Ponniyin Selvan | Fresh Floods|chapter-1|Auspicious Aadi

Fresh Floods

chapter -1 : Auspicious Aadi

we see a story before nine hundred and eighty two years ago

Between the hoary lands of Thondai Nadu and Chozha Nadu is

placed the kingdom of Thirumunaippaadi; in its southern region,

roughly two kaadhams west of the famed Chidambaram Temple

sprawls the huge Veera Narayanan Lake, as large as an ocean. It

measures something like one-and-a-half kaadhams from north to

south, and half a kaadham from east to west. These days, it is

known no longer by its full, original name, but by a much shortened,

colloquial version— Veeraanathu Eri, or Lake.

Those who saw this massive body of water during the months of

Aadi and Aavani, when the floods poured in fresh water, its surface

churning and tossing, almost overflowing its banks, could not help

but marvel in astonishment and heave sighs of delight at the great

feats accomplished by their ancestors in ancient Thamizhagam. For,

such deeds were not merely for their own advancement, or even the

betterment of those of their times, were they? Their benefit was

passed down through generations, like the munificent plantain trees

bequeathing their resources to their young, enriching their

descendents a thousand years into the future, didn’t they?

On the auspicious, eighteenth day of Aadi, sometime in the early

evening, a young man rode his horse along the banks of the Veera

Narayana Eri, almost ocean-like in its vastness. A scion of one of

Thamizhagam’s most distinguished clans—the Vaanarkulam—was

our young man; by name, VallavarayanVandhiyathevan.

They had traveled a great distance without pause; his horse was

weary and stumbled slowly, along the path. Not that our young

traveller was much distressed by this—he was too fascinated by the

lake and its enormous proportions to set much store by his steed’s

fatigue.

Aadi Perukku was traditionally important for more than one

reason—on this day, every river in Chozha Nadu overflowed its

banks; consequently, every lake that fed from the rivers was filled to

the brim as well, the waters tossing and churning the surface. The

river known as Vada Kaveri by devotees and Kollidam colloquially,

fed straight into the Veera Narayanan Eri through the Vadavaaru—

and the latter was more an ocean in dimensions. Water gushed

through the seventy-four canals that ringed the lake, bubbling and

foaming, adding to the vast expanse, and irrigating vast swathes of

the surrounding land.

Agriculture was the mainstay here; farmers were engaged in

ploughing, seeding and planting their respective fields, as the lake’s

waters flowed into their lands. Men and women, neck-deep in their

work went about with sweet songs on their lips to alleviate the

burden of labour.

Vandhiyathevan chose to linger on his way, listening to their

songs; besides, he was engaged in another, more important task:

verifying whether the lake did possess seventy-four canals, as he’d

heard tell. Thus far, he had traveled one-and-a-half kaadhams – and

counted only around seventy.

It was then that the true magnitude, the sheer vastness of the

lake burst upon him in all its glory. Ha—such length and breadth!

How enormous it was, seemingly endless—why, even the so-called

large lakes dug by the Pallava Emperors were nothing but tiny

ponds, in comparison! And then, consider the incredible foresight of

Prince Rajadithyar, son of Madurai’s conqueror, the illustrious

Paranthakar, who had conceived the plan of diverting the Vada

Kaveri’s vast waters into a lake of such proportions! Indeed, who

could claim to be his equal when it came to sheer foresight, and

execution of plans? For that matter, there was no one who could

match his courage and valour, either. Wasn’t he the warrior who had

chosen to personally lead his armies into battle at Thakkolam?

Hadn’t he borne an enemy’s spear in his chest as he rode his war-

elephant, and ascended to heaven as a valiant soldier? Didn’t he

fully deserve the title “He Who Embraced Death on His Elephant,” as

a result of his great deeds?

In truth, these Chozha kings were a strange and wonderful breed.

They were as outstanding in valour as they were in war; as

committed to justice, as they were to God. And he had actually had

the great good fortune of mingling with, nay, claiming friendship with

them! Vandhiyathevan’s shoulders swelled; his heart threatened to

burst with pride, buffeted by waves of sheer exhilaration, just as the

surface of the Veera Narayana Lake heaved and tossed, striking the

banks, whipped by the brisk west wind.

By the time Vandhiyathevan reached this point in his ruminations,

he had arrived at the southern end of the lake, and saw the

magnificent sight of Vadavaaru emptying itself into it. The lake bed

extended for a small stretch between the banks and the water’s

surface; thorny karuvela and vila trees had been planted in it to

prevent damages to the shore from floods. Sturdy naanal bushes

clustered thickly at the edges. In all, the sight of the Vadavaaru, with

water rushing between tree-laden banks and emptying with a roar

into the Veera Narayana Lake made a very pretty, colourful picture

indeed, from afar.

