four

Two boys ran against the wind. Rama, slim and fair, quite tall for his age; the other, Mohan, shorter, curly haired, was more robustly built, though not as fair as Rama. The boys were about twelve years old and were racing up the slope to cheer their village in their battle against Haider Ali’s men.

Mohan’s father was on the battlefield, fighting for the village. Rama’s father, on the other hand, would never scrimmage with other men. He was a Dikshitar, the temple’s head priest, guardian of a proud heritage.

Rama, however, was beginning to understand that he did not want to be a part of that heritage. The idea of priesthood did not interest him in the least. He was more inclined towards the work that Kandasamy, Mohan’s father, did. Kandasamy was the village blacksmith and one of the town’s best sword-fighters. Rama, fascinated with weapons, had spent a lot of time since childhood with him, learning the art of sword-fighting. He also learnt to use the axe and bow with great precision, and mastered kallaripayattu, the local martial art form.

When Rama was five, a sanyasi known only as Periyavar made the Damar temple his home. No one knew where he had come from, but they did know for certain that he was a very learned man. Quite as a matter of course, Periyavar took over the responsibility of Rama’s education. He had acquired immense knowledge over many years of extensive travel across the subcontinent and he was more than willing to impart it to the young boy as an ongoing series of talks about life, the universe and philosophy in general. He also taught Rama yoga.

One day, when Rama was eleven, he went to the temple to see his teacher. He found that Periyavar had left the previous night, leaving a note for his young pupil.

My son,

Please forgive me for not taking your leave, but I did not wish to say goodbye to you. You see, my child, I came to Damar with a purpose which I have achieved now. My hasty departure is prompted by two things: your intelligence, which makes my prolonged stay in Damar inadvisable if you are to develop on your own, and the fact that I have grown much too attached to you.

Rama, you are a phenomenal boy. One of the greatest experiences of my existence has been to watch you grow, and to have had a hand in it gives me a sense of fulfilment; especially when I consider my past failures. It gives me a sense, time and again, of the great balance of Brahman that one small stone can completely tilt the balance of life in a pond, on whatever scale it may be. Remember that, my son, and please always remember me as your guru.

At first, Rama had been hurt but he read the letter again and understood fully what his guru had to say.

He had continued practising sword fighting and kalaripayattu, but his interest in these disciplines was purely academic. His parents would never let him take part in anything that wasn’t strictly ‘Brahmanical’, which excluded everything other than shlokas and studying. Rama had, however, found allies in his grandmother and his guru, who had convinced his parents to allow him to pursue his interests as long as he didn’t compete.

The two boys reached the top of the hill. The sight that greeted them was one being played across many parts of the country. The geographical entity now called India had been largely peaceful. While the north had faced much of the brunt of the invading Mughal armies which controlled that entire region, the south had remained largely free of strife. But with the advent of the British, violence found a place in their lives. Sandwiched as they were between the Mughals in the north and west and the British in the south and east, Damar was the site of many battles, and still they resisted.

The present battle was between an advance party sent by Haider Ali, the ruler of Mysore, and the people of Damar. The patrol wanted to take over the food supplies of the town to feed the hungry army. Haider Ali was marching on the fort of Madras, having successfully ended Smith’s siege of Bangalore. The band of forty soldiers, though heavily outnumbered, was holding its own despite heavy losses, largely due to its superior artillery.

Periamma, the village chief, stood at a distance, surveying the battlefield. She sensed the two speeding boys approach. Without turning around, she said, ‘There you are, my child! I was wondering when you would arrive.’

‘Mohan keeps slowing me down, Paati. How long have you been here?’ Rama asked his grandmother.

‘Since two hours before dawn; we have been on the lookout for any other parties that might be on the way.’

‘Are we sure this is the only group?’ he asked.

Periamma turned around to face him then. She was a diminutive woman with an oval face and a hawk nose. She was believed, in the village, to possess psychic powers: her large eyes, deep and mysterious, only reinforced this impression. She was an unusual widow, still wearing a parting in her hair and a maroon nine-yard sari. She was over fifty but her dark hair and her carriage belied her age; she looked a spry forty.

‘I’m sure, Rama. I’ve been watching the lands all around, and you know how far I can see.’

‘I know, Paati. Have you eaten yet?’

‘Yes. Raju brought me some idlis about an hour ago. Have you?’

‘Yes, Amma served me those idlis too.’ Suddenly, changing track, he said. ‘Paati, you know I can help out with all these things!’

