1

Cubbon Park in Summer

C LUSTERS OF CHROME YELLOW flowers of Tabebuia spectabilis tumbled over each other with the impatience of short-lived blossoms determined to live life to the full, from the avenue trees on both sides of the road. This was the definitive sign that summer had arrived in Bangalore.

Avaran Kuriakose got up from the bench in Cubbon Park and shook his head to clear the last faint images of his reverie. It was so easy, he thought, to submit to the deadly shades of depression, allow them to settle over his life and shut him off from the world around him.

It was two months since he had lost his wife Sarah of thirty years in a freak road accident. Avaran had to suppress his emotions and project an image of strength to help his daughter come to terms with the loss.

He had taken a month’s leave from the Institute for Medieval Indian Studies where he was working on the impact of European involvement in the kingdoms of the Deccan.

He hadn’t opened a book or written a word for nearly two months and his non-performance had begun to weigh him down. He was conscious of pains in his back. His legs were heavy and he couldn’t believe he once ran 10 kms every morning.

He had to break out of this accidie and reclaim his life. It would be good to take a break and get out of Bangalore… out of the oncoming summer heat to somewhere cool… like Dharamshala on the lower slopes of the Dhauladhar range in the Himalayas. His school classmate Harjit Singh had turned his ancestral home into a popular Homestay. Harjit and his wife Ekta had been asking him to visit them for months now. Avaran had always made excuses. Now he would make up his mind and go.

He would inform friends on FaceBook and disappear from Bangalore for at least two weeks.

He opened his laptop and posted a note to friends about his plan to travel to Dharamshala. He added that he might be incommunicado for a few weeks, out of mobile phone signal range in the hills.

✦✦✦

That evening when Avaran checked his mail, he saw that he had notifications on FaceBook. Most of the responses were either facetious or self-consciously formal and excessively polite. Some bleated, some preened and others innocently bared their lives to public glare. He loved the Humble Braggers who announced some achievement beginning with the words, I am humbled by…

Avaran recalled Erving Goffman’s The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, in which the author compares human social interaction with the imagery of the stage. Shakespeare had thought of the comparison centuries ago in his, All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players;

Goffman’s dramaturgical analysis was helpful to explain behaviour on the Net.

People were still coming to terms with the relative freedom of the internet. Avaran quickly scanned a message from Mohan whose wife had left him a few months ago and had filed for divorce. He was gloating about a woman he had just met. Why hire detectives when all you need to do is to keep tabs on people on FaceBook?

One message caught his attention. Check your private Yahoo mail for a message from me… Krishna.

Krishna? Who could that be? Avaran paused and allowed his mind to do a quick search of friends and acquaintances.

Yes. Of course! Krishna Rao, an old college classmate, daughter of a landlord, Madhoji Rao who lived in Ambur, Vellore District in Tamilnadu. He used to send her birthday greetings once a year.

Madhoji Rao was a direct descendent of a medieval warrior who had come to the Carnatic in 1640 with the Maratha hordes that swept across the Deccan Plateau and raided the Nayak rulers of the erstwhile Vijayanagara Empire for protection money.

Krishna’s one-line email simply said, Send your mobile number by return! Avaran sent his number to Krishna and eagerly waited for her call. He already felt better, although he had no idea what he was letting himself in for. He was conscious that he had recently lost his wife and here he was reviving contacts with an old flame.

He turned his attention to cleaning up his flat. He put away some clothes that had been ironed, changed his bedsheets and pillowcases. He had put his pillows out in the sun on his balcony. They were still warm and had that special smell that had the power to instantly teleport him to his childhood days in his grandparents’ home near Tiruvalla.

Avaran looked at the papers on his desk. There was a bill from his Masonic Lodge. It had been a while since he had attended a Lodge Meeting. He made a mental note to pay the bill online. His eyes focused on the line that read, As per our Bye-law No.7a, Brethren are expected to pay their dues within three months.

Another paper on the desk was the bill from the Cantonment Trauma Centre where Sarah was treated during the last few weeks of her life. She never regained consciousness and died despite being on support. Nothing quite so final as death, he thought as he forced himself to look away from his and Sarah’s wedding photo on the wall in front of his desk.

