nine

‘Ayya, wake up, it’s morning.’

Dikshitar slowly opened his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. They were travelling along the river in a cart, surrounded on all sides by hills of red earth.

‘How much further to Madras?’ Dikshitar asked the cart-driver.

‘We should reach in a few more hours, Ayya,’ the driver replied.

‘I thought we were going to travel along the coast?’ Dikshitar asked him.

‘We are travelling along the coast. The sea is on the other side of those mountains,’ the driver said, signalling with his whip. ‘The terrain on the other side is very hard to travel on. Don’t worry. This road is almost completely unknown.’

‘Yes, you mentioned that,’ Dikshitar replied.

They had left the town of Tirumala the previous evening, and had been travelling through the night with a short break in between to rest the horses.

Having completed their primary mission of hiding the Sri chakra, Dikshitar and Dhanapal were now headed to the fort to warn the governor of Madras about Haider Ali’s plans.

According to the soldier whom Periamma had interrogated, the French had struck a deal with Haider Ali, and they planned to attack from the coast at the same time that Haider attacked from the other side, effectively surrounding Fort St. George.

The British were Damar’s only chance. If Haider Ali conquered them, conversion, or worse, was certain. The British would, he hoped, leave them alone; they were, after all, more concerned with profits.

While Dikshitar contemplated their next move, Dhanapal stood at the back of the cart, his eyes on the horizon. Suddenly, he asked the driver to stop and whispered, ‘Ayya, there are troops stationed ahead of us.’

‘Can you see whose men they are?’ Dikshitar asked.

‘They look like Haider Ali’s men. They even have cannons.’

‘Let’s climb the hills and take a better look.’

‘It’s a waste of time, Ayya,’ Dhanapal went on. ‘The British wouldn’t post their men here.’

‘I want to make sure,’ Dikshitar replied as he got off the cart and started walking.

They silently trudged up the nearest hill. The ground was a shade of terracotta, and from afar, the range looked completely red, with little or no vegetation visible.

When they reached higher ground, Dhanapal pointed southward at the outer fringe of the forest, where a large army was camped. The soldiers were dressed in veshtis, and they did indeed look like Haider Ali’s men.

Nudging his companion, Dikshitar muttered, ‘I wonder what they’re supposed to be doing.’

‘I can’t be sure, Ayya, but one thing is certain: we must get off this hill before we are spotted.’ Dikshitar nodded in agreement and they set off downhill.

When they reached the bottom, Dikshitar paid the cartdriver and sent him away. He turned to Dhanapal, ‘Perhaps it will be better if we make the rest of the journey on foot.’

‘Yes, Ayya,’ his companion nodded in agreement. ‘We will have to cross this forest to reach the coast and then head into Madras through the beach.’

‘Do you know the route?’

‘Not really, but I do know the general direction we must take.’

The pair successfully negotiated their way through the forest and reached the beach. For the next four hours they followed the coastline up to the outskirts of Madras. The city was hot and stuffy. Merchants crowded the bazaars, advertising their wares at the top of their voices. The streets were overrun with hansom cabs occupied by bored English wives. Dikshitar and Dhanapal had a vadai and a cup of tea each before proceeding to the fort.

They were stopped at the gate but after a little browbeating, got their way—the guard did not want to be held responsible for important information not reaching the commanding officer. Dikshitar and Dhanapal were taken straight to the governor’s chambers. Richard Smith was a large man; well over six feet tall, with dark wavy hair brushed back off his forehead, a clean-shaven face and a deep tan. He turned to Dikshitar impatiently as they entered and asked, ‘Well? You said at the gate that you have information for me. What is it?’

Dikshitar replied composedly, ‘Haider Ali’s men attacked my village three days ago on his way to Madras. We managed to repulse the squad, but he will attack again. According to the men we captured, he has set up camp some distance from the hill of St. Thomas and is waiting for the French to attack you from the sea before making his move. He has an army of over 10,000 infantry and 3,000 cavalry, and at least a hundred cannons. The man also said that the French have been to Srirangapatnam to train Haider Ali’s forces. We ourselves saw a camp to the north of here, another army whose numbers we know nothing about, outside the forests of the Red Hills.’

Smith pondered over this information for a while. ‘And where are you from?’

‘A village called Damar, three kroshas west of Kanchipuram on the road leading to Vellore.’

‘Why would Haider Ali attack an unimportant little village?’

Dikshitar thought for a minute before answering, choosing his words carefully, ‘Sir, I can’t presume to know Haider Ali’s motives, but considering he is on his way to lay siege on Madras, he probably attacked our village for supplies, and to loot our temple. Unfortunately for him, he underestimated our strength and we were able to defeat the small band of men he sent. But I am certain he will attack Damar again, if for no other reason than that we killed almost his entire squad.’

Smith jumped to his feet; it seemed he had come to a decision. He had, however, one final question. ‘Why are you betraying one of your own?’

‘Haider Ali is no more one of our own than you are,’ Dikshitar replied. ‘But if it comes to taking sides, I’ll choose the British any day. Forget about my motives and worry about Haider; he has men on both the northern and western sides of the city and he’s poised and ready to strike. It would be in your best interests if you went to the hill of St. Thomas and met him before the French arrived.’

‘Yes, I think I will go out and have a look,’ Smith said thoughtfully. ‘In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you and your companion stayed in the fort as my guests. If your information is correct, then we will let you go. Otherwise …’

And with these words, Governor Smith stalked out of the room and ordered his aide to prepare a scouting party.

The British had sneaked up the hill to spy on Haider Ali’s troops the very next morning, and were caught. Smith was thus forced into an open war with Haider on the banks of the Adyar river, to try and save his scouting party and face. Like many foreign invaders before him, Smith made the mistake of underestimating his opponents and paid heavily for it.

Haider Ali had divided his army into two sections. One was guarding the northern front of Madras against any reinforcements that the governor of Bengal or the Nizam of Hyderabad might send, and the other was on the battlefield that day. Unlike Governor Smith, he personally led his forces into battle and made his presence felt with his skill, both as a leader and as a soldier.

It was, therefore, with an army of three thousand men that the British were forced to take on Haider’s thirteen thousand strong troops. The British fought bravely the whole day, but at sundown were forced to admit that they were being beaten soundly. Thankful that he was not facing the combined might of the French and Haider Ali, Smith realized it was time to open negotiations.

Smith and Haider Ali met to discuss the terms of the treaty: mutual restitution of all conquests, something Haider Ali was more than happy to agree to as he had no intention of ruling so far away from Mysore, and mutual aid and alliances in all defensive battles. The British were forced to pay a sum equalling 10,000 pounds sterling to Haider Ali. The treaty was signed, and Smith returned to Fort St. George with his head bowed, prepared to be recalled to England in disgrace when the company found out how much he had lost, not only in terms of soldiers, but more importantly, in money and land. Warren Hastings, the governor general of Bengal, took over the running of the Madras Presidency as well and started to divide his time equally between Calcutta and Madras. It was four days before anyone remembered the two villagers from Damar who had risked their lives to enter Madras and warn the British of Haider Ali’s impending attack.