Chapter 9 — A tiger in the bushes
Year 63, Kali yuga
Present day
It was late evening by the time they reached the highlands where the tribe had settled. The settlement itself stood on a small plateau nestled in the Vēppamalai Hills, named after the neem trees that grew in abundance in the region. From the foothills, they could see the clearing on which the village stood, and Mārthandan guided them through the small paths that wound their way up the slopes.
This was where Mārthandan had been born, a few years after the death of Emperor Thanmayan, and his son, the then young Kumudhan’s exile. It was familiar country for him, and he rode with a big smile on his face, happy to be back in the forests of his youth.
The trees became denser, and they slowed their horses to a walk, careful to avoid the brambles and thorny plants that scratched at them. The horses climbed cautiously, the ground was slippery with loose mud and small stones. They came to a shallow stream, its waters swiftly flowing down the slope to join the larger rivers in the plains. Mārthandan stopped, looking for the safest spot to cross. Then they heard a loud whistle. Across the stream, a tall man with dark skin and dressed only in a small waistcloth knelt by the bushes. He nodded, and gestured for them to stop.
Mārthandan waved his hand in the air. Ripunjaya checked Nala. The man had his long, crudely-made spear pointed at them. He clicked his tongue loudly, and two more men emerged from the shrubs, similarly dressed. They stood close behind the first, spears at the ready. They stared curiously at the clothed visitors, and their big horses.
Mārthandan dismounted in the knee-deep water. “We look for Chieftain Vēlan.” He walked up to the men, and bowed his head. The man in the front remained silent, and stared with narrowed eyes at Ripunjaya. Mārthandan gestured at him to dismount as well, which Ripunjaya hurriedly did. One of the men strode up to the horses, and tried to pick up Dheeran’s reins. Dheeran snorted, and turned away.
“You’ll find that quite impossible, friend.” said Mārthandan.
The tribesman looked back at this leader. The leader gestured at the jungle behind him. “The horses cannot stay here, this is tiger territory. Kodi will lead them to the settlement. They will be safe, you can take them on the way back.”
Mārthandan thought for a moment. Then he walked to the horses, and took the reins of Dheeran and Nala, and slowly and deliberately handed the reins to Kodi. The horses seemed to understand that Kodi was no threat, and this time, quietly obliged. Kodi scratched their great necks, and they followed him, albeit warily.
They watched the horses disappear into the trees. The leader lead the way further into the jungle. They walked for about half an hour, with the sun steadily edging closer to the horizon behind them.
They reached a small clearing, where three men waited. On a tree stump sat an older tribesman, clearly their chief. He was short, bare-chested with a large belly, and dressed in a deerskin waistcloth decorated with bright beads. On his head he wore a leather crown, set with more beads and white cowrie shells. A single large, peacock feather was set in the side, and gently swayed in the evening breeze. He too sported a large moustache like Mārthandan, but it was completely white, and small eyes below thick grey brows.
“Vaada, Mārthandā, vaa!” Chieftain Vēlan stood up and greeted with his arms wide open, as they walked into the clearing. His moustache twitched as he smiled.
Mārthandan walked up to him, and touched the feet of the aged chieftain. “How many years have passed, ayya!”
Vēlan pulled him up and embraced him. “Too many, son, too many! How are you? How is dear old Kumudhan? How are things in Karkottai?”
“All is well, ayya. The Emperor inquired about you as well. He sends you a gift, one that he made himself.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out a small box, and offered it to the chieftain. Vēlan opened it. Inside was a small elephant idol, made of ivory. “Oho! Kumudhan remembers!” Vēlan held it aloft for the rest of the men to see. “I taught him to carve this, you know.”
“Of course, I do remember. He spends much of his time now carving such figurines.”
“Good! That will keep him from going senile in that bustling city.” chuckled Vēlan. He handed the box to one of his men beside him. “Who is this young lad?” he asked, looking at Ripunjaya for the first time.
“This is my aide, Ripunjaya.”
