thirteen

The underground chamber had no windows. A large, crude holding pen, it had a strong padlocked gate behind which the prisoners were confined. The only inlet for air was the trapdoor which led into the chamber; this was opened twice a day when the guards carried food and water for the prisoners. The food was thrown into a long filthy trough, which looked like it had never been cleaned. On his first day in the cell, Rama stayed in a corner, not even daring to look at his fellow inmates. When the food was brought in that evening, the prisoners ran to the trough and started devouring the food. He looked at the broken men around him and closed his eyes. Hastings was going to try really hard to break him.

‘Why aren’t you eating?’ A voice broke into his thoughts.

Rama looked up. One of the prisoners was looking down at him. Like all the other prisoners in that dungeon, he was filthy and had a long beard. But under the grime and wild hair, the eyes that looked at Rama were kind and reflected great intelligence.

‘I don’t want to, thank you.’

Instead of leaving him alone, the prisoner sat next to Rama.

‘I remember when I first came here I swore not to eat. I lost track of how long I fasted, but eventually, I cracked.’

‘I don’t want to become like them,’ Rama told him. ‘Look at those men eating like animals.’

The prisoner raised his arms: his hands had been cut off at the wrist. ‘A gift from the British!’

‘Why did they do this to you?’

‘I was one of a group of skilled skin-and-flesh-reconstruction surgeons. The British made us teach them the art before they cut off our hands so that we could practise it no longer.’

‘That’s terrible!’ Rama exclaimed.

Rama’s horror must have shown on his face because the prisoner went on, ‘Don’t worry, it was a long time ago. I know we seem like degenerate life forms to you now, but I can assure you I never did anything to merit this treatment. What are you in here for?’

‘Well,’ Rama said. ‘The British want information from me. Hastings is going to keep me prisoner till I give him what he wants, and then he’s going to kill me.’

‘If I were you, I’d take death any day over being in this prison. After a while we all go mad down here.’

‘My name is Ramaswami. What’s yours?’

He replied with a smile, ‘Shantharam, but I haven’t used that name for years!’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘I don’t know. I lost count after the first two years.’

‘Have you ever tried escaping?’

‘How? I don’t even have hands. But frankly, it’s impossible. The only way out is the gate that keeps us locked in and the trapdoor which connects this dungeon to the prison above. They don’t bring the keys to the gate when they come down with the food. Even if you open that gate, you’d need someone to open that trapdoor from the outside—that’s locked too.’

‘But only four come down, and two of them carry barrels of food and water. Can’t we kill the other two and take their muskets?’

‘Where would you hide? They can see everything.’

‘There’s always a way. We can’t lose hope.’

‘In this dungeon, you will too. What information do the British want from you?’

Choosing his words carefully, Rama replied, ‘Please don’t misunderstand me, but I can’t tell you.’

Shantharam nodded quickly. ‘Certainly, I understand. I hope you find your way out of here.’

Rama felt irritated with this man who was so obviously intelligent but had given up all hope. For the next few days, he sat in his corner and observed. He had learned to tell time by observing when the guards came in with the food for the prisoners. They came in once in the morning and once in the evening; so Rama knew he had been inside for four days. On his second day he realized that if he didn’t eat, he wouldn’t be able to keep his strength up. Instead of participating in the mêlée when the food was brought in, he retrieved scraps when the others had finished. The conditions in the cell were filthy; a hole in the ground served as a toilet and the place stank.

Rama spent his days trying to come up with an escape plan, but none seemed likely, not unless he had help from the outside.

On the fifth day, Rama approached Shantharam. The old man was sitting with another inmate, who looked to be the same age as Shantharam. ‘Ayya, tell me, has anyone tried to escape this dungeon?’ he asked as he sat down with them.

Shantharam’s companion, Gopalan, replied, ‘There was a prisoner, Vinayakar. We never knew what he was in for. He fashioned a key from some wire and picked the lock on the cell gate. We all rushed with him to the trapdoor, excited at the prospect of being able to escape. But like always, the trapdoor was locked. We came back inside, certain that we would all be massacred for trying to escape. But Vinayakar was irrepressible. He closed the gate just so, so that when the guards came in, he could overpower them. It was madness, but he wouldn’t listen. When the time came, Vinayakar rushed the guards and he was mowed down. There is no way out of here, my friend.’

Rama sat still for a few minutes. He couldn’t accept that there was no way out. Turning back to the pair, he asked, ‘Would the others join me in an attempt to disarm the guards?’

‘And provide you enough men to draw out the fire of the two muskets?’ Shantharam asked, matter-of-factly.

Rama looked at him for a moment, and replied, ‘I suppose you’re right. It would be as good as asking someone to do that.’

Shantharam and Gopalan exchanged glances. Shantharam asked, ‘Why exactly are you in here, Ramaswami? What is the secret that the governor general has been trying to get out of you?’

Rama had no option—if he wanted their help, he would have to confide in them. ‘Have you ever heard of the Sri chakra?’

They knew of it as a legend. Rama confirmed the existence of the chakra and keeping his facts to a bare minimum, impressed upon them the catastrophic consequences of the chakra falling into the hands of the British.