Avaran opened a steel container in which he had stored a packet of banana chips from his hometown Kollam in Kerala. He bit into one and closed his eyes as he savoured the taste of fresh coconut oil in which the chips had been fried. He recalled his days at boarding school in the Nilgiris where the tuck his mother had sent helped to overcome the powerful bouts of homesickness.

The phone rang. Avaran stared at it, conscious that he was at a crossroads. He could pick up the phone and the conversation could lead to unknown and unpredictable consequences on his life. If he didn’t pick up the phone… what the hell… all the great moments of his life followed bold decisions taken in a flash.

Hello? Avaran said into the phone. A shiver ran down his back as Krishna’s soft, confident voice replied, Avaran! You sound so formal!

That revived the old warmth and reminded Avaran of their friendship in Bangalore.

I saw your FB post… and heard from friends that you had lost your wife. I thought I should reach out immediately, but not in public. She was your wife of thirty years. You had a daughter with her… I didn’t want to sound… disrespectful… or shallow.

Yes, Avaran said. She died on 27 June and I thought my life had come to an end. I even thought I should change my career and do something totally different.

Well, my story is not so easy to unpack. It’s quite complicated. You used to say I am not only inscrutable, but also convoluted Krishna said.

I hope we will meet soon and I can tell you about what I have been through… I have a son and have inherited my late husband’s estate near Arani.

"Oh…. Sorry to hear that you lost your husband…

I thought that I should call you and invite you to come to Poosimalaikuppam and spend a few days with us. Take the Shatabdi Express from Bangalore and get off at Katpadi Junction. I will send my car to meet you. Our house, in Mullandiram near Poosimalaikuppam is 45 kms from Katpadi… and it will take a little more than an hour to get here.

Avaran didn’t know how to tell Krishna that he couldn’t accept her invitation. He had already finalised his travel plans. Harjit Singh had arranged for Avaran to have a two-week session with a Tibetan spiritual guide. He had also promised Avaran access to family papers that would help his research.

Sorry, Krishna, I won’t be able to come. I have finalised plans for my visit to Dharamshala, Avaran said. You know I have some research to do about Nicholson’s early years when he was Deputy Commissioner of Bannu District (now in Pakistan), just across the border from Kangra District in India.

One of Harjit Singh’s ancestors had served as a Rissaldar Major of the Guides regiment, shortly after it was raised in 1851, and was stationed in Bannu during Nicholson’s time as the District Officer. He had saved some correspondence files, ledgers and paymaster’s records of his regiment. I want to scan these to see if there’s any useful information to explain why the half-wild Waziri tribesmen of Bannu worshipped Nicholson as a demi-God.

Krishna was silent for a few moments, then replied, "I know about your interest in the life and death of Brigadier General John Nicholson. You have to weigh your priorities.

"I am inviting you here because of the work you have done on the military history of the East India Company in Arcot… and… our family friend Safdar Ali who is related to the family of a Nawab of Arcot told me that you are a Freemason.

I found among my husband’s papers, she continued, a diary with manuscript notes by Captain Edward Algernon Miller, a surveyor who was based in Arani. Entries in it go back to 7 April 1750.

There was a pause and Krishna knew she had Avaran’s complete attention.

"It contains mathematical formulae, coded passages, including strange symbols. I was counting on you to decipher it.

"I also have with me, the Minutes Book of Lodge Arcot, perfectly well preserved, with entries from October 1750, shortly after it was warranted. It contains minutes of meetings attended by Robert Clive in 1751. Initially they didn’t have a proper Lodge building and held meetings under canvas.

Just imagine! Minutes of meetings at which the young Robert Clive was a participant. His was a name known to every Indian schoolboy! The Siege of Arcot took place in 1751 and launched an ordinary Writer of the East India Company to the status of Imperial hero.

There is a minute about the Vijayanagara Treasure which disappeared after the Battle of Talikota.

✦✦✦

Avaran mentally revised his memory of the Battle of Talikota and its aftermath. The Battle of Talikota in 1565 temporarily united the five Deccan sultanates against the Vijayanagara Empire. These sultanates were successor states of the Bahmani Sultanate with its capital at Gulbarga, which collapsed after 1518. The sultanates of Ahmadnagar, Bidar, Berar, Bijapur and Golconda came together, briefly suspending their rivalries to take on the mighty Vijayanagara Empire.

