six

He had run all the way home without once looking back. How would he face Ekambaram’s daughter, his friend Padma?

He stood outside his house, not knowing how to go in, what he would say. He imagined the disappointment on his grandmother’s face. Just then he heard a gasp from one of the windows. There was nowhere he could run now, Paati had already seen him. The door would open in a second, and he would have to tell her he had failed.

Periamma stood at the door, covering her mouth in shock. For a second, Rama was at a loss to understand why she looked so terrified, until he looked down at himself and realized he was covered in blood. He quickly said to his grandmother, ‘It’s not my blood, Paati. Don’t worry.’

‘What happened, Rama?’ she asked, hurrying forward, running her hands over his body to make sure he was fine. ‘Are the others all right?’

‘Appa and Dhanapal are okay but …’

‘Was Ekambaram hurt?’ she asked quietly. ‘Will he be all right?’

‘Ekambaram is dead. He’s dead because of me!’ Rama cried, burying his face in his hands. He told her of the fight on the banks between halting sobs. ‘He died trying to save my life,’ he finished.

‘It is the first time you have been in a real fight, Rama. You can’t blame yourself.’

Rama looked up at his grandmother, ‘I have fought before, Paati. I’m a good sword-fighter.’

‘Sparring among friends with wooden swords is not the same as a real fight, Rama,’ his grandmother replied. ‘I was wrong to send you. You are too young and inexperienced.’

But Rama would not be placated. Periamma pulled some water out of the well and made him take a bath. When he calmed down a little, she went inside to warm some food for him. Rama gobbled down the rice, ghee and kozhambu she laid out for him in the kitchen.

‘What is it, Paati? What is worrying you?’ he asked when he saw her looking at him anxiously.

His grandmother shook her head, as if snapping out of a reverie, and said in an almost annoyed tone, ‘Nothing. I was just thinking.’

‘About what happened tonight?’

‘Yes,’ she replied with a gentle smile. ‘I was so scared when I saw you! Did your father say anything about what he was doing next?’

‘I think he told Dhanapal that they needed to change the plan.’

His grandmother sat up suddenly.

‘Did he say what?’

‘I didn’t hear anything, Paati, I ran home.’

His grandmother became thoughtful. Rama finished his meal in silence and went out back to throw away the used leaf.

As he turned to go inside, he remembered the two blue stones wrapped in his veshti. He showed them to his grandmother. ‘Paati, I found something in the forest as I was returning home. I think you’d like them.’

His grandmother turned around and got up.

‘Come into the courtyard,’ she said. ‘The light is better there.’

Rama followed her inside, shutting the door behind him, and handed her the stones.

‘What are they?’ she asked.

‘I found them on the riverbank where we fought.’

‘They look like blue diamonds. I’ll examine them tomorrow; the light of these lamps is not enough. Go to bed now, and remember, you know absolutely nothing about what happened tonight. There will be a lot of noise tomorrow, but nobody will know that you were a part of it, and I want to keep it that way.’

‘Why, Paati?’ Rama asked her, ‘What difference does it make?’

‘I don’t want anyone to know about the chakra. I want you to completely forget all this till the time when you will need to remember. I didn’t want you to bear the burden of this secret, but I’ll be dead soon, and in time your father will die too, and for us to completely let the secret slip away is to fail in our duty to protect it. When your father comes back he’ll tell you where he hid the chakra. I want you to remember that and guard the secret all your life, till it is time to tell your descendants.’

Rama merely replied, ‘All right Paati, I’ll remember to forget it. Goodnight.’

The next morning Rama was awakened by the sounds of distressed wailing. He ran outside to find Ekambaram’s wife and daughter, Padma, sitting on the thinnai outside the house and sobbing, while his grandmother consoled them.

Rama ran back indoors. He stood near the kitchen, grappling with his confusion, when someone put an arm on his shoulder. He turned around to see his grandmother looking at him with great sorrow.

‘There, there, my child,’ she said, taking him into her arms. ‘It was meant to happen, and no amount of regret will bring him back. Now be brave—I must go outside and be with that poor woman.’

And letting go of Rama, she turned and went back outside.

Rama went about his morning ablutions in silence. When he went into the courtyard, he saw an even larger crowd had collected, and his grandmother was addressing them. Ekambaram’s wife, who had calmed down, sat in front of his grandmother listening with rapt attention.

‘… which I know is no consolation to anyone,’ Paati was saying. ‘What we must do right now is calm ourselves and remember that my son has gone to Madras to get help from the British. Our enemy’s enemy must be our friend, if only for a brief while.’

The villagers kept quiet. Periamma was a sensible woman, and she was right. The British had no interest in their little village, but they definitely wouldn’t want Haider Ali to come too close to Madras.

‘Muthu and Velu, prepare the funeral arrangements for Ekambaram. Talk to the Vettiyaan right away.’

And holding her arms out for Ekambaram’s wife to join her, Periamma descended from the thinnai and went towards the village.

Some days later, as Rama approached his house, he saw Chakkarai, the village jeweller, sitting with his grandmother inside the house. She was examining something under the light while Chakkarai talked animatedly. Rama greeted the jeweller and was about to go on inside when his grandmother said, ‘Wait, Rama. All right, Chakkarai, you can go now.’

‘Thank you, Periamma. I hope Periamma is happy with my work?’ the plump little jeweller asked as he got up.

‘Yes, I am. You’ve surpassed yourself.’

The man turned and gave Rama a big oily smile, and then he was gone. Rama waited while his grandmother, who was still examining the object in her hands said, ‘Come here, child. I have something for you.’

She held out a pair of earrings—two blue diamonds set in a gold frame. Rama gasped in awe at their beauty.

‘Let’s put them on. I want to see how they look on you,’ she screwed the studs into Rama’s earlobes. ‘There. They look beautiful! Now go on and play. Mohan has been pining away without you.’

She watched, an indulgent look on her face, as Rama ran into his mother’s room to examine himself in the mirror. He came running out a minute later and threw his arms around his grandmother’s neck.

‘They look beautiful, Paati. Thank you.’

‘Yes they do, my Tharuppukal Ramaswami!’

Ten days later, Appayya Dikshitar and Dhanapal returned. Soon after Rama was sent to Kanchipuram, to study in the Kanchi Kamakoti Peetam’s Veda Pathashala. No one spoke to him about the expedition. They all seemed to have forgotten he was next in line.