Ankala & Chendurai

  Bantra yawned and glared angrily as I pulled him up before the first light.

  “The commander of the Ellai forces can’t give up sleep for a day?”

  I punched his shoulder playfully as we rode through the bushes.

  “Isn’t this her gift?” Bantra exclaimed.

  “Yeah. Thelan—my travel and war companion.”

  “You named it!”

  “Of course. Tell me about the checkpost. It feels new. Why did you install it?”

  Bantra yawned again and continued.

  “She installed one, so did we.”

  “There’s another checkpost? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “And now I’ve told you.”

  He returned the punch to my shoulder.

  People were loading jute paddy bags onto oxcarts. Bantra nodded at the checkpost guard, and we crossed.

  “I have a team to lead and a bed to sleep in. I may leave you here, my prince. Please honor us on your return.”

  “I’m not coming back via Anniyur!” I said, watching the surprise on Bantra’s face.

  “Then?” he asked, confused.

  “I thought you’d secured our border and would know all the routes.”

  “Just don’t—please.”

  “I will.”

  “Those guys are savages and barely respect the Emperor. Please don’t go there alone!”

  I patted his cheek and rode off into the bushes.

  The sun was up by the time I reached the mighty Ponni River, now running dry with only patches of water and barely any cultivation around it. People were bathing in the small streams. An elderly lady sitting under a tree saw me and, with pure innocence, called me over.

  She had a big round red kumkum mark on her forehead, a long golden thandatti ear ornament, and offered me hot rice mixed with dal and pepper, served on a banana leaf.

  “Be careful—it’s very hot. We prayed to Ponni Devi early this morning.”

  I thanked her for the prasad and sat near her.

  “Are you here for the festival at Chendurai that our empress is hosting?”

  I looked confused. The elderly lady’s words were spoken in a different accent, and her innocent, toothless smile caught my attention.

  “No. I’m just a horse rider who came to deliver this horse.”

  “Oh, please attend the festival before you leave. It’s a tradition more than a thousand years old—the only time our people are truly happy.”

  “I will,” I promised. I washed my hands in the Ponni River, then joined the people crossing via a low-level submersible stone bridge.

  These Ankalans are great at building things and taming rivers.

  I touched the elderly woman’s feet for her blessings, took Thelan’s lead, and walked across the stone bridge. The rough wind, carrying sand from the riverbed, brushed my face as I caught up with the people ahead.

  “Can you help my grandpa? He can’t walk.”

  A young woman standing to the side folded her hands and pleaded. She was a true gracious yet courageous Ankala girl—thick eyebrows, pale skin, kohl-lined eyes, thick long hair rolled into a bun, wearing a single-cloth saree to knee-length held by a gold hip chain and silver anklets with small bells that chimed in harmony as she walked. No wonder there are a million songs about these women.

  I helped her grandpa mount Thelan. He was frail, with a crooked back, wrinkled skin, and barely open eyes, wrapped in a single cotton cloth. I held Thelan’s lead as we walked. Near the middle of the river, the stone bridge was crooked and uneven, making it hard to move quickly, and stood several feet above the water.

  The young woman, walking a few steps ahead, stretched out her hand, turned, and looked at me. I was surprised to see the land surrounding the river so dry and bushy. On previous trips here, Sikala had always smuggled me in a closed cart, so I’d never looked around.

  “Our forefathers used to own hundreds of kanis of land here when it was arable,” she began.

  “Then?”

  “What then? You don’t know what happened?”

  “I’m just a horse rider who came to deliver the horse.”

  “Oh. So you’re not from here, I assume.”

  “You’re right, miss. This is my first time outside the Chakra Empire.”

  “Shh—don’t say that out loud. People here don’t like it.”

  “Okay.”

  “I thought you were local because you were riding a Marithee.”

  “Marithee…?” I looked confused.

  “A horse rider who doesn’t know the breed of his own horse? That doesn’t seem right.”

  “We don’t have words for beautiful horses—or for beautiful women like you.”

  She smiled and walked ahead.

  “Because you don’t have either,” she said, turning back.

  I had to change the subject; it was starting to feel like an interrogation. I hadn’t expected her to smile, but the remark kept her quiet until we reached the Ankala checkpost.

  We waited in line.

  “Don’t worry—I’ll return the favor and get us through the checkpost without charge.”

  Her grandpa was still on the horse. She stepped aside as one of the guards came running toward her, grinning with dirty teeth.

  “Jaya, how are you?” he asked.

  She kept an angry face, turned away, and looked at me.

  “Is he bothering you?” I asked.

  “You’re an idiot as usual, Malla. Don’t you see my grandpa is on his horse and this man is helping me?”

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  “Oh, sorry, sorry. Come with me!”

  He apologized, pulled us out of the line, skipped the checks, and we passed.

