Chapter 4 — Karkottai
Year 62, Kali yuga
Present day
“Ripunjaya!”
He awoke with a start, confused for a moment. He opened his eyes slowly, and saw Malasāra bent over him. His sleep had been short, but deep and dreamless. He felt rested. He stood up and breathed in the cool morning air. Malasāra had doused the small fire, wisps of smoke still rose slowly from the ashes. The sky was turning a deep golden orange in the far east, the day was just dawning. Down in the valley, the people of Thillai were already starting their daily duties, and farmers were already in the fields.
After a quick dip in the river, they flew north, towards Karkottai. The sky steadily got lighter to a pale blue, and the sun slowly came up. The forests below them gave way to vast paddy fields. The morning was misty, great banks of fog had rolled in from the ocean further to the east. Dark blocky shapes rose from beneath the mist, they were now flying small towns. After a short while, Malasāra slowed down, and they descended into a small clump of trees by the city walls and landed in their midst.
“Past these fields lies Karkottai, the capital of the Nākalam kingdom. It is ruled by the powerful Thattān dynasty.” said Malasāra. “The people of Karkottai are proud and quick to anger, so it is best that you keep to yourself and speak to no one. In any case, you cannot speak their tongue, can you?”
“Who is it that we are going to see?”
“An acquaintance of mine, named Mārthandan. He is the Commander-in-Chief of the Nākala army.” replied Malasāra. “A close friend of the royal family.”
“He knows who you are? He can see you?”
Malasāra bared his teeth, grinning. “Not at all.” In the snap of a finger, the yamadūta magically transformed himself into a hunter, and Ripunjaya stared. His new form stood a foot shorter, but with the same muscular bulk. His hide-like skin was now dark and smooth and wore a uttariya over his previously bare chest. The horns atop his head did not quite recede completely, but were now wrapped inside a white turban. His moustache remained just as thick and bristly. “Mārthadan thinks me a wandering hunter, let it remain so.”
Ripunjaya nodded, and wondered what else Malasāra was capable of. They started walking out of the trees and onto the narrow dykes separating the fields. Farmers were busy in the slush, and paid no attention to them, save a quick glance.
“How do you know Mārthandan?” asked Ripunjaya.
“I once saved him from certain death from the jaws of a crocodile.” Malasāra said.
“Tell me about him.”
“Ah, his is a long story. To know Mārthandan, you must first know the kindgom’s past.” replied Malasāra. He took a deep breath. “After the Kurukshetra War, Emperor Thanmaya Thattān was in power, but a civil war broke out in the south, and Thanmayan was killed, and the Thattān rule overthrown. His son, Kumudhan, escaped into the forest, living in exile.
“Now, Nākalam was without a ruler, engulfed in chaos and unrest. These lands were divided, a dozen warring states constantly fighting for power in the region. This went on for decades, and Kumudhan knew that these clans would ultimately wipe each other out, and wanted them to come to an amicable solution. He did not want the throne, merely the warring to stop. But he was aged, and the other brash younger chieftains laughed at his offer of peace. They thought it to be a plot for Kumudhan to regain power. Kumudhan saw no other alternative but to subdue the other factions by force, and began gathering an army.
His son, Aranvendhan was still young, and Kumudhan hesitated to allow him to lead the campaign, not because he doubted his son’s abilities, but because he loved his only son too much to send him off to battle. So, he chose instead Mārthandan, the son of one of the forest tribes, to lead the army. Mārthandan gladly accepted the responsibility, it was an opportunity to make his King and clan proud.
“But against his father’s orders, Aranvendhan secretly convinced Mārthandan to take him along, in the guise of a cavalryman. Mārthandan agreed, and in the battlefield, the duo were unstoppable. Together, like a river in spate, they annihilated the allied armies of the other chieftains and proved to be able warriors in their young age. Within months, most of the other chieftains were either killed or defeated, and the few that remained pledged their allegiance to Kumudhan.
“They both returned victorious to the jubilant Kumudhan, who welcomed them with open arms. With much fanfare, Aranvendhan was crowned king of Karkottai, and all of Nākalam, the united land. Mārthandan was was given a post in the palace, but he declined, having no mind for bureaucracy, and chose instead to remain with his men. However, the other generals still defer to him in matters of the army. It is his tutelage I wish for you now.”
Ripunjaya inwardly felt a rush of hope. Mārthandan impressed him, and was eager to learn under such a master. They continued to walk on the mud paths crisscrossing through the fields and towards Karkottai. Ripunjaya could see vague shapes of the structures slowly materialise through the fog before him. By the time they neared the city, the sun had risen higher, and the mist had started to clear.