“Ri-phun-jayah,” Vēlan repeated. “What a strange name. Good, good. I hope the ride was not too tiring.” He clapped Ripunjaya on the shoulder. He glanced at one of his men, who offered them a large pitcher carved from a bamboo stalk. Inside was a green, sappy liquid, which Mārthandan gulped down by the mouthfuls. He brushed his moustache, and passed the pitcher. Ripunjaya took a sip, it was sweet and refreshing.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Karumbu saaru.” replied Vēlan. It meant nothing to Ripunjaya, but he drank it nonetheless.
“What of the reason you asked me here, ayya?” Mārthandan asked in a low voice.
He shook his head. “Yes, yes. This is why my men cut you off at the stream, before reaching the settlement. The entire tribe did not need to know. Come, we have to go further in.”
One of the men handed Vēlan an elaborately carved walking stick. Vēlan took it, and pointed it north. “Not very far.” He began walking, quite briskly for a man of his age. Mārthandan walked by his side, Ripunjaya close behind. The rest of the men spread out on the flanks.
“How is that troublesome rascal Vēndhan?”
Mārthandan smiled. “That rascal will be Emperor soon.”
“Has he learned to hunt boars yet?” Vēlan laughed. He turned to Ripunjaya. “When Vēndhan was about your age, we took him along on one of our hunts. It was his first, and he was little too eager. We came across a large sounder, lead by a massive sow, and Vēndhan insisted on trapping it single-handedly. The beast promptly ran him down, and gave him a nice knot of scars to remember her by.”
Mārthandan chuckled. “She was the size of a small bull, took six men to kill it, and the better part of a day.”
Vēlan slashed at the thickets before him, and continued on. “But how swiftly flows time! I remember the time you both first rode off to war together. Just runts, but eager runts. A fine warrior, Vēndhan, but not much of a hunter.” He laughed again, and scratched his belly.
“Where are we going?” asked Mārthandan, looking up. The skies were darkening, dusk creeping up on them.
“That summit.” Vēlan pointed with his stick again.
“What lies there?” enquired Ripunjaya.
“You know of Pulithevan, do you not, Mārthandā?”
“Yes. A small-time bandit. What of him?”
“Not so small-time anymore. Some of my men—” he pointed to the man who had first stopped Mārthandā and Ripunjaya on the stream. “—were hunting deer on the eastern fringes. They chanced upon Pulithevan’s hideout.”
“Hmm. Our spies had reported Pulithevan had a camp on our northern borders.” Mārthandan said. His voice was sombre now.
“Yes, Pulithevan does have many. But this one, it was no camp. Chokkan says it was more like a small town.”
“A town?”
“At least five hundred tents.” Chokkan replied. He strode quickly to join Vēlan and Mārthandan. He raised his hand above his head, palm downward. “This big, each of them.”
Mārthandan stopped in his tracks. “When was this? Where are they?”
“Six days ago.” Vēlan replied. “And this was on the banks of the Vellaru. At the eastern edge. Not hidden well.”
Mārthandan remained silent for a few moments. “This is troubling.” he said, absently, lost in thought.
“Come, come. Do not stop.” Vēlan continued up the gentle slope.
Ripunjaya caught up with Mārthandan. “What could Pulithevan be planning? Is he going to attack?”
“Pulithevan is no warrior. He’s a rat, stealing scraps and crumbs. But seems like he’s definitely up to something. What it might be, I do not know. But one does not gather men on a whim.”
They walked now in complete silence, the only sounds were the dry leaves crunching under the footsteps on the mossy forest floor. As they neared the hillock, they could see yet another clearing, with burning torches at the edges. Four tribesmen stood waiting. One of them waved, and Chokkan signalled back.
As they walked up to the clearing, Ripunjaya saw that three men knelt on the ground. Their hands were tied behind them, and ankles bound with thick ropes made from vines. They were dishevelled, their tunics dirty with mud and small twigs in their unkempt matted hair.
