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KANNAGI STIRRED, AND I sat watching her in the half-light, as has been my habit since we embarked on our journey. Marvelling at her unblemished beauty, my heart filled with leaping joy. But fearing that even my tender gaze might wake her, I stole away and sat on a tree trunk, axed to serve as a bench.
With brightening light, the village layout grew clearer. The centre was a vast hole cut by the hand of nature into the hill, for all around us were high cliffs. Caves pockmarked the steep slopes of hardened rocks surrounding us. The huge chamber was the epicentre of a long dead volcano. Shrubs covered the mouths of caves and, for a casual observer, the hill slopes looked serene and uninhabited. Trees had taken root on the cusp of the volcano’s yawn. Seen from the lowlands, the village centre was only a copse of trees on a hilltop.
I sat there gaping at the ingenuity of nature when Kannagi turned with a smile. We exchanged tender words of greetings and after which addressed the matter at hand.
‘The people are wild but friendly enough, Athan. But let us not dawdle, for Madurai beckons and we have many leagues more to trace.’
‘You are correct, my sweet. Please wait here while I seek the best of their lot, Savaali, and secure water to wash and something to eat before we set out.’
Before I could venture forth, the Arakan king, Eraivan, approached out of the mist. He carried an earthenware pot of coarse bread and fruits and, under his arms, two ewers, the larger filled with water and the smaller with fresh goats’ milk.
‘My people continue in their late slumber and myself prepared this selection. Wash and refresh yourselves, good people, and I shall directly return with an escort to guide your onward journey.’ And without more to say, he turned and disappeared into the misty haze of dawn.
‘And what did he mean last night, Athan, by studying me with such curiosity even as he spoke of a feminine wonder from the east to save his people?’
‘It intrigued me too and is beyond my understanding, but let us not dwell too much on words fuelled by intoxicants, and instead make our preparations to depart.’
We completed our morning ablutions and fortified ourselves with the breakfast well-prepared by the hands of the Arakan king himself. Their customs were extraordinary. A king who prepared breakfast for wayfarers. There were no servants in Arakan families, but what of his wives? And Savaali’s mother has had several husbands. Apparently, so did many of the women in the village. All strange and even outrageous practices. But they claimed it was the way of our forebears. But Kannagi was right. We will have time enough to pause over such matters, for now Madurai awaits us.
When we had packed our few belongings, Eraivan, who seemed to have a good timing in such matters, again appeared. Savaali, his brother the Silent One, and an armed group followed in his wake.
‘Here, a small parting gift of smoked honey,’ said Eraivan. He handed a jar, carved from wood. ‘You have set your mind on Madurai and I wish you well. Make your fortune, good Cholan, and pray quickly depart Madurai on your fleet feet. For evil lurks there, a city once exemplary and stain free, and blind men will release the locks to the nether world. And out will spring the fiery she-serpent.’
‘My wife and I thank you, sir Eraivan, for your generous care and hospitality. We shall accord due weight to your counsel.’
‘Go now, Cholan, for my Arakans are restless to guide you to the hilltop, the one we call the edge. For, it is the edge of civilisation. But move with impatience, for in these lands the day grows old fast, and before a blink abdicates to its darker cousin. From the edge, you will gaze upon Pandyan country. Their roads are well-pressed and patrolled by their king’s cohorts. No welcome for Arakans, but welcome enough for you. Go now, and may all the gods and goddesses you pray to look after you and keep you and your good woman safe.’
Once more, with Savaali leading, we walked through low, tight tunnels. Torches, plunged into sodden walls and others wavering in hands held high, lit the way. I now had a better measure of the village. As I had already discovered during the night, the village comprised caves, holes, and hovels in hillsides, and all connected by the work of nature and the hand of man. The warren of passages were in places walls of earth and in other portions, hard stone. Murals and strange markings adorned the stone walls. Much of the vulgar art depicted animal hunts, men with oversized lingams, and couples in various acts of rough coitus. There were also scratchings of gods and fanged demons.
Again, we avoided abrupt bends and pike filled holes until a faint patch of light greeted us in the distance. We heard birdsong and soon exited into the forest on the outer slope of the vast hill range, and the fresh morning greeted us.
As the day before, with the Silent One in the lead and Savaali bringing up the rear, we struggled to keep up with the Arakans as they moved through the forest. They ran in an easy lope, jumped over fallen tree trunks, and scaled up and dropped down from boulders, and always landed on sure feet. Their movements were fluid and the cohort always silent, gliding through the bush like ghosts. There was not even a grunt when they dropped from a height and the air punched out their lungs.
Kannagi and I tired early in the journey and the tribesmen offered to lift us on their backs as if we were children riding play horses. My dear wife dithered but I, almost fainting from fatigue, urged her to discard all inhibition. Seeing me clamber on a man’s back, she too did likewise. When one man tired, without hesitation another took over the burden of our weight and kept the unbroken pace. No one complained, no one slowed, and so they carried us until the next exchange.
We made good distance and within hours the trees thinned and we broke into the open. And a glorious day greeted us. We stood under an expansive sky filled with cotton clouds floating in a sea of brilliant blue. Waving grassland dipped and raced ahead, and paths snaked alongside mountain streams. The Arakans did not seem the worse for the journey but the run had exhausted us.