Ripunjaya looked up at the vast ramparts of the city walls with taller towers, the grey granite rising up many dozens of feet tall. At the top was a stone parapet, soldiers patrolled in the battlements while others stood guard at regular intervals. Before them stood a broad gatehouse, its drawbridge lowered, and folk from all over formed a constant stream of people entering the city. Above the gatehouse hung an enormous cloth banner, with the royal coat of arms.
The Thattān coat of arms was an stack of palm-leaf manuscripts on a shield, and a tiger and an elephant on either side. Crossed swords stood behind the manuscripts, and below, lettering in a script which Ripunjaya could not read. Circling the manuscript was a slender snake, its amber eyes looking down, as if watching at the throng entering the city gates. On either side of the gatehouse were massive stone statues of tigers, with their mouth bared in a silent growl. A deep moat surrounded the entire city, with strong currents swirling at the surface, fed by swift rivers rushing to meet the ocean to the east.
Under the vigilant eyes of the gate guards, they joined the throng of people entering Karkottai. Inside, the gate opened up to a busy market, noisy and clamorous. Traders sold everything from spices to steeds, gemstones to groceries. A wide road split the market into two, and led up to the rest of the city, in the distance. Ripunjaya allowed himself to be distracted by the sights and sounds, and stood watching the various goods on display. Malasāra shook his shoulder, and beckoned him to follow. They walked to the side, under the wall where a short man in an tattered turban stood with half a dozen horses tied to a hitching post behind him.
“Two horses, ayya” said Malasāra, looking at the horses.
The short man chuckled, looking at Malasāra’s bulk. “Seems like you might need both for yourself, thambi.”
Malasāra did not seem amused, but let out a small laugh. “How much?”
“Four panas. Where to, hunter?”
“The palace.” replied Malasāra, handing him coins from inside his vest.
The man untied two horses and led them to Malasāra. “Do not think of stealing them, hunter. If you cross Karkottai’s walls, they will gallop back to me, with or without you on their backs!” he smirked.
“Worry not. I will return them. I have no use of them outside the gates.” He thanked the man and turned to Ripunjaya. “Hope you can ride a horse, boy.”
“Yes, I can.” Ripunjaya lied. He had no recollection of even seeing a one before.
Malasāra jumped onto the beast’s back, and looked at Ripunjaya expectantly. Ripunjaya took a deep breath, and tried to mount the horse. But his balance was off, and the horse staggered and neighed, but recovered quickly. Malasāra slapped Ripunjaya’s horse lightly on its shoulder and caught its withers. It calmed down, and stood still, waiting as Ripunjaya steadied himself upright. The horse-master glared at Ripunjaya, who smiled sheepishly. Malasāra sighed, and caught the reins of Ripunjaya’s horse, and led both of them together.
They trotted down the busy market, careful to avoid the people in their path. Soon, they left the market behind, the path became less crowded and broke into a swift canter, going down the road to the palace. Guards were posted along this entire stretch, and they passed a few other pedestrians along the way. A few noblemen dressed richly in silk and gold glanced curiously at them as they sped past.
They rode past large courtyards, with well tended gardens and pools that gently gurgled. Swans frolicked in the shallow waters. Stone walkways meandered in all directions, with more guards posted at the intersections. The palace walls were of white marble and light grey rock. In the distance, the palace and its imposing facade grew bigger as they drew near. It had its own fortification, a second wall surrounded the grounds. Near the palace gates, Malasāra veered left, and following the path further down to a larger compound, the barracks.
At the entrance, the guards blocked their path, and they stopped and dismounted. Malasāra spoke to them in the local tongue, and pulled out a small ring from his waist belt. He showed it to the soldiers, who parted, and allowed them to pass. They entered the barracks, and Malasāra tied the horses to a hitching post by the gates, and walked further inside.
Tents of various sizes gently flapped in the breeze. Around them, soldiers were busy with their duties, training, repairing armour and sharpening weapons. Most were busy with chores, and few looked their way as they made their way to the large tent.
They passed one of the larger tents, and they heard loud shouts and laughter from inside, and Malasāra turned and smiled widely at Ripunjaya. “Oh, hurry,” he said, quickening his pace. “It’s a wrestling match!”