The Battle of Talikota struck a mortal blow at the very foundations of the Vijayanagara Empire. It initiated cataclysmic changes in the politics, economics and social organisation of kingdoms in peninsular India. It also heralded the extension of Muslim rule to the Nayak kingdoms under the Vijayanagara Empire. Travancore remained the only princely state that remained free of Muslim dominance although Tipu Sultan’s armies reached as far as the princely state of Kochi. By this time, the rising power of the British ensured that Travancore would remain the last Hindu-ruled State in India. The third Anglo-Mysore war between 1790 and 1792 resulted in the surrender of half his kingdom to the East India Company.

All historical accounts lead to the conclusion that the mighty Vijayanagara Empire was brought to its knees in 1565 by the betrayal of two key Vijayanagara Commanders, the Gilani brothers, who had thousands of soldiers under their command. They mustered their cavalry and went through a charade of being ready to face the attack by the combined sultanate armies. Just before the conch shell war trumpets sounded the charge, the Gilani brothers wheeled their horses round and cantered off the battlefield to the utter stupefaction of the other Commanders.

The sultanate armies were able to scatter the remaining demoralised Vijayanagara Empire military formations, mainly cavalry.

Avaran thought that this was a recurring story in Indian history where battles were won by treachery and bribery, without any fighting.

An excellent account of this epic battle is provided by the chronicle Tazkirat Al-Muluk (History of the Kings) written by Rafiuddin Shirazi, one of the Persian nobles of the Gharibs (aliens) group of the court of Adil Shah.

According to Persian historian Ferishta, (Muhammad Qasim Hindu Shah) Aliya Rama Raya was seventy years old; as per the Portuguese historians Diogo de Couto and Faria e Sousa, he was ninety-six years old, but as brave as a man of thirty.

Rama Raya chose to sit on a rich throne set with jewels, under a canopy of crimson velvet, embroidered with gold and adorned with fringes of pearls to watch the battle and inspire his soldiers.

The Muslim cavalry charged through the line of guns to where Raya had chosen to make a stand. Seeing the turn of events, Rama Raya decided to mount his litter and just then an elephant from Nizam Shah’s side dashed towards him and knocked him down from the litter. Before he could mount a horse he was taken prisoner.

Aliya Rama Raya was taken to Rumi Khan, the general of Hussein Nizam Shah.

According to the account by Shirazi, Nizam Shah asked Rama Raya, Are you all right? Rama Raya does not reply and points his hand to his head, a signal that Shirazi interpreted as Rama Raya suggesting that he had reached his destiny [sic]. Nizam Shah promptly ordered his soldiers to decapitate him.

His head, impaled on a spear, was displayed by a horseman to the defeated Vijayanagara army which rapidly dissolved into the countryside.

An ominous hush enveloped Talikota after the defeat of the Vijayanagara army. There was a three day period of deathly inactivity while the armies of the Sultanates retreated to regroup and re-equip themselves. A three days break was reported by the Portuguese historian Diogo do Couto although Ferishta’s account suggests that it took ten days for the Sultanate armies to return to Hampi.

According to one tradition, taking advantage of this break, Tirumala Deva Raya, the younger brother of the king Rama Raya had the fabulous throne of Krishna Deva Raya moved into the Virupaksha temple in Hampi. It was believed to have been hidden in an underground chamber in the hall commissioned by Krishna Deva Raya in 1510 CE to mark his accession.

We also have Sewell’s version, according to which, Krishna Deva Raya’s throne, along with the other treasure of the kingdom were loaded on 550 elephants and removed to Penukonda in Anantapur district of modern Andhra Pradesh which became the third capital of the Empire.

"Five hundred and fifty elephants, laden with treasure in gold, diamonds, and precious stones valued at more than a hundred millions sterling, and carrying the state insignia and the celebrated jewelled throne of the kings, left the city under convoy of soldiers who remained true to the crown. King Sadasiva was carried off by his jailor, Tirumala, now sole regent since the death of his brothers; and in long line the royal family and their followers fled southward towards the fortress of Penukonda¹."