  After a few minutes of silence, she spoke furiously.

  “Aren’t you going to ask who he was?”

  “Hmm. Who was he?”

  “He’s had a thing for me since childhood, but I don’t feel the same.” She said it childishly, making me smile.

  We stopped at a crossroads.

  “You go straight to Chendurai—I assume that’s where you’re headed, since no owner of a Marithee lives around here. But please come to our village on your way back. My home is two kadams away, in Ankottai. Ask for my grandpa Thori. I’ll be in Chendurai for the festival. If luck permits, we may meet again.”

  We sat on a common stone bench, taking shade from the scorching sun.

  “So what were you doing by the river?” I asked.

  “We were worshipping Ponni Devi.”

  “I think I missed Ponni Devi’s statue.”

  “Ha—it’s been in the Chendurai fort for centuries. You’d always miss it.”

  I took blessings from her grandpa and continued toward Chendurai. A few minutes later, the bushy patch gave way to leveled ground for at least a kadam. I looked up to see layered walls swirling over a curved path, ascending in ten long bends to the city gates. Each bend was manned by guards with long crossbows aimed at anything moving in the barren land—even a squirrel would be visible from the hill.

  Above the ten curves stood a 60-foot stone wall, topped by watchtowers manned with long crossbows, bells, and horns. Four watchtowers lined this side, and the walls fully encompassed the city of Chendurai.

  I rode alone across the barren lands, a crossbow tracking me. At the base of the ascent, for safety, I tied a white cloth to my hip as a sign of peace and began the climb. The steps were perfect for horse riding, with trees on both sides providing ample shade. Guards—exactly a hundred on each bend—kept an eye on me. I soon joined commoners heading to Chendurai for the festival and blended in among them.

  The ascent took three hours with small breaks. I finally reached the city gates before sunset and witnessed the marvelous city preparing for the yearly festival. As the sun set, hundreds of married women marched with deepa lamps toward the temple. As they passed, I entered the crowded santhai market—fish, eggs, rice, wheat, horses, cows; everything was there. The thousand-year-old market left me in awe. Foreign merchants tried to buy Thelan, but dodging them was easy. I reached the far end of the santhai, leading to the fort.

  A hand suddenly pulled me into a tent.

  “My prince—thank God you’re safe.”

  “Rise, Senga. Is everything going as planned?”

  “Yes, my prince. As per our plan, she rejected the meeting with the royal messenger of Chakra, which gave me time to set up informants.”

  “What about the second one?”

  “Yes, my lord. I arranged fake meetings with useless informants and ensured her guards saw them. If I’m correct, she’ll execute ten of them after the festival.”

  “The final one?”

  “Yes, my lord. We’ve confirmed she still lives in the Jasmine Chambers, as you asked.”

  I looked at his assistant, disguised as a shopkeeper.

  “Slap me, push me out, and swear at me until I leave.”

  He did as instructed and shoved me toward Thelan.

  “Okay, okay—I’ll leave!”

  A stranger merchant intervened.

  “What did you ask? Why are they angry?”

  “I just asked for a place where someone could take care of my black stallion for the night. I meant my horse.”

  “Idiots—the stable is over there.” He pointed farther ahead.

  I tied Thelan, then looked at the fort—the majestic fort of Chendurai, cleaner and better fortified than the last time I’d seen it.

  The Jasmine Chambers were our usual meeting place whenever I visited Sikala. She had taught me a secret way to climb directly to her balcony. To the naked eye, the backside of the fort was a plain stone wall, but certain protruding stones could be pulled out as handholds and footholds. The santhai market had once been a moat; as the city expanded, it became a market, and everyone forgot about the climbing stones.

  I climbed the 60-foot wall. Breathing heavily, I crawled onto Sikala’s balcony, filled with jasmine flower pots and a curtain covering the room.

  Through the curtain, I saw her sitting on the bedside, hands resting behind her on the bed. Her head was shaking; she was clawing the sheets and looking up. Then I noticed her skirt was raised and a royal guard was performing cunnilingus on her.

  I slid the curtain back softly. Both rose; she adjusted herself in the mirror while the foreign royal guard gave a cunning smile at her back. I wanted to kill him myself, but I felt she had moved on from me—that she was no longer the cute, smart girl from gurukulam but now the Empress of Ankala.

  She clapped her hands. More foreign royal guards entered.

  “Take him outside, cut his throat, and leave me alone.”

  The guards dragged him away as he cried for his life. She moved to close the room and stood before the mirror.

  “Come in. How long were you planning to stand on the balcony?”

  I parted the curtains and stepped inside.

  “So you knew I was here. Thanks for clearing my doubt.”

  “I’m an empress now—I have a million ears and eyes.”

  I walked behind her, held her hips, and looked into the mirror.

  “You’ve gotten old, my empress.”

