Chenna and Agam

  The sunrise on the banks of the Chenna was a sight to behold. The busiest trading point in the region also housed the mighty statue of Chenna Devi. Ferrymen were praying to the goddess for safe passage for themselves, their passengers, and their goods. The first harvest of paddy lay stacked on the river ghat; no ferry would take passengers until the paddy had been transported. The children chanting poems along the riverbank sounded divine to the ears.

  I crossed them with Thelan in one hand, listening to the children recite their lessons. It took me back to when I was their age, standing in this very place. Clay pots were stacked high; women bargained loudly for cheaper prices. Others fetched water from a designated part of the river, loaded the pots onto carts, and their husbands pulled them away.

  The sharp clack of wooden swords drew my gaze farther down the bank. A tall, muscular man with greying hair and a thick beard stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching his trainees spar. He wore simple white cotton with a red border. At last I found a place to tie Thelan until boarding time.

  A small hand suddenly tugged at my clothes. I looked down to see a boy barely reaching my knee, grinning with his baby teeth.

  “You look like a fighter. Come fight with me!”

  He offered me his tiny wooden sword.

  A deep voice came from behind me.

  “Kid, even I wouldn’t do that.”

  The boy stumbled back.

  “King Aadhi!”

  The feudatory king of the Chenna delta, commander of the Aadhi Regiment—the man who could have become emperor. The Emperor’s elder brother, Aadhi.

  I touched his feet; he blessed me.

  “Uncle!”

  We walked side by side toward the training ground.

  “You’re not the first to dream of it, you know. We all tried. But those cursed mountains…”

  We both looked toward Bila, who was drilling the young soldiers.

  “Nice recommendation. Without you I’d have thought he was as useless as his fat father.”

  Tension rippled through the training area. Why was their commander speaking familiarly with a commoner? Not wanting attention, I quickly sat on the lower ghat and began massaging my uncle’s legs.

  “Why don’t you come to the fort, Uncle?”

  “This is our homeland. We have always stood for peace—until that one event. My father decided to throw out the Patakula Empire and seize the north of the island. Yet the throne has never favoured the firstborn, even today.”

  He glanced at me.

  “It was your father who drove a blade through Emperor Marva’s chest and ended that madness. From that day, neither of us has known peace or sleep. The surviving Patakulas settled in Agam; it was their ancestral land. A fort is never permanent. Never forget your roots.”

  Bila approached.

  “It’s time.”

  I untied Thelan and joined the ferry queue. A short, plump man in a white turban and long shawl was arguing loudly about paying one silver to transport his horse. Thelan and the horse took the cattle ferry; eight of us, including me, boarded the passenger boat. The cattle ferry moved faster and was soon far ahead.

  The merchant, still fuming, turned to the rest of us.

  “See? My horse travels one-silver less than yours!”

  The ferryman snapped,

  “Quiet, merchant! You’re ruining our morning earnings.”

  The merchant grew angrier.

  “We still have to pay those Gandar squad bullies, don’t we?”

  A woman stringing garlands joined in.

  “Yes, even for these flowers for our lord they demand one silver a week.”

  Three men and a young woman, faces half-covered, stayed silent. They carried paddy sacks, vegetables, and new clothes.

  The merchant eyed me disdainfully.

  “My useless sons couldn’t travel with me. Now I go alone to Anniyur. And you?”

  I merely nodded. The Veedhi-Vangal route was the only way; there was no escaping him.

  When we landed, the horse ferryman waited with Thelan. I paid him the full two silver. The merchant’s horse had been left behind on the far bank; he cursed and ran to fetch it.

  Everyone paid tax to a fat, lazy Gandar squad officer lounging on a wooden stool. Two ferrymen were quarrelling over passengers when the garland-woman asked the officer to intervene.

  “Go away, old woman. I’m here to collect tax, not settle your disputes.”

  My turn came. I reached into the pouch tucked at my hip for the silver. Hagathi’s hairpin tumbled out and rolled across the ground. The officer picked it up and grinned.

  “I’ll keep this.”

  “Give it back.”

  I stared at him.

  “Who do you think you’re glaring at, peasant?”

  The merchant rushed over, pulled me aside, and whispered fiercely,

  “Are you mad? You were about to strike the Emperor’s man! The Emperor’s favourite son formed these squads of lunatics.”

  The three men and the young woman had already disembarked and were hurrying away, almost out of sight.

  I helped the merchant mount his horse, and we started along the muddy road pocked with puddles. He resumed his chatter.

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  “How can you afford a horse?”