✦✦✦

Knowing Avaran’s passion for detail, Krishna continued, "The Minutes Book is bound in blue leathercord with ‘Lodge Arcot’ and the compass and set-square masonic emblem gold-stamped on the front cover. It has 320 pages to record meetings, plus 20 pages at the end to record resolutions.

"You can treat this as an assignment from our family Trust. You will stay at the Miller’s Bungalow which is over two centuries old, but maintained in top condition with modern amenities and full-time staff.

Avaran realised that Krishna had hooked him by offering so many attractive allurements. Captain Miller’s Diary, Lodge Arcot, The Fabulous Throne of Krishna Deva Raya, and Robert Clive. He felt his resistance crumbling and said, Okay, let me talk to Harjit and see if I can postpone the visit to Dharamshala without losing a close friend.

There was a pause while Avaran tried to take in what he was letting himself in for.

What other news? Avaran asked.

My brother-in-law Ramoji Rao was brutally murdered three months ago as part of an extortion attempt. I will tell you more about that when we have time. I now fear for my son’s life as he is the legal heir to the family property and fortune. After his murder I realised I need help. That’s why I consulted my family and we decided to call you. Krishna said.

How old is your son? Avaran asked.

Venkoji is 32 years old and has been deeply affected by the loss of his father and uncle. He knows his life is in danger. Although he is aloof and unsociable, he manages the family businesses with considerable skill. We have a silk showroom in Vellore specialising in Arani Silk and Kancheepuram Silk. We also have a rice mill in Rattina Mangalam, which is across the Kamandala Naganathi River from Arani Bus Station. I suppose you know that the Arani region is famous for the Ponni" rice.

"Yes, of course… Ponni is the ancient name for the river Kaveri… it is also a variety of rice developed by Tamilnadu Agricultural University, and the cause of a legal battle against a Malaysian Company which resulted in an order that it may not use the name "Ponni as its own trademark just a few years ago… in 2010, I believe.

Okay, Avran continued, let me work on this. I will call you back as soon as I have some details.

That was it, thought Avaran as he put down the phone and started thinking about visiting Arani and reopening what he had thought was a closed chapter of his life.

He selected his canvas backpack which he took only on extended camping tours where he had to spend several days in remote mofussil² areas. The downside of the strength and luggage capacity was the weight of the backpack. Avran followed the rule of thumb that the backpack should be no heavier than 20% of body weight. For his body weight of 90 kgs, the loaded backpack should weigh no more than 18 kgs.

There was a compartment for his laptop and cables which got priority. Next he packed his camera equipment including two extra lenses and tripod stand, one foot of which fitted into a holster at the back and the pan head end could be fastened with a strap at the top of the backpack. His Nikon D500 with 16-80 f/2.8-4E ED VR Lens had its own sling bag with space to carry lens cleaning kit, cables, memory card wallet, and potentially useful gubbins.

His essential field clothes, toilet bag, a comfortable pair of canvas topped loafers for anytime use and slippers went into his strolley suitcase.

He dusted his Columbia ankle boots to wear on the journey. They were too bulky to be packed but couldn’t be left behind because he knew they would be indispensable for field work. He was sorry he couldn’t carry any of his reference books, but packed two relatively slim books on the Marathas by Col. Anil Athale and R.S.Chaurasaia which he had ordered online, to read when he found time.

He sent for his housekeeper Laxmamma and told her he would be travelling for about a month and would let her know by phone when he would return. Her salary would be remitted online to her bank account and she could have a paid holiday and spend more time with her grandchildren. For any emergency she could contact his daughter Archana whom she had known for almost twenty years.

Avaran called Archana and asked her to come and pick up Bugsy, his Dachshund and keep her until he got back.

2

Venture into the Unknown

A VARAN PICKED UP HIS bags after the taxi had dropped him at the Bangalore Cantonment Railway Station. He moved towards Platform No.1 and found an empty bench near the electronic display indicating coach C11, last but one from the rear.

No sooner had he settled down to glance through the news headlines than the announcement came over the PA system that the Shatabdi Express would arrive shortly on Platform No.1.

