Grandfather and Granddaughter

Ponnan and Valli went to her grandfather’s house in the Street of Blacksmiths. He and his wife welcomed them in happily. Ponnan paid his respects and left as quickly as he could, claiming to have an important errand with the King.

Valli was talking excitedly to her grandfather when she cried out, “Oh  my God! What is that?” Stacked in a corner of the veranda were several daggers, swords, and spears. Evidently, it was this array which had given Valli a fright.

“What indeed?” said her grandfather. “Why, swords and spears and tridents, of course, thirsting to chop Pallava heads like fruit! Not that you would have seen any of those. Why, in the old days...”                                                  

“Don’t scare me so!” cried Valli, alarmed.                                                                   

“A few years like this, and even the men-folk of the land will be as cowardly as you. Valli! Do you know during the times of my grandfather and great-grandfather the forges were lit day and night, and sharp swords and spears were made, and tridents gleamed in the sun. Each smithy was alive and bustling. Even during my father’s time, these golden days were setting. In all my considerable days, this is the first time I have made swords and spears-or even seen them... Oh, why did this war not come twenty years ago!”

“Oh God! And here I was hoping that you would convince my husband that he should not go to the war...”         

“Ponnan? Go to the war? Nonsense!”                                                              

“He keeps going on and on about going to the war.”

“You are the last of your line. He will not be allowed to go.”

There was a tragedy behind these words. Virabhadra Achari’s family had once been large and bustling. Four years ago, everyone in the family save Valli’s grandparents had gone to a wedding on the other side of the river. A sudden flood had arisen, and the small boat had capsized. Ponnan, who had been standing on the shore had swum to the boat and tried to save them. By some divine grace, only Valli had escaped. All the others had drowned.  

“But why is the war taking place at all? I do not understand. It seems so unnecessary.”

“Why the war? Why? Have you heard of honour? That is why this war! How can the Tiger bow down to the Bull?  How can the Chola nation bow down to the Pallavas? This dishonour is what this war tries to erase.”                  

“Look, I saw the flag today in the afternoon. It had a Lion.”

“Yes; they have changed the Bull to the Lion. You see, twenty years ago, Mahendra Chakravarti was the ruler in Kanchi. Tales of his valour were told in every country. At that time, the King of Vatapi, north of the Pallava kingdom, who went by the name of Pulikesi, invaded the Pallava Kingdom with a gigantic force. The Chakravarti decided that he would not stand a chance if he tried open warfare. So he and all his people shut themselves up in Kanchi. When Pulikesi realised that it was going to be useless beseiging Kanchi, he came further south and reached the north shore of the Kollidam. Our Parthiban had just begun to rule. He set about gathering troops. What a mess Uraiyur was in! But by then, Pulikesi had some trouble in his borders to the north, and he had to retreat. He did not cross the Kollidam. But the atrocities he unleashed upon the land that he crossed were unspeakable. Whole towns were destroyed, razed to the ground. With that, Mahendra Varma’s reputation dimmed. He did not live long after. After him, Narasimha Varma became Emperor. His sole ambition was to go to the Chalukyas’ kingdom and avenge his country. He assembled a formidable army. Finally, six years ago, he left north with his army. He killed Pulikesi on the battlefield and burnt Vatapi to the ground. In memoriam, he changed the flag of the Pallavas to the Lion. It is but a month since he has returned....” The old man’s voice trailed away.

Valli, who had been listening intently all this while, said, “Why does our King wish to fight this man? He should be a friend to him!”                                                                                                                  

A horse was galloping down the road. It stopped directly beneath them, at their door. “Virabhadra Achari!” an authoritative voice rang out.

Immediately the old man said, “It’s that Chandala, Marappa Bhupathi. Go in, quick, or he might see you.”