The day was already mature when we reached the small spur on the hill—the edge. Savaali pointed and said,
‘See that hill there in the far yonder, skirted by the line of trees? Beyond the crest lies the village of Puranchery, gateway to Madurai. Seek a woman who goes by the name Gayathri. She will provide lodging for you.’
‘Is this woman known to you?’ I asked.
‘No, only that other wayfarers mentioned her kind heart and a clean hut,’ said Savaali. ‘It is a steep path and will devour the better part of your day.’
When Eraivan referred to the lookout as the edge, the edge of civilisation, I had assumed we were entering civilisation. But I learned from Savaali, his king meant we were leaving civilisation.
‘We part here, Poom-Puhar,’ said Savaali, ‘for any sightings of Arakans will raise a terror and entice soldiers to hunt us down, for they hold no ready respect for our lives.’
‘You have been kind my friend, all of you, and I dread it will be well past the daylight hour before you repair to your homes.’
‘Think nothing of it, Poom-Puhar,’ said Savaali. ‘The gods go with you.’
‘My husband’s name is Kovalan, sir,’ interrupted Kannagi, ‘if you please.’
The huge Arakan with the abiding humour laughed and said, ‘If you wish me to address him as king sir, so be it, Kovalan sir. The gods go with you too, fiery little sister. Take that path leading away to the left, for it is a sly one and bends behind the huge boulder you see on your left. You cannot miss the village.’
I followed Savaali’s outstretched hand. He was right. An unsuspecting traveller would have missed the path.
When I turned to thank him, Savaali was gone; and so were all his men. One moment they were there, and the next moment we stood alone. Kannagi looked just as amazed.
‘Remarkable people, these beast-men,’ I said.
‘Men, Athan, not beast-men, please.’
‘Yes, my sweet. Men.’
‘Come, Athan, let us not waste the haste made by these selfless souls, for the horizon sucks away sunlight fast. It is best we seek shelter for the night in the village before we lose what precious little daylight remains.’
***
THE THATCH-ROOFED HUTS of Puranchery had low doors and were identical in construction, made from bricks of mud and rice straw, and slapped with flat cow-dung cakes to soak up the heat. Each house had a little garden. And a flimsy fence, made of weaved coconut leaves, marked out individual plots. The dirt streets, though well-swept, betrayed little invasions of grass sprouts here and there, hinting at the ever-ready forest waiting to reclaim the land.
The people were trusting and welcomed us with shy smiles, and children gathered and formed a small procession in our wake. As it was a woman we sought, it made sense for Kannagi to make the enquiries.
‘We seek shelter with Amah Gayathri,’ said Kannagi.
Immediately several hands pointed the direction. Some children offered to show us the way and others ran ahead, excited and calling out the woman’s name.
By the time we and the party of gambolling escorts reached our intended destination, a woman of indeterminate age and her daughter, a few years younger than Kannagi, were waiting to greet us. They were of a pleasant disposition and, as was the custom, clasped hands in welcome. The woman, clad in the white garments of a widow, addressed Kannagi.
‘Welcome, please,’ she said with reverence, ‘I am Gayathri, and this is my daughter. Who are you nice people come to seek me and for what purpose?’
‘Hello, Amah Gayathri, I am Kannagi and this is my husband, Kovalan. We are lately arrived from the Cholan capital city of Poom-Puhar. Some good people we met on the journey, upon learning our need for affordable lodging, suggested we seek your hospitality.’
‘I see the tali around your neck and so he is your good husband as you say. Pardon me for speaking plainly but we are two women, my daughter who has come of age and I, and with fate having taken my dear husband we live alone. And society demands many precautions before allowing anyone, and especially men, into our humble dwelling.’
Suspecting Kannagi might become defensive, I said, ‘All you say is correct, Amah Gayathri, and it is for my dear wife Kannagi for whom I seek shelter. A difficult journey has ravaged her health. For myself will sleep in a small corner of your veranda outside the locked doors of your house.’
Throughout the exchange, the entire village, it seemed, gathered in a tight knot around us and scrutinised our every gesture and weighed our every word.
Unfortunately, the people were not passive onlookers and several men interrogated us, as if duty bound to prevent any inadvertent occurrences and gossip. I felt myself growing annoyed at the implications to my integrity but had the good sense to conceal my feelings.
Only after gaining the approval of the people, Gayathri found her voice to grant us a room. I did not have to sleep on the veranda.
I took out the gleaming oil lamp and handed it to Kannagi, who offered it to our host.
‘Please, Lady Kannagi, keep your family heirloom for now,’ said the woman. ‘You wear weathered garments but below the dullness I detect fabrics of high quality. Your words are subdued but your bearing hints of one who had once lived as a queen. My daughter and I are blessed to have you and your husband as our guests. You are welcome to stay as long as you wish and partake of our meagre meals. As you depart, pay us what you deem fair, for your offer now is far too excessive.’
Gayathri led us into the house and we lowered our heads to enter the door. The air in the cottage smelled of flowers, and the dirt floor was clean. An arrangement of rocks served as a stove, and there was a small pile of stacked firewood. Several clay pots and receptacles cluttered one corner. There was little on offer but more than we could have scavenged on any jungle trail. Most of all, since we departed Puhar, this would be the first night under a proper roof.
Our room was dim, lit by a dull light from a small window set below the roof. The window let in breeze while providing a measure of privacy.
I sat on a welcomed rope bed which had a mat covering, and Kannagi lay on another mat on the floor next to me. Weariness won, and we fell asleep.
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