  She grew shy and clenched as my hands found the stretch marks on her navel.

  “Oh—you still like me. I thought you now only liked those foreigners.”

  She looked straight into the mirror. Her hand reached my cheek; I bent a little and rested my face on her shoulder.

  “Yeah. I like them—easier to forget and get rid of.”

  “Why don’t you marry someone? At least for political reasons—or pleasure—instead of this?”

  She removed her earrings.

  “I don’t want to make a feudatory king an emperor. I’ll hand this over to my brother when he comes of age.”

  The smell of jasmine, her silky soft hair, her soft silky saree, and her aura pulled me closer.

  “I wish we were commoners and could live a normal life. I wish I could see you first thing every morning and last thing at night. I wish you still loved me.”

  She turned, looked me directly in the eyes, and pulled aside a curtain, revealing my painting.

  “You were—and will be—my forever love, Adhiya. I remember the day I saw you as a kid with no teeth, crying on the first day of gurukulam. I remember the first time you asked me for a favor. I remember the first time you touched me. I remember the day your eyes first went below my neck. I remember the day you touched me with love, the day we held hands for the first time, the day we kissed, and the day we became one. You are—and will always be—the only one in my heart.”

  I hugged her tightly until I calmed down.

  She held me, wiped my face, walked to the balcony, and looked out at the dark, empty, barren perimeter she had created for defense.

  “Tell me, Adhiyavan—why are you here? Why are you really here?”

  Her tone was ordered and authoritative. The past few years had truly molded her into the empress she was.

  “I’ve been sent by the royal court of Chakra to request passage for our troops to retaliate against Sathyera’s attacks on our border villages.”

  I paused.

  “Hmm. I can’t grant it anymore. The idiots in my court think I came to convey a message you would obviously reject. But you know the real reason I’m here, Sikala.”

  I walked to the balcony, rubbed her cheek with my fingers, and smiled as she leaned into it.

  “I came here to see our son.”

  “Our son is my savior. He saved my life even before he was born. You remember the night I left gurukulam—the night I shared the news with you? That was our biggest problem. When I reached Ankala at midnight with my guards, these barren lands were tall bushes. Arrows struck my guards; my horse stumbled, and I fell. Torch-bearing men surrounded me. In the center was a ruby-crowned, grey-haired man. Just from his looks, I knew he was your father—he looked exactly like you. He drew his sword and held it to my neck.

  “‘Any last words, Sikala? Your idiot father, allied with Pathukala, decided to wage war against me, so I took them out first. No one from your family should live—first you, then your infant brother.’

  “The sword scratched my neck. In fear, I told him the truth: ‘I’m carrying your grandson, Emperor Thejan!’

  “Being the emperor he was, he said, ‘I trust you women,’ and proceeded to kill his own men who knew our secret.

  “The next morning, he crowned me empress. His invasion had been to free the common folk from the cruel Emperor Aravan, and he never turned back.”

  “From that day, he stopped talking to me,” I replied.

  As she spoke, she untied the bag from my hip where I kept my belongings.

  “I’ve already killed twenty-one of my most loyal servants during my pregnancy and hidden him in a secret village. When the time comes, I will reveal him.”

  She went through my things.

  “Just a throwing knife. Everyone forgets how skillful you were with basically everything—and that idiot thought he could take you out with a girl.”

  “Yes—I was coming to that. Did you help him?” I pointed to the scroll of my painting.

  “Of course. Ankala has signed a treaty with Sathyera for mutual defense, and I even helped them plot this assassination.”

  I sat on the bed, held her cheek.

  “Thank you for tipping me off with this painting.”

  “So you still remember our secret message.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” I bumped my forehead gently against hers.

  During gurukulam, Sikala was excellent at portraits. Whenever she wanted to meet me, she would send a message asking me to model for her portrait practice. The gurukulam messenger would carry a rough scroll with her signature, and each signature indicated a place. The cursive one always meant the Jasmine Chambers during her vacation—and the assassin’s scroll had it too.

  “He even set up two more in the Veedhi Vangal, but you skipped that route entirely.”

  She picked up the palm-leaf book gifted by Selvan.

  “Oh—you read it during the journey. These are old texts. Did you meet him?”

  “Yes. I met Kankottai Selvan in Agam and explored the old city of Kalam. He has a granddaughter who doesn’t even know her father died in the war.”

  “You do make your enemies like you,” she said, then continued.

  “The book describes an ancient practice where the emperor and empress ride elephants to honor the god Vangan. Have you seen one?”

  I froze for a second; the moment Kani asked me to read the book flashed before my eyes.

  She held my hands.

  “Spend a few days with me, Adhiya. The festival and the tournament will be great.”

  I looked confused.

  “But how? Won’t I be recognized?”

  She smiled slyly.

  “Not when you dress as a foreign royal guard.”

  “No—no, not that.”