‘Rama, you are the smartest boy of your age. You will be an adult soon. I can’t take away what’s left of your childhood. I know you are more than ready to help out, but I pray that you won’t have to.’

Rama only shook his head. Though he fully understood the import of what his grandmother was saying, he didn’t enjoy being treated like a child. He said to Periamma, ‘Something should be done about this, Paati. Our own people are killing each other.’

‘And how do you propose we do that?’

‘One way out, Paati, is to unify all the kingdoms.’

‘But, Rama, that’s the way of the despot. A military solution is not the answer. The only way to unify people is with love, not force. Fear has never unified anything, and your war won’t be any better. People will still die. The only way things will end, if ever, will be through compromise, weak and grudgingly made.’

‘Compromise is necessary.’

‘Why Rama? What makes compromise necessary?’

‘Because people are different.’

‘Then what is really necessary is the acceptance of that fact,’ she said. ‘You and I aren’t the same, but we haven’t compromised on anything. We accept, and even like, the differences. We just need to accept that each one has a different set of beliefs, and respect their right to think. Morality and religion should never be forced.’

‘But Paati, doesn’t someone need to control society?’

‘No, but man is the most wretched of all the animals. His history is defined by the greatest problems he faces and not, like other animals, by his successes. Our karma is so soiled by thousands of years of cruelty and misery that all we do is steep ourselves continuously in pain. Laws will always be broken, and law enforcement will always be indispensable, but that isn’t the same as control.

‘I feel a time of great misery coming on. This change of guard, with the British taking over in the north, has only strengthened their position in the south. They’ve gone from being businessmen to prominent landowners and, if all this talk is to be believed, are already ruling half the continent. Those who once ruled will have to get used to being ordinary citizens, and that will create tension everywhere.’

‘What if Haider Ali wins?’

‘He can’t. He’s not a good enough leader, and he has too many enemies within his own kingdom. Those men down there are forced labourers; they don’t fight out of patriotism or ideology.’

Just then a loud cheer went up below. The last surviving soldiers had laid down arms.

‘Ah, it’s over,’ Periamma said, with a satisfied rub of her hands. ‘Let’s go down and talk to these men. It’s a pity they had to lose so many before they surrendered.’

As they made their way downhill, Rama marvelled at how agile his grandmother was. Mohan walked a few steps behind, as always, and stayed silent. Rama hated this system, which degraded his friend only because of his birth, but there was nothing he could do about it. Mohan gently nudged Rama and indicated that there was something he wanted to say.

‘What is it, Mohan?’ Periamma asked.

‘Nothing, Periamma, I was just wondering why the Hindu kingdoms don’t join forces.’

‘There’s no such thing as a Hindu kingdom,’ Periamma said as they reached the village. ‘We aren’t defined by who we worship, but by what we achieve.’

As the villagers made way for their chief, Rama walked into the ring with her. Mohan stayed back with the crowd. Periamma walked up to the defeated soldiers and looked at each of them in turn.

‘You,’ she said, addressing a man who wore a metal band around his left bicep. ‘I presume you are the leader?’

‘Yes, Amma. My name is Prithviraj.’

‘Well, Prithviraj, my men won’t hurt you. But I do need to know if you’re expecting reinforcements? Why did you attack us?’

‘We just defeated Smith at Bangalore. The emperor wants to attack Madras soon, before the British can counter our forces.’

‘And what does our little village have to do with that?’

‘We had orders to seize whatever food you had available. The emperor’s son Tipu is bringing down reinforcements tomorrow, but he won’t attack you—he’s a good person.’

‘Tell me, Prithviraj, do you enjoy working for Haider Ali?

‘He pays us on time,’ he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

Periamma considered that for a few minutes before she asked him, ‘And what are his plans for Madras?’

‘He’s laying siege to the fort.’ He hesitated before continuing. ‘The French are attacking from the south and the sea. Haider Ali has made a pact with Dupleix.’

‘If he wins, we’ll be ruled by Muslims!’ Dhanapal, one of the village’s soldiers, said, echoing the crowd’s sentiments.

Periamma looked at Prithviraj for a few minutes, a vacant expression on her face. Then, as if she suddenly became aware of her surroundings, she shook her head and, turning to Dhanapal, said, ‘Take them outside the village and set them free.’

‘We should kill them, else they’ll return with the rest of their soldiers.’