  “I borrowed it from a warrior.”

  “Ah. For a moment I thought commoners were living well under our Emperor. Even merchants like me barely survive.”

  “What do you sell?” I asked.

  “Diamonds and rubies to the crown jewellers. My proudest sale was the ruby set in Minister Amirtha’s crown. That crown was magnificent. I wish I could see her wearing it—or just see her once. Poems are written about her beauty. Lucky Emperor. And you—what do commoners do?”

  “I do what commoners do.”

  The merchant laughed. Suddenly his horse shied, refusing to step into a puddle. I dismounted, scooped some water, and sniffed.

  “Blood.”

  The merchant leapt down in terror and slipped into the mud. I helped him up. A narrow, bushy side-path showed bloody finger marks on a tree trunk. I Kept my throw knife in hand, I motioned the merchant to follow. We crept forward and hid behind a rock.

  The merchant clutched my arm, trembling.

  “Dacoits!”

  They had captured the three men and the young woman from our ferry. Two men already hung from a tree; the dacoits were preparing a rope for the third. The woman was tied unconscious to another trunk. The last man, face bloodied, lips torn, eyes swollen, showed no fear—only murderous rage. He roared only when a dacoit slapped the woman awake.

  I shook the merchant.

  “Go talk to them.”

  His eyes bulged.

  “Are you insane? I don’t want to die!”

  “You won’t.”

  “Men will do anything for a pale-skinned woman!”

  I kicked him out from behind the rock. One dacoit with a spear shaft jogged toward him, curious.

  I waited until the dacoit was close, then hurled a stone that cracked his forehead. The remaining three charged. I leapt into the clearing. They carried long spear blades , only circling me. Clearly untrained I pulled the centre one spear and stabbed him with my knife. He tried to bite me then I kicked to the ground. The shocked left one kept the guard down. I slit his throat, then smashed the temple of the last with my knife hilt. He dropped unconscious.

  The merchant finally arrived, clutching the spear shaft, panting—everything was already over. Blood streaked my face. He stared.

  “Who… who are you?”

  “I would have done the same for you, merchant.”

  His gaze changed. We cut down the hanged men and freed the third. I untied the woman. Together we bound the two living dacoits.

  The surviving man—Tabi—performed the ancient burial rites for his fallen companions, rites no longer practised anywhere else on the island. They grieved until sunset. We took their thumbs and let them crawl away.

  As night fell, the young woman approached me hesitantly.

  “We owe you a debt we can never repay. Without you, Tabi would be dead and I… violated. But we lost two brothers today. May their souls rest in peace. Please, come stay in our village tonight—accept our humble gratitude.”

  I glanced at the merchant. He shrugged.

  “Will there be food? Then I’ll come.”

  We retrieved Thelan and the merchant’s horse. I lifted Tabi onto Thelan; the three of us walked. At a fork we turned right into tall grass. I lit a torch and handed it to the woman. The merchant kept bumping my shoulder, trying to steal glances at her. I shoved him off.

  Between the trees appeared a beautiful house roofed with dry branches.

  “We are here,” she said.

  Villagers rushed out with the torchlight, carried Tabi away for treatment, and listened wide-eyed as the woman recounted the day. Families of the dead wept bitterly. Old women blessed me again and again for saving their princess. I had long ignored the strange customs of villages along the Veedhi-Vangal route.

  I went to the lake to wash the blood from my face and legs. She watched from the shadows. I smiled and invited her to join us for dinner later.

  Inside the hut we were served jackfruit, mountain banana, and rabbit meat. She served with care but refused to eat with us. When we finished, she showed us to another hut for the night.

  I woke in the dark; the merchant’s snoring was unbearable. Outside, the day after the full moon bathed everything in silver. I found her sitting on a rock by the lake, weeping silently.

  I sat on the next rock.

  “The whole village warned me not to go to the Chenna riverbank. I insisted. Now two of my brothers are dead.”

  “Brothers?”

  “Everyone here is my family. They all see me as their daughter.”

  Her tone carried faint traces of royalty—yet that seemed impossible.

  “My father abandoned me at birth. My mother couldn’t bear it. The village raised me.”

  “You and Tabi?”

  “No—me and my blind grandfather. They call him by many names, but I won’t play games.”

  Her tears slowed.

  “Dacoits usually take goods and leave. Why did they go so far?”

  “Koh and Ara killed thirteen of them while Tabi protected me. In the end they took the spear shafts, and we had to surrender. That’s why they killed Koh and Ara first.”

  My eyes widened. Only a powerful chieftain could employ warriors of that calibre.

