger section on the other with plush sofas. In the middle there was room to walk that led to a large staircase which branched halfway up to the first floor and led up to either side of the landing. A large double door stood in the middle of the landing; Rama had no doubt it opened into Hastings’ private chamber.

  He turned to Mohan and put a finger to his lips before pointing to the room on the first floor. Mohan looked up, then back at Rama, and nodded his head in understanding. After one more wary look, the friends were on their way up the stairs as silently and noiselessly as they could till they heard the musket behind them. They dove for cover behind the banisters instantly. Rama was the first to look back. The other guard had noticed someone come inside and, on seeing two intruders, had shot at them excitedly, without aiming. Instinctively, Rama lifted his crossbow and shot him.

  The arrow went into the guard’s stomach and he dropped his rifle as he was reloading it, but Rama was allowed no respite because two other guards who had been alerted by the sound of the gunshots came out of a room on the first floor and fired at them from above. Rama saw his friend go down from the corner of his eye, but didn’t allow that to distract him as he pulled two muskets around into his hands and fired. One of the guards fell over the balustrade and down to the floor below, but the other one continued to shoot, uninterrupted. Rama dropped the two guns in his hand and pulling around his last musket, took aim and fired.

  The soldier had hardly touched the ground below when Rama was at Mohan’s side examining him. He had been hit in the stomach and was writhing in pain, but he was still alive. Rama quickly took the muskets off his friend’s back and threw them across his own shoulder before looking purposefully up at the door. Hastings now had one more thing to answer for.

  ‘Go on, Rama, finish it off,’ Mohan said to him.

  ‘You’re coming with me. We’re leaving together,’ Rama replied grimly as he got to his feet. He helped Mohan up and, supporting him on his shoulder, walked up the remaining steps to the first floor. Hastings hadn’t come out to investigate. He was probably cowering in his room like the coward he was, Rama thought to himself, as he made his way towards the door with Mohan by his side.

  He reached the door and kicked it open.

  twenty-four

  Hastings was saying to Cummins‘… and have about three days set aside to find additional help for Thursday at the banquet. I doubt we have enough people, and I do believe that whoever you find will need to be trained a little.’

  ‘Very good, m’lord,’ Cummins replied. ‘And what of the wine?’

  ‘Well,’ Hastings said as he put down his quill. ‘I have a shipment arriving the day after tomorrow. We should have enough wine and champagne. I do need you to prepare a slightly exotic menu. Maybe a Far Eastern theme?’

  The secretary was making notes and Hastings was looking at him, considering what else he needed to tell the man. The hour was late and he wanted to go to bed. He had a pretty native waiting for him. Her husband had wanted ten rupees for her, and Hastings didn’t want to waste the money.

  Just then he heard a loud gunshot, followed a few minutes later by another.

  ‘Did you hear that, Cummins?’ he asked his secretary. ‘That was gunfire.’

  The secretary got up and walked to the window. ‘I think it came from your residence, m’ lord.’

  Hastings got up and, turning around, looked out of his window at the well-lit building not sixty yards from him.

  ‘What the devil could be going on in there?’

  twenty-five

  Hastings wasn’t in the room. A woman sat on the bed, terrified. Rama took one quick look around before he turned to her.

  ‘Where is Hastings?’ he asked, almost desperately.

  ‘He hasn’t yet arrived,’ the fri
ghtened woman answered. ‘What happened to him?’

  Rama didn’t reply immediately. He stumbled with Mohan to the bed and placed him on it before he went back to the door and locked it. ‘Is he in this house?’ he asked the woman.

  ‘No. He is in one of the other buildings,’ she replied, slightly calmer. ‘What’s going on? Why are you here? And why is he bleeding?’

  ‘He has been shot.’ Rama pulled a sheet off the bed, ripped it into strips and tied them Mohan’s midsection to staunch the blood.

  ‘What do we do now Rama? He isn’t here.’ Mohan mumbled, weakly.

  ‘I have to get you out of here. I can get to him some other day.’

  ‘Ah, but I’m going to die anyway. Leave me here and go after him. Don’t waste this opportunity.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’ As he said this, Rama heard the unmistakable sounds of guards arriving downstairs.

  Pulling out another sheet from the bed, Rama ran to the open balcony and quickly tied it around the banister. He then ran to Mohan, propped him up on his shoulder and stumbled back to the balcony. ‘Brace yourself, Mohan. I’ll tie you to my back.’

  Mohan nodded weakly. Rama knew his friend didn’t have much time. He had to get out of the fort fast. He climbed onto the banister and over the other side; Mohan somehow held on. As soon as they reached the ground, the pair hobbled over to the stables. Inside were three huge and magnificent horses. Rama leaned Mohan against the door carefully before running into the closest stall, where a large grey Arab stallion was stabled. He threw the horse’s saddle on its back and buckled the straps. The horse offered no resistance. He led the horse towards the door and, after helping Mohan up, climbed on the horse behind him. They were off in an instant.

  Rama knew that none of the gates would be open and even if he managed to climb out through a drain, they would have to get out of the moat and across the maidan, the large lawn outside the fort, on foot. His only hope was the river. He rode his horse out of the stable just as three soldiers turned around the house and ran towards him, raising their muskets in aim. Rama didn’t hesitate for even a moment as he ploughed right into them. One of the muskets did go off, but it was a wild shot.

  Rama rode towards the fort wall, and the western gate. Although the gate would be locked, he decided he would go up the ramp to the very top, and jump off at the westernmost tip, where the fort walls touched the Hoogly.