Ripunjaya followed, and the cheering got louder. They entered, and in the centre, a small square sandy expanse was cordoned off with thick rope. In the centre were two large men grappling at each other, clad only in loincloths. One of them was slightly slimmer than the other, and he moved quickly, while the other was slower, but seemed stronger. They were sweating and panting from exhaustion, but went at each other with a determination. The soldiers around them cheered and shouted taunts, each hoping the one they were supporting would best the other.
“This is malyuddham, boy. The objective is to lift your opponent up in the air and hold him there, or pin him down for three seconds.” explained Malasāra. “There are different styles of combat. The shorter one is employing bhimaseni, which is to overpower your opponent with sheer physical strength, and the taller one is using hanumanthi, which is the proper use of technique and efficient movements. Watch closely, this will be interesting!”
Ripunjaya looked at the two soldiers in the ring. Sand clung to their sweaty bodies, and they circled each other, slapping their thighs and shouting taunts. The shorter wrestler lunged forward, trying to catch the other in a bear hug. But his opponent was quick on his feet, stepped sideways and spun around, and was now behind the confused fighter, and caught his waist. He pulled the shorter one down, and they both fell, and the soldiers shouted louder. The taller one was still holding on to the back of his opponent’s loincloth, and was trying to avoid his combatant’s flailing arms, who was trying to catch a hold of his neck. He shifted weight, and caused them both to bend forward and the shorter soldier was now bent double, with his adversary’s torso above his.
The taller one looked up at the crowd, and grinned. The cheering grew clamourous. He quickly shifted his weight again, onto his other foot, and swung his body forward, and stuck his left leg into the arms of his opponent’s crouched body. The imbalance was too much for the shorter soldier, and his legs came up from under him. The tall one took the opportunity, and clasped his other leg around his challenger’s feet. He now had his opponent in a deadlock. The crowd’s cheering ceased, and they started to count. Three seconds later, the tall soldier broke free, and the soldiers went berserk. A few of them jumped in, and held up the victorious soldier on their shoulders. The shorter one was still on the ground, panting. He struck the sand with his fist, angry and disappointed. But he rose, and clapped the winner on his back, who smiled and acknowledged his gracious opponent. Money changed hands amongst the other soldiers, and slowly they filtered out of the tent.
“It was a quite silly move, to lunge openly like that.” said Malasāra, turning to Ripunjaya. He was clapping, a wide smile on his face. “Come, let us find Mārthandan.” Malasāra stopped a passing soldier and spoke to him in a low voice, and the soldier turned back and pointed outside. Malasāra nodded, and beckoned Ripunjaya to follow. They exited the big tent, and made their way towards the back, where there was a smaller tent with sentries posted outside. A banner with a yali fluttered atop the centre pole. The sentries stopped both of them, and Malasāra fished out the ring again. They parted, quite hesitantly and looked at Ripunjaya closely as he passed.
Inside, was a man sitting on the floor behind a low table. He was deeply engrossed in a parchment and did not look up, but grunted to acknowledge their arrival. Malasāra waited patiently. The man at the table was tall and broad-shouldered, most of his dark face covered by an enormous moustache that curled up to his ears. His garb was simple, and a turban was wound tightly on his head, with small gem adorning the front. His sheathed sword lay on the table, on the parchments.
He stamped a parchment with a seal and put it aside with the rest of scrolls. He looked up, and his face lit up. “Ada! Mala! Varuga, varuga!” he exclaimed, and sprang up. He crossed the tent in two quick strides, and clasped Malasāra in a hug. “What a surprise! How are you? When did you arrive? What news from your travels?”
Malasāra returned the smile. “I was travelling north from blessed Thillai, and I thought to pay you a visit.”
“Ah, Thillai. Hope your fortunes bear well?”
“Might be so, I do not know. Those augurs speak in much riddle.” replied Mālāsara. “Hope I am not intruding?” he asked, looking at the stack of parchments on the table.
“Oh, not at all, friend. Just the usual bandits biting at our borders. But enough about them. Have you eaten? Come, let us go sate our stomachs.” he said, and led them out the tent without waiting for Malasāra’s reply. Then Mārthandan noticed Ripunjaya, and stopped. “Oh! Who is this young boy?”
“He is one of the reasons I came to you, Mārthandā. I need your help.”
“Anything. Ask, what is it?”
“This is Ripunjaya, is a distant relative of mine,” lied Malasāra. “He has come into my care, but I cannot take him with me on my travels, and I do not know anyone else I can entrust him to in these parts. I implore you to take care of him till I return in a few months time, and teach him the things every lad his age should know.”
