Ponniyin Selvan | Fresh Floods |Chapter - 4 | The Kadambur Palace

Ponniyin Selvan

Fresh Floods | Chapter -4 | The Kadambur Palace

The many minutes of repose seemed to have done

Vandhiyathevan’s horse plenty of good; the young man set an

excellent pace and reached the entrance of

KadamburSambuvaraiyar’s Palace within a naazhigai’s time.

Many were the leaders of ancient clans that wielded authority

under the banner of the imperial Chozhas;

SengannarSambuvaraiyar was one among them. The entrance to

his palace rivaled that of a city’s massive gates; the walls that rose

beside them resembled a thick and unyielding fortress madhil as

they wound their way on both sides.

The entrance was teeming with activity. Elephants, horses and

bulls stood cheek by jowl while their trainers jostled for space with

those who brought water for steeds; men who held aloft torches to

see by in the fading light, and those who poured oil for said torches.

The place reverberated with enthusiastic exclamations and

celebratory shouts.

Vandhiyathevan paused before entering the clearing, hesitation

and a hint of despondence in his heart. Obviously, he had arrived in

the midst of revelry—and this was not, he felt, a circumstance in his

favour. And yet, he felt a keen desire to know the cause for the

festivities. The gates did stand open, but were guarded by armoured

soldiers who held swords and spears in readiness. Tell the truth, they

looked more like demons in death’s abode than mere men.

Hesitation would serve no purpose, decided our valiant young

man; he would be sure to be noticed, and stopped at once. No,

riding full tilt at the soldiers and dashing through was the only way in.

To think was to do, in Vandhiyathevan’s book—and he suited

thoughts to action.

But ah—what a disappointment! The moment he reached the

entrance, two of the sentries barred his way, crossing their long

spears. Four more grabbed hold of his horse’s reins. One of them

craned his neck and stared at the intruder; another raised his oil-

torch against the young man’s face for better visibility.

“So!” Vandhiyathevan’s voice rang with fury. “This is how you

treat your esteemed guests, is it? Is this your idea of hospitality?”

“And who might you be, Thambi, with such an unruly tongue in

your head?” queried the sentry.

“You wish to know my name and designation? You may have

them!” bellowed Vandhiyathevan. “Vaanagappadi is my country; I

claim Thiruvallam as my city. Once upon a time, your men took pride

in tattooing my valiant ancestors’ names on their chests! I am called

VallavarayanVandhiyathevan. Does that satisfy you?”

“How impressive!” exclaimed a guard. “Pray, why not bring along

a kattiyakkaaran to bellow your titles before your arrival?”

The rest cackled in merriment.

“Whatever your title, you cannot enter the palace precincts at this

hour,” declared the Chief of Guards. “All our expected guests have

arrived; our master has issued orders not allow anyone else!”

By this time, the altercation at the palace entrance had attracted

attention; some of the guards who stood chatting just within the

gates ambled forward to meet the feuding men. One of them

directed a keen glance at the new arrival, and perked up. “Adei, this

looks like the mule we chased from the temple grounds this

evening!”

“Call it an ass, idiot,” supplied a jester.

“Ah, my friends—do but take note of the proud bearing of the

noble ass’s owner!” declared another.

Even as Vandhiyathevan listened to these taunts, his mind spun

through his options.

Was there even a point in braving these men and entering the

palace? Wouldn’t a better purpose be served if he just turned away

at this point?

Perhaps he ought to just pull out and display Prince

AdithaKarikalar’s royal insignia to these idiots. That would certainly

shut them up. Who, after all, would dare to stop a man who bore the

emblem of the Commander-in-Chief of the Northern Chozha Armed

Forces? Surely no one from Vada Pennai to Kumari, the tip of

Thamizhagam, would dare to even think of such a thing!

The last of the Pazhuvoor men’s heckling fell on his ears as he

thought this—and he came to a swift decision.

“Let go of the reins; I’m leaving,” he announced, and the soldiers

released him.

Vandhiyathevan pressed his heels into the underbelly of his

steed; at that very instant, he unsheathed his sword with a hiss, from

his scabbard. The flickering lights caught the metal; he swung the

weapon with such force and dexterity that for a moment he

resembled Thirumaal, wielding the divine discus with supreme

confidence.

The sword cut through the air with finesse. Vandhiyathevan’s

horse sprang through the gates. Soldiers standing on either side

sprawled on the ground in an ungainly fashion. A dozen spears,

supposed to be held in readiness, clattered to the earth, wholesale.

The Pazhuvoor men stood gaping as the horse bounded forward.

A lightning-fast counter-attack was the last thing on their minds and

when it seemed likely that their skulls would be broken, they

scattered in every direction.

Other events happened at almost the same time: the fort’s

enormous gates banged shut—shouts rang all over the entrance—

“Get him! Now!” Metal bruised metal as spears were picked up;

swords were unsheathed, and the Clang! Clang! of weaponry rang

through the courtyard. The Palace drums scented danger and

banged their warning through the land: Daddam! Daddam!

Twenty, thirty, fifty soldiers surrounded Vandhiyathevan and his

horse in an instant; the young man lost no time and jumped down at

once.

“Kandamaaraa!” he yelled, brandishing his gleaming sword in a

wide arc. “Kandamaaraa! Your soldiers are murdering me!”

The converging men stopped and fell back, suddenly hesitant.

“Stop this instant!” A stentorian voice thundered above them,

from the upper balconies of the Palace. “What is all the commotion

down there?” A few men could be seen in the vicinity of the voice,

peering down at the palace entrance.