  His passage up the first ramp to the first rampart was uninterrupted, but once he got there, he was fired upon by all the guards. Rama continued riding, trying to get to the second level, where a part of the bulwark overlooked the river. As he rode up the second ramp, a bullet thudded into his right shoulder.

  The pain was blinding but it was only for a moment, as the adrenalin kicked in a moment later and Rama realized that he needed to concentrate a little more. As he rode on, he could hear the shouts of the soldiers who were chasing them up the ramp. Rama reached the second tier and the first thing he saw was the Hoogly. He quickly rode across the walkway to the other side and looked down. Two hundred feet below him, the Hoogly crashed into the walls of Fort William. Mohan moaned and fell forward, clutching the horse’s neck. Rama would need to move, and fast.

  He took a deep breath and led his horse back to the mouth of the ramp. He saw the hordes of red blazers running up the ramp towards him. Turning his horse back towards the river, Rama geed up his horse and was off in a flash. The wall came up quickly and Rama dropped his wrists a little, letting the reins go slack as he leaned forward, egging the horse on.

  And the stallion complied. As his steed leapt into the air, Rama looked down at the Hoogly. It was quite deep, he would be all right. He heard many loud shots fired behind him, and suddenly, something thudded into his back. Rama started falling down.

  He was sitting on Marina Beach with Sita next to him and little Pattabhi playing in the sand, digging a hole through which his hand reached in, all the way to his shoulder. He proudly called his father’s attention to this.

  Sita had her head on his shoulder. Her hair smelt like fresh hay, mingled with the sandalwood smell of her skin. She had her arms around his waist and he had his around hers as they sat on the empty beach that beautiful morning and watched the sun rise.

  The Sri chakra was safe. His father had made sure that not a living soul knew where it was, and that meant it would stay away hidden until the gods felt it was ready to surface on the planet. That wasn’t his problem. His duty now remained for him to love his family and take care of them. His father had released him of his burden. Sita kissed his neck, and gave a little sigh of contentment.

  Little Pattabhi ran towards the sea. Rama called out to him not to enter the water. He turned back and smiled reassuringly at his father. Rama smiled back, and then looked down at his darling Sita.

  Where was she? There was nobody next to him, and his hands felt wet. He looked down at them. They were red. Why were they red?

  Suddenly he saw a form lying in the sand a few feet away. He went over. Who was it? It wasn’t Sita, just a man lying face down on the ground. Who was it? He turned the man over. It was Mohan! His stomach was bleeding, but he looked up at Rama with a happy smile.

  ‘At least we did it together,’ he said through tears.

  But Rama didn’t understand. Did what? Wasn’t everything all right? He looked towards the sea, where his son had been playing. Ah, there was Sita, walking along the sea holding their little son’s hand, but why did she look so different? He looked at her closely.

  Her head was shaved, he realized with horror. Her head was shaved! But how? Why?

  He looked back at the sun, and then he remembered.

  He had failed.

  EPILOGUE

  It’s a blazing hot afternoon at Kanchipuram, an hour’s drive from the modern city of Madras. Our journey has brought us here at last, to the temple of Kamakshi, the goddess with eyes of love, one of the forms of Parvati, the consort of Shiva.

  It’s a Friday evening and the archana has just finished. She really is a beautiful deity. There are lamps lit all around the goddess. Deep inside the dark garbagriha, her face shines with a blue light. The light comes from the pair of sparkling blue diamonds that she wears on her ears.

  The blue diamond earrings were crafted in the year 1769 by a craftsman called Chakkarai in the nearby village of Damar. They were a gift for the village chieftain’s grandson, a boy called Ramaswami Dikshitar, later known as Ramaswami Aiyar, a bounty hunter about whom much is not known. The diamond earrings had been in his family since then, passed on from eldest son to eldest son. They all wore them proudly while practising their craft, law. They were finally donated to the temple by one of his descendants, over two hundred years after they had first been worn.

  Let us step outside this garbagriha now and stand by the temple tank. In the middle of this tank is a little structure, a little mandapam that stands by itself. The tank is much deeper than normal temple tanks. Three of its walls even have ledges to sit on with a cover above them, while the fourth has ledges of a different sort, with two apsaras seated upon them.

  At the base of the mandapam is a small gap that has been covered up by two hundred years of silt. The water has, however, been kept completely out of it. This seemingly inexplicable little phenomenon can be explained if we look inside. In this gap is a small oilskin bag. The contents of the bag, like the bag itself, are lost in the pages of time, for there was a time when many men died over the contents of this seemingly innocuous little bag.

  On the steps of this temple tank sits a man. His clothes are in rags, but one can tell that at one time they were the saffron robes of a yogi. His eyes shine with a strange golden fire and his hair and beard are dreadlocked by time. He seems oblivious to the changing world around him as busy folk hurry by. He reaches into a bag that he carries over his shoulder and takes out a book of rolling papers …

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Iwould like firstly, to thank my mother, Dr Nanditha Krishna for inspi
ring the idea for this story with the story of my own ancestor, upon whom this book is based. I would like to thank Ravi Singh, publisher and editor-in-chief at Penguin India, for liking my story enough to sign me on, and Anurag Basnet for his incredible job on the edit. Lastly, but most vitally, I thank Tharuppukal Ramaswami Aiyar for being the renegade that he was and inspiring me to use him as my hero.

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  First published by Penguin Books India 2010

  Copyright © Rudra Krishna 2010

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Cover Designer: by Sayantan Halder

  ISBN 978-0-143-06549-4

  This digital edition published in 2018.

  e-ISBN: 978-9-353-05254-6

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.