eighteen

When Mohan awoke the next morning, Rama told him all that had happened. Mohan heard Rama out in silence. When he had finished, Mohan said, ‘Well, Rama, it is your great good fortune that you have met such a man to guide you at this stage. He seemed like a noble soul as soon as I set my eyes on him.’ Mohan then got up and went to the river to wash up. When he returned, he saw Rama had fallen asleep. Mohan covered his friend up with one of Kailasan’s blankets and sat by him. Rama needed his sleep.

Rama awoke three hours later, much refreshed.

‘Are you sure that’s enough?’ Mohan asked him. ‘It’s still only about eight o’clock. You could sleep another couple of hours.’

‘I have slept well, Mohan, thank you. Are you feeling better?’

‘Oh yes,’ Mohan replied, bashfully. ‘I am sorry I reacted the way I did last night. The fact that I was involved in the murder of a man was weighing heavily on my mind.’

‘Mohan, you know that that was what we had set out to do in the first place: take revenge for the atrocities that Haider Ali committed on our village and the murder of my parents. You should be glad that not only did we succeed in achieving what we had set out to do, but we got out of there in one piece,’ Rama replied.

‘Yes, I understand all that, Rama; it’s just that the way the man’s life went out, so easily, so quickly, took me completely unawares. It seemed a little pathetic to me that all his pomp, all his glory, came to nothing at the end.’

‘I understand what you are saying, Mohan. For king or commoner, death looks the same.’

Rama and Mohan left soon afterwards, stopping at a small village to eat. They continued on to the town of Thiruchanur, at the foot of the Tirumala hills. Leaving their carriage in the temple, they went on foot towards the hills.

The walk uphill took them about four hours, and they were utterly exhausted when they reached. The little town of Tirumala was built around the temple, and what a temple it was! They could see the structure from afar, and even at that distance, it filled them with warmth. The Sri chakra just had to be here, Rama felt. But he would have to find a way to speak to the head priest. The duo took a room in one of the numerous free guesthouses for pilgrims and after they had freshened up, they walked around the town to get their bearings. It was about four in the evening when Rama and Mohan went into the temple. The place was extremely crowded and it took them about an hour to go through.

After the darshan, Rama asked the priest at the shrine for the whereabouts of the head priest, and was given directions. At his house, Rama had to wait a while before he could meet them. When Rama introduced himself, his name seemed to have no effect on the priest. He was disconcerted; he had been sure that the priest would know of his father’s visit. He then mentioned his father’s name, but the other man shook his head and said that he had not made Appayya’s acquaintance, then asked Rama the reason behind his visit.

‘I thought you were a friend of my father’s,’ Rama said, deciding against telling the priest the true purpose of his visit. ‘I merely came by to pay my respects.’

‘I am so happy to welcome you. Have you been inside the garbagriha yet? You have? That’s wonderful! Isn’t he a beautiful deity?’

Rama nodded as he rose to leave. ‘By the way, are there any shrines to Shiva in this town?’

The older man didn’t need much time to reply, ‘I’m sorry, Venkatesha is the only god in this town.’

Rama thanked the priest and left. The sun had almost gone down, and by the dim light of dusk, he saw Mohan sitting across the street, waiting for him. Rather than go through the humiliation of an interrogation by the Brahmin priest, Mohan had decided to sit outside. Rama looked at the hundreds of pilgrims all around him—every face seemed so peaceful! His father must surely have left it here. Dhanapal had said so. But he had also said that it was behind the Shiva lingam in Tirumala, and the deity of the temple was Vishnu.

Maybe Dhanapal had simply lost his mind, Rama thought to himself. There didn’t seem to be any other logical explanation for it.

‘Well? Did he know anything about it?’ Mohan asked when he walked over to him.

‘No,’ Rama replied slowly. ‘I have a plan, Mohan. You’re probably not going to like it, but it’s the only way.’

‘Well, let me hear it.’

When Rama told him, Mohan shook his head vigorously. There was no way he would do it, he kept repeating, oblivious to Rama’s incessant pleas.

‘I can’t believe you convinced me to break into a temple!’ Mohan muttered to Rama, as they climbed the roof.

‘Sshhh!’ Rama hissed. ‘No more talking.’

They were climbing the roof of one of the temple’s administrative buildings. They reached the top of the roof, the central beam, and from there were able to look at the other side. The intricately patterned golden roof of the temple shimmered in the night, reflecting the light from the blazing torches. Rama stared at the roof. There was something about it that seemed very familiar. What was it? And then he saw it.