‘No, they will not. But, even if they do, we can’t kill them now,’ she pointed out, ‘they surrendered to us. But I want to talk to Prithviraj; he will stay back.’

With that, she turned on her heel and walked back towards the village. Dhanapal followed, a surly look on his face as he roughly yanked Prithviraj by the ropes that bound him. When they had reached the door of the panchayat house, Periamma turned to him and said, ‘Stay here. I want to talk to him alone.’

They came out about half an hour later, Periamma preceded by Prithviraj. She instructed Dhanapal, ‘Send some people out to summon all the panchayat members—immediately!’

When the last of the five ‘wise men’ of the village had arrived and was seated in the hall, Periamma stood up and said, ‘Guardians of the village, I have just received some disturbing news. Before I go into the details, there is a secret that only my son and I am aware of, and which I now need to share with you.’

Everyone in the circle nodded in ready acceptance. If Periamma said it was so, then there was no argument.

‘We all know the story behind our temple. It was built by the Devas as a tribute to Shiva and consecrated by Lord Vishnu himself. You know of the immense power of the temple. The truth is, when Adi Shankara received the Sri chakra from Lord Shiva, he brought it to Damar, to my husband’s ancestor, who was priest at this temple, and put him in charge of protecting the wheel. Adi Shankara stressed the enormous power of the chakra and the disaster that would ensue if it fell into the wrong hands.’

Her audience was stunned. They had all heard of the Sri chakra, but with time, the story had passed into the realm of legend. To have the existence of such an important source of power confirmed, and that, too, so suddenly, was not only greatly shocking but also extremely exciting.

Legend said that with the Sri chakra, Shiva had given man power over his future, to be used either for good or for evil. It was also ordained that the person who ultimately found the wheel would be Kalki, the tenth incarnation of Vishnu, a being of unlimited power.

Venugopal Shastri, the eldest of the panchayat members, held a hand up and asked, ‘Where is it kept?’

‘It’s in the temple,’ Periamma replied. ‘It is not important where.’

‘What did you learn just now, Amma?’ This from the slim, middle-aged, village teacher.

‘I’m not sure how much the man I spoke to knew, but he did tell me that they had orders to capture some of the village elders so that they could locate the Sri chakra.’

‘What does Haider Ali wants with the chakra?’ Rama’s father, Appayya Dikshitar, asked.

‘What else would he want with it? Power! His prime minister is a Brahmin. No doubt he told Haider Ali about the wheel.’

‘But Periamma,’ Sripal, the representative of the weavers, spoke. ‘Haider Ali is Muslim; he would not believe the legend.’

‘He might be Muslim but he’s no fool!’ said Periamma sharply. ‘He is a king, he has seen enough of the world and I’m sure he would like to harness whatever power he can.’

‘What are we going to do, Amma?’ Dikshitar asked. ‘Are we going to move the chakra? Where do we keep it?’

‘I’m going to send you with the chakra. You will hide it at a location which you won’t reveal even to us. You will then go to Madras and tell the British of Haider Ali’s plans. The British will, hopefully, come to our aid.’

The other four members of the circle nodded in agreement. As always, they trusted Periamma’s judgement absolutely.

After the meeting, everyone left except Periamma and her son. Periamma chose Dhanapal and Ekambaram to accompany Dikshitar on his mission. Dhanapal because he was strong and trustworthy; Ekambaram was a very capable fighter and mute: he could never reveal anything if captured.

‘Dhanapal, you and Ekambaram have a hard night ahead of you.’

Dhanapal’s normally surly face broke into a wry smile. ‘What do I need to do?’

‘I need you and Ekambaram to accompany my son to Tirumala. After that, you will go with him to Madras before escorting him back here. He will be your leader on this trip. If, for some reason, he decides to change the plan, you will assist him in whatever way he commands you to.’

‘Of course, Periamma, I always obey Chinnayya anyway.’

‘Very good, Dhanapal. Shiva goes with you tonight, so go bravely. You will, however, need to go the long way around, for Haider Ali’s army is blocking the northern and eastern sides of the village. I want you to make certain that nobody knows of your mission. We must make sure you’re not seen.’

‘We could use a decoy,’ Dhanapal suggested.

‘No.’ Periamma replied. ‘I don’t want to risk anyone else’s life. Besides, they won’t be looking for anyone yet. They are to march tomorrow, as soon as the prince reaches, and position themselves to the north and the west of Madras.’

‘We can swim out underwater,’ Dikshitar said, tentatively.