“Is that all, Malasāra?” laughed Mārthandan. He clapped Ripunjaya on the shoulder. “I shall make him a man of him yet, you will see.”
Ripunjaya bowed his head in gratitude. Mārthandan lead the way out, and they entered the mess hall. A few soldiers were having their morning meal. They stopped eating and got up to salute, but Mārthandan quickly bade them to sit down and continue their meal.
They sat down along the side, and the workers laid out plantain leaves before them, and one by one, added dish after dish on it. They tasted strange to Ripunjaya, but delicious nonetheless. Some were sweet, some savoury, and he paid close attention to the way Mārthandan ate, and did the same. The meat he was served was particularly spicy, but he wolfed it down, eyes watering. The cook looked at the hungry young boy with amusement and offered Ripunjaya a hot beverage in a clay goblet. Ripunjaya thanked him, and sipped the tan drink. It was quite hot, but sweet and refreshing, and he downed the goblet quickly and licked his lips.
Mārthandan laughed. “Have you never fed him before, Mala? He drinks the thenīr like a thirsty horse! I like him already!”
Ripunjaya smiled sheepishly in return. They got up, washed their hands and walked towards where they had tied the horses. Malasāra and Mārthandan were deep in conversation, talking in a tongue Ripunjaya did not understand and he slowly lagged behind.
“This boy, Ripunjaya, the Gods have not been kind to him, Mārthandā.” Malasāra glanced sideways at Ripunjaya, and lowered his voice further. He sighed, and turned to Mārthandan. “He has lost his parents, not two moons ago.”
“Aiyyo!” Mārthandan exclaimed. “What befell them?”
“A cruel twist of fate—they perished while on a pilgrimage. Snake bites, they said.”
“How calamitous our lives can be! At this young age, too. Truly unfortunate.” Mārthandan shook his head.
“Ripunjaya is overwhelmed with grief, and I implore you to spare him the agony of these tragic memories...please do not ask him of this, or anything about his past.”
“Of course, I shall not, you have my word.”
“He needs a direction in life now, more than anything else. Only you can provide that, Mārthandā.”
“Indeed. I shall do what you ask, friend. I will see to that myself.”
Malasāra thanked him. Mārthandan was not curious, and that was good. “Let me say my farewells to the boy.”
Ripunjaya had stopped to watch a few soldiers practising their archery.They were shooting at an effigy swinging from a post, far away. A few arrows missed, but most found their mark, and the archers moved back farther to test their prowess again.
“Ripunjaya.” Malasāra said, and put his hand on Ripunjaya’s shoulder. “I have told Mārthandan your parents have died on a pilgrimage, just a short while ago. He will not ask you about it. He has also agreed to teach you all that he knows, boy. He is a good man, and you should prove to him that you are a good student. I will return at the beginning of the next season, when the rains begin. A lot of other affairs require my attention. Of course, speak nothing of our plans to Mārthandan, or anyone. When we meet again, I hope to see before me a fine warrior, not a scrawny child.”
“You shall.” Ripunjaya promised.
“I have faith in you, boy.” Malasāra smiled, and walked up to his horse and mounted it. He scratched the muzzle of the other horse and pulled at the reins. He took a few steps, and the other horse followed willingly. Bidding farewell with a final nod, he turned the horses around and galloped away. Mārthandan and Ripunjaya stood there, watching the trail of dust, each lost in thought, although for very different reasons.
Mārthandan walked to Ripunjaya’s side. “Welcome to Karkottai, the jewel of the Nākala lands.” he said, beaming. “How do you find it so far?”
“To be truthful, it all seems very strange to me. The people, the sights, the sounds. I have never been to these parts before.” He felt a sudden pang of homelessness.
“Let me show you around the city today, and you may not find it so strange then.” Mārthandan called a passing soldier and asked him to ready two horses. Saluting, the soldier scurried away, and returned with two horses, one white and the other, a dark brown. The white one was clearly Mārthandan’s own, for it carried an ornate saddle, and it was decorated with Mārthandan’s own sigil, the yali. Ripunjaya’s horse was spartan in its decorations, but seemed to be a strong and spirited beast.
Mārthandan patted the white horse on its forehead. It seemed pleased to see its master, and rubbed its muzzle against Mārthandan’s face. “A handsome steed, is he not?” he said, scuffing its mane. “Dheeran is his name. A fine horse, he has served me for nearly a decade now, and he has gotten only swifter.” Mārthandan said with pride. He looked over at Ripunjaya. Your mount is called Nala, and a loyal beast he is. Go ahead, pat his head, son.”