The train slid into the station with the panache and self-assured hauteur of an Indian ‘superfast’ train. Avaran climbed into Coach C11, opened the sliding door and walked to his seat No.4 at the other end of the compartment. This was a two-minute stop, and the train pulled out at 0609 hrs on the four-and-a-half-hour journey to Chennai. In about three hours, the Shatabdi would pull into Katpadi Junction, which was Avaran’s destination.

The train had barely pulled out of the station when an attendant came past distributing bottles of "Rail Neer" drinking water.

Avaran must have dozed off… it was 0650 and the train was pounding along to the East. From the window on the left side of the coach, where Avaran sat, he could see the rising sun glowing fiery red, reminding him he was heading towards the state where the Dravida Kazhagam had chosen the symbol of the rising sun – Udaya Suriyan for their party. It was now the symbol of the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK) Party. It was also a symbol of Kalaignar TV, a Tamil-language satellite television channel based in Chennai, named for DMK chief M. Karunanidhi.

Avaran’s mind linked the red glow of the sun with the Raviratna Star Ruby, once owned by the Vijayanagara rulers. "Ravi was one of the many synonyms for the Sun and combined with the word Ratna for jewel produced the closed compound word Raviratna for Sun jewel or Sun gem. Avran did a Google search on his mobile and confirmed that the 3553-carat (710.6g) Raviratna Star Ruby" is the largest star ruby in the world, belonging to retired lawyer G. Vidyaraj of Bangalore, a descendant of the royal family of Vijayanagara¹.

The muffled sound of the powerful diesel engine came into the air conditioned carriage with its well-insulated windows. Avaran thought the view out of the window rushed past like his own life rushed past the corner of his eye. One look and it was gone.

All of the sights of the hill and the plain

Fly as thick as driving rain;

And ever again, in the wink of an eye,

Painted stations whistle by.

Avaran wished he could have picked couplets from a Malayalam or Tamil poem rather than from the work of an English poet². That was a conundrum Avaran frequently encountered with his English medium education which meant that he was almost completely alienated from the literature and poetry in Malayalam, his mother-tongue, and therefore from his culture. He wished he had spent time trying to read and appreciate the poetry of Kunchan Nambiar, Mahakavi Kumaran Asan or Mahakavi Vallathol Narayana Menon.

Avaran made a note to ask himself, when he had the time, in what way his mind had dealt with this knowledge gap, which it sought to fill with a hybrid cultural domain that permitted him to cross over from one set of cultural and aesthetic experiences to another with ease.

There were Eucalyptus plantations in the fields, with Phoenix sylvestris wild date palms scattered among them with their unique shape, colour and texture. They were evocative of woodcut illustrations in old British Raj period books.

The landscape gave way to rocky outcrops with massive boulders crowded against each other on the hillsides. On one of the boulders someone had painted, Jesus is Our Hope. Yet another boulder advertised a brand of automobile tyres.

The train appeared to pick up speed to rush through Tyakal railway station, blowing its strident air-horn menacingly.

More Eucalyptus. This time coppiced, with three to four shoots from each stool.

Avaran was aware that he was travelling on a major South Indian military route. The armies of the Kadambas, the Pallavas, the Gangas, the Vijayanagara rulers, the Deccani Sultans, the Maratha armies, the Nizam’s forces, the Nawabs of the Carnatic and of course the English East India Company would have used this route to cross from one Coast to the other and back regularly.

Some bushes with light green and yellow leaves filtered the sunlight and glowed against the darker green of other foliage.

There were coconut palms planted in neat rows on the boundaries of parcels of land.

Hedge rows were marked by Agave plants, some with tall inflorescences auguring their imminent death in a defiant final burst.

At 0708 hrs, the train stopped at Bangarapet. A tan and white dog with a curled tail stood on the platform and barked at the train with the authority and arrogance of a dignitary whose peaceful slumber had been disturbed.

Pariah dog! thought Avaran and remembered it was a choice abuse in his Anglo Indian school. The word, "Pariah was derived from the Tamil Paraiyar" and Hobson-Jobson³ dates its usage to 1513 CE. In India, if you don’t know how the caste system works, you cannot understand social behaviour, thought Avaran.