‘That might be a good idea. You will need cover though. Even if you do swim underwater, there is a chance that soldiers guarding the river will see you.’

‘They would never attack a child,’ Dikshitar ventured. ‘What if Rama rowed his boat across the river to go to his pathashala in Vandavashi, and we swam alongside, taking cover behind it?’

‘I don’t want to involve such a young child. It’s too dangerous.’

‘Amma, we don’t have time and we are out of options. Just think about it, which soldier would accost a child going to school?’

Dhanapal said, ‘It is a good idea, Periamma, and probably the only one.’

‘Very well, Ekambaram,’ Periamma said reluctantly. ‘Go and bring my grandson here. I need to talk to him first.’

Ekambaram went out and returned five minutes later with Rama.

‘Will all of you please leave? I want to speak to Rama alone,’ Periamma said.

When they were alone, she said to her grandson, ‘Over two thousand years ago, Adi Shankara travelled the continent from end to end numerous times. On one of these expeditions he heard Shiva calling to him, commanding him go to Badrinath. When he went there, Shiva gave Shankara the Sri chakra. Do you know anything about the chakra?’

‘Yes,’ Rama replied. ‘Periyavar told me all about it.’

‘Did he tell you where it is?’

‘Yes. He said it was right here in the village, and when the time came, I would see it.’

Periamma listened intently. She wondered how Periyavar had known. True, there had been rumours, which was how they had arrived at this situation in the first place, but there was obviously someone who had passed on Shankara’s secret. She decided to ask Rama all that he knew.

‘Yes. I shall show it to you. However, it must leave our village tonight.’

‘Because of Haider Ali?’

‘Yes. I am trying to understand how people found out about this. Did Periyavar tell you how he knew?’

‘No. He never said how he found out about the chakra, and I never asked.’

Periamma nodded. ‘Rama, I want you to help your father. Ekambaram and Dhanapal leave the village tonight.’

‘Yes, Paati,’ said Rama excitedly. ‘What do I have to do?’

‘Just row your boat out of Damar towards Vandavashi. Tell anyone who stops you that you’re returning to your pathashala. The three of them will be swimming under your boat using reeds to breathe. Then return a day later; if anyone asks, say your mother took ill.’

‘Do I row all the way to Vandavashi?’

‘You will have to find a quiet place to hide for the night before returning after daybreak when the soldiers on guard change shift.’

‘Yes, Paati. Now let’s go see the Sri chakra,’ said Rama, getting to his feet.

‘Let’s go, Rama. But please, before we go, I want you to understand that there is danger involved, and I hate to ask you to do this. If for any reason you don’t want to go, I want you to be honest.’

‘I want to go Paati, you know I do,’ said Rama, a smile playing on his lips.

‘Fine,’ his grandmother replied.

When they arrived at the temple, Periamma stood aside to allow her son to open the door and then strode inside, stopping first to bow before the lingam. Then she walked around it to the back of the inner sanctum and, from one of the hollows in the wall, picked up a small, hexagonal granite cylinder. It was covered with hundreds of little indentations and was obviously a key of some sort. She went around to the back of the sanctum sanctorum and inserted the cylinder into a hole in the wall. Immediately, an indentation appeared in the smooth wall below the keyhole. Periamma placed her thumb on this indentation and applied some force. The portion of the wall fell open on hidden hinges, revealing a deep alcove. Dikshitar reached in, took out a wooden wheel, and reverently placed it on the ground behind him, and closed the alcove. When he stepped back, it was impossible to make out there was ever a hole in the wall.

Rama picked up the chakra. It was so light that it felt hollow. He absently mused. ‘But why was such a powerful weapon given to humans? After all, the potential it had for damage was quite clear.’

‘You see, this chakra belongs on earth, with man and it is his responsibility to make sure he doesn’t misuse it,’ Periamma replied. ‘Bala,’ she said, the only name she ever called her son by. ‘Carry the chakra in an oilskin bag that you can strap across your back. Then go to Tirumala. You can hide it there.

‘All right, Amma. Go back home and stay with Rangi. I’ll see you in a few days. Rama, let’s go.’

‘Farewell, Rama,’ Periamma said, with her hand on his head. ‘Be careful.’

‘I will, Paati,’ Rama promised. ‘I’ll be back by tomorrow evening.’

Rama climbed into the boat and turning to the trio getting into the water, said, ‘Is there anything I need to remember?’