“Chokkan’s hunting party captured three of Pulithevan’s men. They have some interesting information for you. This is why I requested you come here, Mārthandā.”
Mārthandan nodded at Vēlan and walked up to the centre of the clearing. Vēlan’s men gathered around them. Mārthandan crouched down before the prisoners. Two of them cast their eyes down, looking at the ground. The one in the centre stared back at Mārthandan, his eyes narrowed.
“What is Pulithevan planning?” Mārthandan was not wasting time.
“I told these forest-dwellers the very same thing.” the bandit responded in a calm voice. “Pulithevan promised us fair wages and a share of any bounty.”
“And you believed him?” Vēlan interjected.
“Why is he gathering men?” Mārthandan asked again in a slightly raised voice.
“Ada, I have no secrets to keep. Pulithevan’s men came to my village, and said they needed able-bodied men for building irrigation canals in the northern territories. I went with many of my villagers. But once we reached the shores of the Vellaru they began to train us with swords and bows. We were confused, but they gave us food and wages, so no one complained.”
“Which village are you from?”
“Sirukudi.” The prisoner replied. The one to his right glanced up.
Mārthandan remained silent for a moment. “How many men are on the riverbanks?”
“Seven thousand, and more come every day.”
Mārthāndan’s eyes widened, but quickly hid his surprise.
“Some even from beyond the borders.” he nodded his head at the third prisoner, who still gazed down, avoiding eye contact.
“Who commanded you lot? Was Pulithevan a—”
At that moment, one of tribesmen shouted, and ran to the edge of the clearing with a burning torch. He stood on his toes, the torch held high.
“Oh, a tiger.” commented Vēlan. “Not to worry. We are many, and with torches. It would not dare to come closer.” He ordered his men to the edge of clearing, and they immediately spread out, torches and spears held outward.
Ripunjaya stood nervously, his hand on the dagger on his waist. Vēlan smirked. “What is the matter, son, have you never encountered a tiger before?”
Ripunjaya shook his head. He looked around. The tribesmen seemed calm, Mārthandan was peering at the now darkened thickets, trying to spot the beast.
A low, steady growl broke the still air, and men on the southern edge quickly closed in together. They started to shout and make noises to scare the big cat away. They waved the torches in the air, drawing big arcs in the air with the flames. One of the tribesmen tossed his torch into the bushes, trying to scare the beast away. Some of the dry leaves and twigs on the forest floor caught fire, slowly cackling into a small fire.
Inside the clearing, Ripunjaya shuffled about, anxious. He then noticed the first prisoner squirming, trying to free himself. The vines around his wrists came loose, and he grabbed a small rock from the ground. He leapt at Mārthāndan’s turned back, the rock held firmly. “Death to the Thattāns!” he shouted, aiming for Mārthāndan’s head.
Ripunjaya lunged in instinct, the dagger he had nervously held now unsheathed. He landed on top of the bandit, and they fell. Mārthandan snapped his head around, and saw the two rolling on the ground.
Several things happened quickly. The other two prisoners also tried to break free—one tried to crawl his way to freedom, and the other sprang at Vēlan. The tribal chief stepped back, his heavy walking stick held aloft in defence, and two of his tribesmen thrust their long spears at the attacker. They found their mark, and sharp metal pierced soft flesh, and the prisoner dropped, blood spurting everywhere. The other prisoner fared no better, a spear tip found its way down his spine, and died immediately.
Ripunjaya wrestled on the ground, dagger in one hand, and the other wrapped around the bandit’s neck. The bandit gasped for air, and in a flash, Ripunjaya drove his blade into the bandit’s ear, and the man stopped moving, eyes wide. Ripunjaya rolled off bandit, gasping. Mārthandan ran to Ripunjaya, and hoisted him up. “Good use of the knife, I must say.” he smiled.
Ripunjaya’s breath came in short gasps. His body shook, and dropped the dagger. He had killed a man, taken a life. It was a strange feeling.
Behind him, the tiger bounded quickly into the night, oblivious of the commotion it had caused.
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