Vandhiyathevan was delighted with nature’s painting—but there

were a few other sights too, that considerably increased his

admiration, and joy in his surroundings.

The auspicious day meant that villagers from in and around the

lake were in the mood for celebrations—and scores of men, women,

children and even a few aged ones took advantage of the festive

occasion, dressed in their best clothes and finery, dragging along

sapparams made of delicate, ivory-white coconut fronds. Women

wore fragrant blossoms of jasmine, mullai, thaazhambu, sevvandhi,

iruvatchi and shenbagam, spreading their sweet scent around. Of

food, there was plenty as well, in the form of delicious kootanchoru,

a mixture of rice and various condiments. Some strolled along the

banks, having ladled their food into cups fashioned from kamugu;

other, slightly more adventurous sightseers walked right up to where

the Vadavaaru poured into the lake, and ate their food, watching the

sight. Children threw their used kamugu cups into the canals,

watched the flimsy containers tumble through the choppy waters and

clapped their hands with glee. Some young men exhibited their

playful nature—pulling flowers off their beloveds’ tresses without

their knowledge, throwing them into the canal and laughing to see

them burst through on the lake’s side.

Vallavarayan stayed on the banks for a while, enjoying the sights

and sounds of celebration. He took in the sweet, appealing melodies

of the women—they ranged from boat-songs, to kummi, sindhu and

even some celebrating the floods, in all their delightful variety.

“Come, sing in welcome—

The Vadavaaru leaps towards us

Watch, and dance in welcome—

The Vellaaru springs towards us

See, delight and welcome—

The Kaveri rises towards us!”

These and many more songs were sung with joy, celebrating the

new waters and Vandhiyathevan listened for all he was worth, the

sweetness in the tone and verses gladdening his heart.

War-like fervour found favour, among other celebrants in the

groups. Some women enshrined in song the valour of

VijayalayaChozhar, who sported ninety and six scars on his battle-

worn body, from thirty-two wars; yet another woman chose to sing

about the piety and compassion of his son Adithya Chozhar who

built sixty-four temples for Siva Peruman all along the course of the

Kaveri, from its birthplace to where it merged with the sea.

ParanthakaChozhar’s incredible feats as he subjugated the

Pandiyas, Pallavas, Cheras, and won massive victories in Ilankai

were sung by a young lady with enormous zest and vigour.

Everyone’s performance was heard with gratifying attention;

sometimes, listeners gave themselves completely to them, uttering

spontaneous exclamations: “Ah! Ah!”

Lost in the revelry, Vandhiyathevan gradually became aware of

an old woman’s scrutiny. “You look like you have traveled far and

hard, Thambi. You must be very tired. Would you like to get down

from that horse of yours and share some of our nourishing

kootanchoru?”

This seemed to be the signal for every young woman in the

vicinity to direct keen glances at our young man. Their laughing eyes

settled on him; they giggled and tittered among themselves,

obviously discussing his appearance.

Vandhiyathevan would have been paralyzed by bashfulness, had

not a part of him been overjoyed at the female attention. He

wondered, briefly, if he should take up the old woman on her offer

and gorge himself on food—but surely, if he did, those young women

would surround him on all sides and swamp him with ridicule.

But what of it? Opportunities to be swamped by a bevy of young

ladies did not often come by; even if they did ridicule him, surely the

sound of their teasing laughter would defeat the mellifluous music of

celestial beings!

To Vandhiyathevan’s besotted young eyes, every maiden on the

shore seemed to be no less a beauty than the divine dancers

Rambha and Menaka, who adorned Indra’s court.

Before he could accept the old woman’s invitation, though—

something else caught his attention, and made him hesitate.

In the distance, a heavenly sight met his eyes: seven or eight

large boats glided swiftly along the Vadavaaru from the south-west,

their white, silky sails fluttering in the brisk west wind, oars spread

like the wings of a graceful swan.

Men and women, indulging in celebration along the banks,

gradually fell silent, their attention riveted by the approaching

spectacle.

One among the cavalcade outran the rest, making its way swiftly

towards the northern bend of the lake. Soldiers lined its decks;

sunlight caught the glint of their spears and javelins, dazzling

onlookers. Some of them jumped on shore and began to herd

everyone with alacrity: “Clear out! Move away, all of you!”

The celebrants themselves, obviously, did not want to lay

themselves open to such bracing treatment; they were swift to pick

up their belongings and move well away from the banks.