  “Where were Koh and Ara trained?”

  “Here, when my grandfather still had sight. Meet him tomorrow before you leave.”

  Her hand found mine. I held it.

  “What is your name?”

  “Kani.”

  We sat in silence, watching the lake until dawn.

  At sunrise we prepared to leave. Two young spearmen escorted me to the largest hut, filled with palm-leaf manuscripts and old weapons. Kani’s grandfather sat on a carved wooden chair—tall, pale, nearly eighty. Kani sat beside me; the merchant opposite.

  The blind elder gifted the merchant a palm-leaf book and some silver, touching his face gently to “see” him. Then he reached for me. His fingers brushed my cheeks, froze, touched again—and he jerked back as though burned.

  “Thejan!”

  He nearly fell; the guards caught him.

  Kani steadied him.

  “Grandfather, what are you saying? That’s the Usurper’s name!”

  The merchant whispered,

  “Why are they calling Emperor Thejan a usurper?”

  The old man pointed tremblingly at me.

  Kani tried to calm him.

  “Grandfather, the Usurper is sixty years old. This boy is my age!”

  He drank water, composed himself, and smiled sadly.

  “A fleeting memory from childhood, nothing more.”

  I finally know where I am

  Countless commanders had hunted this hideout for decades and never found it.

  “Who are you, young saviour of our princess?”

  I stayed silent. Kani looked at me, urging me to speak.

  The merchant opened his mouth; I silenced him with a glance.

  I met the blind man’s milky eyes.

  “I am Adhiyavan, son of Thejan, Emperor of Chakra.”

  Spears flashed to my throat. Kani collapsed, sobbing. The merchant shrieked,

  “Don’t be a fool! He’s the only heir! The Emperor will slaughter you all for a scratch!”

  The old man began to laugh—deep, rolling laughter—and ordered the spears withdrawn.

  He turned toward me again, still smiling.

  “Is he truly the only heir?”

  The merchant looked at me, confused.

  “My brother has been missing for over ten years,” I said quietly.

  Memory sparked in the merchant’s eyes—the disastrous inauguration of the last prince.

  The old man continued,

  “Do you know who I am?”

  I nodded.

  “You are Selvan, Kaankottai Selvan, son of Emperor Marva of the Patakula line.”

  Selvan smirked.

  “You read, unlike your father.”

  He pressed a palm-leaf book into my hands.

  “It belonged to him.”

  Kani cried,

  “Grandfather!”

  “What did I teach you about righteousness, Kani? Think. If he came to kill us, would he come alone—and with this merchant for company? He is not here for my head. Am I right, Prince?”

  He still followed the etiquette due a true emperor, though he had never worn the crown. I replied in kind.

  “Emperor, forgive me. I am not yet a prince.”

  “Humble—unlike most Chakrans. How does Parandvani fare?”

  “She is well, my lord.” I was baffled.

  “Wondering how I know her name? I officiated their wedding myself at the Chenna Devi temple on the riverbank. Hard to accept, isn’t it—we were once your Emperor’s right hand.”

  “My lord, the histories we are taught tell a different tale.”

  “Adhiyavan, history is written by the victors. When you defeat the Sathyera tomorrow, will you tell the story of Janath?”

  Awed by his insight, I bowed my head.

  “Will you be my guru today, and share the wisdom of war and governance?”

  He rose.

  “Walk with me, Adhiyavan.”

  The merchant and Kani stared, bewildered; they had never witnessed true court speech.

  An elderly guard murmured to Kani,

  “Princess, this is how emperors speak in court. No sword is drawn against a messenger—or against an enemy emperor who comes to talk.”

  Selvan and I spoke the whole day. As sunset bled across the sky, he called Kani.

  “I would keep you longer, but suspicion would poison us both. Kani, guide them safely out. No one in the village must know who he is.”

  When she had gone, I asked quietly,

  “Does she know about her father?”

  Selva nodded “When time comes”

  Kani brought Thelan; the merchant was already mounted. She walked with us to the edge of the hidden settlement. I took her hands and looked into her eyes.

  “When I am crowned prince, I swear you will live in peace on your ancestors’ land.”

  Kani

  “ I hope you follow my grandfather's teaching. We may never see again but it's okay”

  The merchant cleared his throat.

  “My lord… the ruby in Minister Amirtha’s crown—suddenly feels very heavy.”

  We turned onto the Veedhi-Vangal road.

  Behind us, the hidden village vanished like smoke.

  Ahead, only the road, the portrait against my heart, and whatever message Sikala had meant for me alone.