Ripunjaya raised his hand to the horse’s forehead. Nala snorted, and moved his head to the side. Ripunjaya gently patted, and the horse responded.
“Ah, he likes you.” smiled Mārthandan. “Come, let us go!” he said, mounting his horse.
Ripunjaya climbed on the saddle carefully this time, not wanting to make a fool of himself before Mārthandan. Nala was patient, and seemed to know that his rider was inexperienced. He stood with his great shoulders a little lower and waited till Ripunjaya was seated well. He whinnied, and shook his mane to show he was happy. Mārthandan led them out of the barracks and towards the palace. At the palace gates, Mārthandan turned back to Ripunjaya, who was looking at the ornate art on the walls.
“Keep up, son!” He said, urging his horse to a canter. Ripunjaya didn’t have to do anything, Nala followed Dheeran on his own. Mārthandan continued past the vast gates and into the city, and Ripunjaya followed, taking in the sights. After the barren wastelands of Patala and the quiet streets of Thillai, Karkottai seemed like a beehive, a bustling abundance of people. They went about their lives, all busy with something or the other. Many recognised Mārthandan, bowed and got out of the way, and looked at Ripunjaya with great curiosity. Mārthandan took them through the many districts of the city, explaining the many tales behind how the city came to be.
He repeated the same story he had heard from Malāsara, and also of how peace was finally upon the land after many years of strife and chaos. Kumudhan’s father, the scholarly Thanmaya Thattān, had supported the Pandavas in the Great War, supplying the five brothers with his own troops, and nearly bankrupted the kingdom in the process. But Karkottai had endured, and had risen again to become the city it was now.
Soon, they reached the city centre, a spacious arena that served as the main market, larger and busier than the one near the city gates. Commercial establishments lined the many streets that radiated out from the centre. A large monument stood on a large stone platform, raised above the streets to a man’s height, and on it stood six enormous statutes. Ripunjaya assumed they were of Karkottai’s previous rulers, which Mārthandan confirmed.
“Karkottai’s royal lineage,” he gestured to the monument. “Five kings and one queen—the venerable Umayāl Devi. At that time, Nākalam was a small kingdom, nothing much to speak of. She was the one who placed Nākalam on the path to greatness, single-handedly. She killed her husband—the vain Nikandhan, so that the kingdom could prosper. His figure is not among these, for he warrants no remembrance.” He pointed to a stump, a broken pedestal where a statue had once stood.
They stopped, and Ripunjaya looked at the statues. They were incredibly life-like, each figure was sculpted with great care. He liked Umayāl Devi’s visage, it seemed to have the stern brow of an austere woman and the gentle gaze of a loving mother at the same time. She stood upright, her regality almost palpable. Mārthandan paused, and reached down to touch the statue’s feet, before continuing down the road.
They went through most of Karkottai, its smaller lanes to its well-tended gardens and immense temples. Ripunjaya found the people to be a happy, curious lot and very friendly. Towards the evening, they returned to the barracks and alighting from their horses, walked back to Mārthandan’s tent. Mārthandan left Ripunjaya in the tent alone and returned after a few minutes. Beckoning Ripunjaya to follow, he led the way to a much smaller tent behind his, and walked in.
“You can stay here. It is not much, it is as much one can expect from a soldier’s camp. In any case, luxury breeds laziness.” smiled Mārthandan. The tent was sparsely furnished, it had a mattress on one side, and a floor desk on the other. There was some food already on the table, and two oil lamps hung from a small chain tied to the ridge pole on the top. A wooden chest was adjacent to the mattress, and was filled with clothes and other items.
“It is an improvement to where I stayed previously, ayya.” said Ripunjaya, recalling the cave.
Mārthandan raised his eyebrows, but did not comment. “You are to be my adjutant till the time Malasāra returns, and you are to assist me in my daily duties. I shall teach you the different forms of combat, the use of weapons and other essential skills. I will teach you the language, the basics of statecraft. I ask only one thing in return—your absolute dedication.”
“Indeed, sire. You have my complete devotion.” Ripunjaya bowed slightly.
Mārthandan smiled and put his hand on Ripunjaya’s shoulder. “I have no doubt, son. Go rest now, I will come see you tomorrow.”
Mārthandan left, and Ripunjaya ate the food heartily. He then laid down on the stiff mattress and closed his eyes. He was wrought with eager nervousness, and it was a while before sleep finally engulfed him.
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