Avaran must have dozed off again. The plots he could see out of the train window were larger and had more verdure now, no doubt because of greater availability of groundwater.

By now the sun had risen higher and was streaming in through the window onto his left temple.

The vegetation had changed again to Acacia trees with bright green foliage and dark trunks. There were Pongamia trees on the boundaries of fields; hardy, almost indestructible bushes of Prosopis juliflora, an aggressive Mexican species with thorns that could grow up to 3" long in open patches, and the occasional Tamarind tree.

At 0800 hrs, with one more hour to reach Katpadi, breakfast arrived. The package marked, Non-Vegetarian contained an omelette with four or five sorry looking, limp French fries with some curried peas, and two slices of bread. Meals on Wheels was the logo on the uniforms of the attendants. Thanks to British rule in India, eggs with Bread, Butter, Jam (pronounced Jarm rhyming with Charm") had been established as a universal quick-fix breakfast for over a century in India.

3

Krishna

T HE TRAIN WAS ON time and Avaran got off the train carefully at Katpadi, with his heavy backpack threatening to throw him off balance. He flexed his toes inside the heavy Columbia ankle boots, and felt adequately prepared for the Arcot countryside. Once on the platform, He checked to see that the camera tripod was still securely fastened. He picked up his suitcase and wheeled it towards the overbridge. Just before Avaran reached the steps, his phone rang. Annoyed, he put down his suitcase and pulled out his mobile phone. He cursed as the plastic Rail Neer water bottle that he held in his left hand fell and he had to pick it up….

Just then he saw a very tall and very dark-skinned, big built man waving at him. Along with him was a smaller man who held a mobile phone in his left hand and was smiling. The odd duo was walking towards Avaran. The tall man wore what looked like a pale grey Kurta Pajama suit while the smaller man wore white trousers and a neatly pressed white shirt worn over it, identifying him as a uniformed driver.

"We are from the Arani Miller’s Bungalow. Krishna Arasi sent us", said the small man in Tamil. The dark-skinned man was either a Habshi or Siddi, descended from Abysinnian slaves who were employed by rulers of the Deccan as royal body-guards and ceremonial troops. He must have been close to seven feet tall. His expression was grim. He gently relieved Avaran of his baggage and went up the steps, two at a time.

The other man smiled and introduced himself as Silambarasan. Avaran remembered that "Silambam" was a martial art practiced in the Tamil speaking Nayak Kingdoms, Maratha ruled Thanjavur, and the jagirs in the Arcot region.

Oh… so you are a King of Silambam? Avaran asked as an ice-breaker since Arasan" was a Tamil word for king.

"My father was an Aasaan or Master of Martial Arts – Silambam, Kutthu Varisai and Varmakkalai.

"He named me Silambarasan hoping to make a champion out of me and put me through ten years of training. Thanks to that training, I got my present job as driver and bodyguard to Krishna Arasi."

Avaran was impressed. Krishna had sent a descendent of elite Abysinnian bodyguards and a Tamilakam martial arts trained driver/bodyguard to meet him!

This is Osman Ali, named after the last Nizam of Hyderabad Silambarasan said. He is a Siddi and a deaf-mute. I am his ears and voice. He has keen eyesight, and is as strong as four local men.

Osman Ali picked up the heavy backpack with ease and slung it on his back. He then wheeled Avaran’s suitcase to the stairs of the railway bridge where he picked it up as if it weighed nothing and moved up two steps at a time to the overbridge.

The group descended the steps of the railway bridge and Silambarasan located the bungalow car with the remote switch on his key ring. It was a silver Mahindra XUV 500. Avaran had never seen one before, let alone ridden in one. He had seen ads in newspapers for the car which was billed as the new age SUV in India.

Osman opened the rear right door for Avaran after stowing his luggage in the trunk.

Avaran got into the darkened interior of the car and was easing himself into the seat when he suddenly became aware of a presence, and the smell of a combination of white jasmine and vetiver…

As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and the plush interior, he realised he was not alone.

Krishna! he exclaimed, and leaned forward to hug her…. She placed her palm