Vandhiyathevan watched the boats and warriors, puzzled. Who

were they, and what sort of passengers did the boats behind them

carry? Were they, perhaps, members of the royal family?

He sidled up to an old man who stood on the banks, leaning on

his stick. “Ayya, whose men are these? Whom do those swan-like

boats belong to? Why do these soldiers drive away the people? And

why does everyone obey them?” The questions fairly tripped off his

over-eager tongue.

“Why, Thambi, do you tell me that you do not recognize them?”

the old man raised his eyebrows. “Do you see the boat in the midst

of the rest? And the flag that flutters in it? Tell me—what is the

emblem it bears?”

“It seems to be a palm tree.”

“Indeed. And do you not know that it is the emblem of the

Pazhuvettarayars, my lad?”

“Good God,” Vandhiyathevan exclaimed, startled. “Is it truly him?

The great warrior Pazhuvettarayar?”

“It must be. Who else would dare to brandish the palm-tree flag

with such authority?”

Vallavarayan’s eyes turned towards the approaching boats again,

wide with astonishment. Such were the tales he had heard, about

the warrior among warriors, Pazhuvettarayar. But then, who had not?

The names and fame of the amazingly valiant Pazhuvettarayar

brothers, both Elder and Younger, had spread through the length and

breadth of Chozha Empire, from Eezham in the South, to Kalinga in

the North. The brothers hailed from the city of Pazhuvoor on the

northern banks of the River Vada Kaveri, near Uraiyur; their clan had

earned a name for valour from the times of Vijayalayar. The

Pazhuvoor family claimed intimate ties with the Chozhas through

marital alliances; their royal connections and reputation for courage

had made them one of the first families of the land, a clan that was

almost, if not quite, the equal of the ancient Chozha dynasty itself.

Such an illustrious status also meant that they were among the few

who could boast the privilege of a flag of their own.

Of the current duo, the Elder was more renowned, having earned

legendary status in twenty-four battles; for sheer bravery, it was

common knowledge that he had no equal in Chozha Nadu. More

than fifty years old, he no longer graced battlefields but held several

truly exalted positions in the Chozha Empire: Dhana and

DhaanyaAthikaari—Treasurer, and Guardian of Granaries. His was

the right to guard the resources of the land, both cash and kind; his

also, the privilege to assess the demands of the government, decide

on the thirai, or tax to be levied upon and collected from the people.

He could march up to any kottam official, affluent landlord or

minister, and demand to be paid whatever tax he levied, that year.

In other words, Pazhuvettarayar was considered next in

importance to none other than Maharaja SundaraChozhar himself, in

the empire.

Naturally, Vandhiyathevan’s heart was filled with the

unquenchable urge to catch a glimpse of this supremely important

personality, this warrior who claimed the respect of every Chozha

citizen.

But then—he remembered the confidential message entrusted to

him by Prince AdithaKarikalar, in Kanchi’s Golden Palace.

“Vandhiyatheva! I’m well aware of your prowess as a warrior. I’m

also aware of your keen intelligence—which is why I’m entrusting

this responsibility to you. Here are two palm-leaves: one is to be

delivered to my father, the Maharaja; the other to my sister,

IlaiyaPiratti. I hear such disturbing tales about even highly-placed

officials in the empire—you must, therefore, make sure that my

message does not fall into their hands. No matter what position of

authority they hold, not a whisper of suspicion must enter their heads

that you carry a message from me. Do not, I repeat, do not pick

fights along the way. It isn’t enough if you don’t quarrel with anyone

—make sure that you ignore anyone who forces a quarrel on you.

Vallavaraya—I know you to be an excellent warrior, so you may be

easy about your reputation. Rest assured that ignoring a few

disputes isn’t going to be a blemish on your honour.” There was a

pause. “In particular, my lad—you must be very wary of the

Pazhuvettarayars, and my uncle Madhuranthakar. Not on any

account must they know the purpose of your mission!”

Such was the message entrusted to him, not just by the Crown

Prince of the Chozha Empire, but one who held the vastly important

position of MaathandaNaayakar of the Northern Chozha Forces.

AdithaKarikalar had taken such great pains to impress ways of good

conduct and behaviour upon him, not to mention precise instructions

to be carried out, that Vallavarayan could not find it in himself to

ignore those words of caution. Meeting Pazhuvettarayar, therefore,

was a desire he would have to suppress.

Vandhiyathevan heaved a sigh and spurred his horse forward.

That noble animal, already worn down by hard travel, could do little

more than ooze along the path.

Well, that left him with only one option: he would spend the night

at the KadamburSambuvaraiyar Palace, and leave the next morning

—with a brand-new horse, able and fit for travel.