‘The fact is that I don’t know where it is hidden,’ Rama admitted. ‘But I let Hastings think I did so he would not kill me. I have to find it and keep it somewhere safe.’

‘Don’t you think it’s safe now? After all, it has not been found.’

Rama paused. He had been in a dilemma about this too. Finally he said, ‘I know that if it had been hidden where my father said he was going to hide it, then a few other people probably know the secret. I have to get it to a place where no one will ever find it.’

The two men seemed lost in thought for a while. Finally, Gopalan said, ‘Fine! We’ll help you. What’s your plan?’

The plan was simple and dangerous. Rama would somehow open the gate of their holding pen and station himself near it. When the guards arrived with the food, he would quickly disarm the guard in front and then kill the other guards. Shantharam and Gopalan would provide the diversion Rama needed to succeed. The whole thing was planned for the evening, when security around the fort was less.

After the first meal the next morning, Rama searched all over for something to use to open the door with. He could find nothing; his plan would have to wait. Just as Rama was beginning to despair of ever finding anything of use, the trapdoor creaked open. This was unprecedented. The trapdoor never opened in the middle of the day. As he breathlessly watched, a man descended the narrow stairs—Mohan!

‘Mohan, here! We need to open this gate,’ Rama said urgently. There was no time for thank yous.

Mohan took a slim knife and efficiently picked the lock on the cell door. It had barely opened when the other prisoners rushed forward. Rama waited for them to go through and about five of them left the dungeon and ran up the stairs and out of the trapdoor. As Rama exited, Mohan said to him, ‘Give them a minute. They are the perfect diversion.’

‘Give me your dagger,’ Rama replied. ‘And wait here for a moment.’ He ran back into the dungeon to Shantharam and Gopalan and said to them, ‘Come on, let’s go.’

Both men shook their heads. ‘Run, you fool. We’ll only be a handicap.’

‘Please come with me. I’ll get you out. The world needs to hear your tale.’

‘Gopalan is right. We would only slow you down. Hurry.’

Rama stood there for a minute indecisively till Mohan’s voice snapped him back to action, ‘Come on, Rama; let’s go.’

With a last look at the pair over his shoulder, Rama said, still looking into Shantharam’s eyes, ‘My friend, I will never forget you. My prayers will be with you.’

‘Go on, go to the chakra and prevent these villains from getting their hands on it.’

And then turning to look at Gopalan one last time, Rama ran to the door.

‘I hope no one found my ropes,’ Mohan told him.

‘What ropes?’ Rama asked, as he reached the stairs. ‘To get out of the fort, you mean?’

‘Yes, the southern wall was completely unguarded.’

‘The guards will have run on to the walls as soon as the alarm sounded, and the ones on the ground will shoot at us. Let us try to escape through the streets of the city,’ Rama gasped, as he ran.

‘How?’

Rama said nothing.

They ran outside, clutching their weapons—Rama a dagger and Mohan a sword. As they reached the top of the stairs, Rama leading the way, he heard footsteps approaching them rapidly. It was a guard rounding the corner ahead of them, running at them. Before he could even think, he had plunged his dagger into the guard’s heart. As the man fell, Rama took his musket and thrust the dagger into the waistband of his veshti. Turning to Mohan he said, ‘Well, that gives us one shot.’

‘Great. Now hurry,’ replied Mohan.

They ran down a corridor till they reached a point where it branched.

‘Take the one to the right,’ Mohan shouted.

Without pausing, Rama turned into the passage on his right and continued running down, the musket in his hands, ready to be used. This corridor sloped upward and as they ran up, Rama realized it would lead into the open courtyard in the middle of the prison. It was completely dark by this time, and from behind him, Rama could hear the cries of the guards shouting instructions at each other. The other prisoners seemed to have taken another passage that led to an open area further inside the fort, providing them with an excellent diversion.

When they reached the open courtyard, Rama stood still for a couple of moments, slightly disoriented from being out in the open after five days of imprisonment.

Mohan ran to the southern wall from where a rope was hanging and shouted out to Rama, ‘Come on, we don’t have any time to lose.’

‘This is insane. We definitely won’t make it that way. Come on. Let’s find a cart.’

They ran towards the stables at the western end of the fort where they saw two young boys leading a trap with two horses into the inner fort. They ran up to them and knocked them out.

Rama took the reins, and expertly guided the horses through the fort and out of the northern gates. This was the side that overlooked the city. The fort was crowded with people streaming in and out, but Rama maintained his speed as the pedestrians threw themselves out of the way of the speeding trap. Mohan kept watch behind them; there didn’t seem to be any guards following them.

Once they entered the city, they drove westward. They drew many curious glances from the passers-by, especially Rama with his dirty torn rags and uncombed long hair. When they finally reached the western wall of the city, he drove along it till he reached the western gates, and exited. The alarm hadn’t been sounded yet, so none of the guards were expecting any trouble. It was to be a long while before they discovered that they had unwittingly waved one of the prisoners and his accomplice through, and out of, the city of Madras.

Rama drove in a westward direction while Mohan went to the back and lay down.

He would need a better plan to get rid of Hastings, and he still had no ideas.