“Master—a man has just broken through the guards, into the

palace grounds,” explained a soldier from below. “He mentions the

name of our Young Master!”

“Kandamaaraa!” bellowed that stentorian voice, again. “Get down

and see what the uproar is about!” That bellow, Vandhiyathevan

speculated, probably belonged to SengannarSambuvaraiyar.

He and the men surrounding him stood in place, for the next few

minutes.

“What’s happening here?” came a considerably youthful voice.

The men promptly stepped aside and made way. A young man

strode swiftly through the ranks and stopped at the extraordinary

sight, taken aback.

Vandhiyathevan stood in the midst of the soldiers, twirling his

sword like the valiant lord Subramanya, brandishing his divine

weapon.

“Good God, my dear man—is it really you?” And Kandamaaran

almost ran forward, folding his arms around the warrior in a crushing

embrace.

“You’ve insisted time and again that I visit you, but when I finally

do—look at the hero’s welcome I get,” Vandhiyathevan pointed at the

men still surrounding them.

“Thick as posts and just as intelligent,” Kandamaaran chided

them. “Get lost, you idiots!”

-

Kandamaaran lost no time in grasping his friend’s hands, and

dragging him through the entrance, into the palace. His feet barely

seemed to touch the ground; his heart fairly danced with enthusiasm

as he rushed about, eager to point out the sights.

Such, after all, is the case when one finds a friend after his own

heart, in one’s early years. Oh yes, there was such a thing as

romance— but love, even if it brought ecstasy, also came with its fair

share of trials, tribulations and heart-aches. But the friendship of

youth—ah, nothing existed then but joy and happiness; not even the

shadow of sorrow intruded upon it.

“By the way, Kandamaaraa,” Vandhiyathevan began, casually, as

they raced along. “I see the palace overflowing with guests and their

entourage—what seems to be the special occasion? Why this

security and guards all over the place?”

“I’ll come to that in a minute, but first—remember our days at the

military encampment on the RiverPennai? You’d go on and on about

how you wished to meet Pazhuvettarayar, Mazhavarayar, that

warrior, and this one—now you can see them all, right down to their

staff, bodyguards and every stick and stone they own. Right here, in

this palace!” Kandamaaran exulted.

The first place he took his friend to, when the first ecstasies of

meeting were done with, was the section of the palace reserved for

esteemed visitors. But before that, came the host.

“Appa, haven’t I mentioned often my dearest friend,

Vandhiyathevan of the Vaanar clan? Well, here he is,” announced

Kandamaaran, standing the young man in front of his father.

Vandhiyathevan, true to his birth and breeding, bent low and folded

his hands in respect.

For some reason, Sambuvaraiyar did not seem very happy with

his presence. “Is that so? Were you the reason for all the mayhem

below?”

“No—our so-called soldiers were,” Kandamaaran explained.

“Indeed?” Sambuvaraiyar raised an eyebrow. “If you must know,

Kandamaaraa, I see no reason for your friend’s arrival half a jaamam

after sunset, today—and in such a chaotic fashion too.”

Kandamaaran’s face grew pinched, but it was obvious that he did

not want to argue with his father. He took his friend aside and made

haste to present him to Pazhuvettarayar, seated majestically in a

richly decorated throne in the midst of them all. “Uncle, here is my

dear friend Vandhiyathevan, descended from the illustrious Vaanar

dynasty. We served together on the border, in the military

encampment on the banks of the RiverPennai. It’s been his greatest

ambition to meet you, Warrior among Warriors, for long time. I

remember; he’d ask me if you really did sport sixty-four battle-scars

on your body,” laughed Kandamaaran. “And I’d often reply, Well, if

you’re really that doubtful, you could count them yourself!”

“Indeed, Thambi?” Pazhuvettarayar looked him up and down.

“So, you don’t believe that my scars do exist? Or is it your

contention, perhaps, that no clan but the Vaanarsis capable of

possessing such courage?”

The friends stared at him, aghast. Neither had intended the

words as anything but extravagant praise—and it had never

occurred to them that the warrior would take offense.

Vandhiyathevan felt irritation burgeoning within him, but quelled it

before his face revealed it. “Ayya, the Pazhuvettarayars’ fame has

spread through the length and breadth of our land, from Imayam to

the tip of Kumari,” he said, in his most respectful voice. “Who am I to

entertain the slightest doubts about their valour?”

“Not bad at all,” Pazhuvettarayar acknowledged. “You do possess

brains, I see.”

There was nothing more to be said; Vandhiyathevan and

Kandamaaran made their escape, more relieved than they could say.

Sambuvaraiyar took his son aside at the first opportunity. “You had

better feed your precious friend and put him to bed somewhere out

of everyone’s way,” he whispered. “He is bound to be exhausted

after a long day’s travel.”

Maaravel nodded roughly, plainly furious.

Later, Kandamaaran shepherded his friend to the anthappuram,

the ladies’ quarters, where the women of the royal household were

assembled in full force. Vandhiyathevan paid his respects here too,

falling at the feet of his friend’s mother and gaining her blessings.

The young woman standing well behind the older lady, overcome by

shyness must have been, Vandhiyathevan guessed, Kandamaaran’s

sister.

The Kadambur prince had described his young sister in such

glowing terms that she had, in his over-active imagination, acquired

the status of nothing less than a goddess. Now that he had seen her

in person, Vandhiyathevan was conscious of some disappointment.

His eyes roved over the women present, gazing keenly at them.

Which of them, he wondered, was the woman who had followed

Pazhuvettarayar in her palanquin?