A solitary silver arrow was attached to the edge of the side that Rama was looking at. Surely he knew that arrow. And then he remembered; it was the silver arrow that his grandmother had gifted him on his eighth birthday with a bow. Like most childhood gifts, Rama had lost the arrow and forgot completely about it. So this was where it had landed up! Rama saw the hand of his grandmother behind this and her memory caused his eyes to momentarily well up with tears.

Gesturing to Mohan to join him, Rama pointed out the arrow to his friend,‘Recognize that?’ he asked Mohan.

‘Are you talking about … no … wait, is that your arrow?’

‘Yes, it is. My father and Dhanapal must have left it here as a sign for me.’

‘So this must mean we are on the right track.’

‘I think so,’ Rama replied. ‘Come on, let’s go down that side.’

They climbed down the other side of the sloping roof and jumped down into the main complex where the garbagriha was located. Nobody was around, so Rama made his way stealthily to the door with Mohan right behind him.

The massive front door of the garbagriha was locked. Rama examined the huge padlock for a few moments. He was sure Mohan could open it with his dagger. The light from the torches was bright enough for him to pick the lock by.

After nearly fifteen minutes, the lock clicked open. It was pitch dark inside, so Rama took one of the lamps down from the wall and stepped inside. Although he had seen the idol before, the sight that met his eyes now took his breath away, and he finally understood what Dhanapal had meant. The idol that stood before him was not the Balaji that he had prayed to that evening, but Shiva, in all his glory, with the Ganga flowing out of his matted locks, a crescent moon on his forehead, and the snakes on his chest and arms. There could be no mistaking it.

Without the armour, Rama saw the lord of Tirumala for who he really was. It was the only Shiva temple he had seen with Shiva depicted in human form, apart from Gudimallam.

Trembling with excitement, Rama turned to Mohan who stood transfixed by the idol in front of him. ‘That’s what he was talking about,’ Rama whispered excitedly. ‘The Shiva in Tirumala!’

Mohan said nothing but only stared. Rama got busy right away. He ran to the idol and examined it carefully. The front was completely solid, but there was a loose slab at the back of the pedestal. By the light of the lamp, Rama started examining the slab and everything around it until he found what he was looking for—a small circular projection behind the left heel of the sculpture. When Rama pressed on it, the stone slab which formed the back of the pedestal slid downward, revealing an alcove. Rama carefully put his hand inside and felt around; his hand touched something soft. Holding the light to the base, Rama peered in. It looked like a cloth parcel of some sort, just like the one in which the Sri chakra had been wrapped when Rama first saw it.

He put his hand in and lifted it out. It seemed heavier than he remembered. He opened it hastily, and then let out a startled cry.

‘What happened?’ Mohan asked, as he darted forward. ‘Are you all right?’

In response, Rama held up a small square little wooden plank, a wry smile on his face.

‘Looks like we have been made fools of this time. This is all there is.’

As he held it up, Rama looked beneath the plank. Nailed to the underside was a folded sheet of parchment. Rama carefully took the nail out, and opened the sheet. It was addressed to him.

He took a deep, long breath and started reading by the light of his lamp.

My dear son,

If you are reading this, my prayers for your future have remained unanswered and you have been called upon to bear this burden that has cursed our family for over a thousand years. For this, I am truly sorry.

You must be wondering about the Sri chakra; I never brought it here. I hid it somewhere else, and continued travelling to Tirumala to deceive anyone who might have been following me.

My son, when I saw you on that riverbank that night, covered in blood, something inside me snapped. I have grown sick of the Sri chakra, and my only desire is that you never have to carry that burden. Only I know the location of the chakra, and the secret will die with me.

I don’t know at what stage in your life you are reading this. Whatever your age, I want you to always remember that I love you very much, and your duty henceforth is for you to live your life the way the gods intended it. You are hopefully already the temple priest, but if not, remember that is what your future should be. Work hard to achieve it with success.

All my best wishes,

Your father

Rama read this letter three times over. He looked up at Mohan who was looking down at him expectantly.

‘It is not here. My father never brought it here.’

‘What? Does he say where he kept it?’

‘No,’ Rama replied as he got to his feet. ‘He wanted to spare me the responsibility of protecting the chakra. It’s out of our hands now.’

‘So what now?’ Mohan asked.

‘Now we get out of here.’