‘Just be calm, Ayya,’ Dhanapal replied. ‘I know you’ll do this beautifully.’

Rama smiled confidently, although he did not feel the same degree of assurance. He was sure of his skills as a fighter but he had no illusions about his size. He only hoped he would be able to think clearly when the time came. He started rowing, moving as slowly as possible so as to not hit the three swimming underneath the boat.

He had been rowing for less than half an hour when he heard a voice ring out, ‘Who goes there?’

‘I’m a student returning to my pathashala in Vandavashi,’ Rama called back to the darkness.

‘At this time of the night? Stop the boat. We will escort you to your school.’

Rama could make out the silhouettes of three soldiers standing on the bank. He stopped the boat in the middle of the river, wary about going anywhere near them.

‘Please, Ayya,’ he pleaded, in a level voice. ‘I’m already late because of the fight in the village. My teacher will be extremely angry with me, and I had promised to return in time for my lessons tomorrow morning.’

‘Come here, Ayya,’ the soldier replied. ‘I have no choice but to check your boat.’

Rama rowed slowly towards the men, hoping his father and the other men would stay still and out of sight for the few minutes that he would be on the bank.

Suddenly one of the soldiers shouted, ‘Hey, halt there, I can see shadows under the surface.’

Rama was just anchoring the boat when he heard the dreaded words, but he betrayed no emotion. He had barely stepped onto the bank when Ekambaram and Dhanapal hurled themselves out of the water and jumped on the soldiers. The element of surprise was with them. Dhanapal toppled one of the men before plunging his sword into the man’s neck, killing him instantly.

Ekambaram, in the meanwhile, rushed over to protect Rama from the leader of the patrol, who clearly had no reservations about killing a mere boy. Seeing him come, the man braced for the attack. Rama promptly launched himself headfirst into the man’s midsection. They went down in a heap. Rama beat the soldier to his feet and picking up the sword, held him at bay. Ekambaram reached them and quickly stabbed the soldier in the neck, killing him. Rama looked around for his father and saw him crouching near the boat.

The soldiers still standing moved in on Rama and Ekambaram, who raised his sword in readiness, backing up warily. He was inclined towards defence while Rama had always been taught that offence was the best strategy.

Rama engaged one of the soldiers and taking advantage of the distraction, Ekambaram finished him off. As the man fell, Rama realized that the other soldier was speedily bearing down on them. He barely had time to shout out a warning to Ekambaram before the soldier stabbed Ekambaram in his gut. As he rushed to Ekambaram’s aid, Rama heard Dhanapal shout to him to stay away. He could only helplessly watch the dying Ekambaram use his final breaths to keep the soldier engaged. He noticed Dhanapal move towards their fallen companion and raised his sword to distract the soldier. Taking advantage of the soldier’s inattention, Dhanapal raised his sword and severed most of the soldier’s neck with a single blow.

Rama just stood there, shaking, and covered in blood. His father swept him up in a hug and kept repeating, ‘Don’t look at that … don’t look at that!’ He turned to Dhanapal and whispered, ‘What of Ekambaram? Can we put him back in the boat and send him to the village? Can we save him?’

‘He’s already dead, Ayya.’

‘Shiva Shiva!’ said Dikshitar, in a daze. ‘Is this what you wanted?’

‘Appa, you must leave at once,’ Rama broke in urgently. ‘We don’t know when the next shift will get here. Please, hurry. I’ll return to the village with Ekambaram.’

‘Forget about Ekambaram, Ayya,’ said Dhanapal wearily. ‘It is better for us if they think that their soldiers were killed by this one man who also died in the process. I’ll rearrange the scene as best I can. Leave the boat for us and go back to the village. Ayya and I will leave in a while.’

Dikshitar nodded, ‘Dhanapal is right, Rama. We will handle it from here. We should never have involved you. Go home now, and tell Amma and Paati that I shall be home in a couple of days.’

Rama looked at his father for a few moments. He did not want to leave, but he had no choice.

‘Be careful, Appa,’ he said. He felt helplessly small, hopelessly inadequate, and at that moment, wanted nothing more than to return to the village.

As he turned, he heard his father say, ‘We need to change the plan.’

As he entered the forest, Rama saw something glittering on the ground near the riverbank. Retracing his steps to the spot, he bent down to pick up two glittering and transparent stones of perfect cut and symmetry, which, if he hadn’t known better, he would have guessed to be diamonds. He clutched them in his hand as he started running frantically back to his village.