Song of the Ankle Rings Read online

  SONG OF THE ANKLE RINGS

  A Novel

  ERIC ALAGAN

  Copyright @ Eric Alagan, 2019

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-981-14-0626-3

  Song of the Ankle Rings, based on Silapathikaram, an Indian classic set in Tamilakam—present day Tamil Nadu, Kerala, and Telangana, and parts of Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh—at about 3rd century B.C.E. to the 4th century C.E. traces the destinies of Kannagi (a chaste woman), her husband Kovalan (a merchant prince), and his mistress Madhavi (a courtesan) who lived during the reign of the Cheran, Cholan and Pandyan kingdoms.

  This work of fiction is an adaptation of the original story. Song of the Ankle Rings introduces new characters and subplots to dramatise the story and render it more acceptable to modern readers.

  TESTIMONIALS

  Your use of the language borders on the poetic. I loved reading it as it has all the visual attributes to transport one into the scene as a silent and invisible watcher... You know how to give us the full treatment, drama, philosophy and a hint of the Kama Sutra along with very careful research – Ian Grice (Brisbane Australia)

  You have very beautifully brought out the communication gap between Kannagi and Kovalan after marriage... and her trying to fit into a "chaste wife" mould are wonderful as well as the depiction of Kovalan's character. The explanation of the ankle rings and the mystery behind them is beautifully explained – Sasi Kandasamy (Sri Lanka-Singapore)

  I’m enthralled at the amount of thought you are putting into this narrative. The characters come forth as real people – Jane Stansfeld (Texas, USA)

  Amazing, how the author took a simple storyline and made it gripping. Love the dialogue. Authentic. Written in the first person but the characters had distinct voices – Jasey Chua (Singapore)

  You have done something important and worthy of praise... you will be remembered for this work – Rasu Ramachandran (former Director, Singapore Book Council)

  You are such a superb story teller – Onyango Makagutu (Nairobi, Kenya)

  Source: Written Words Never Die

  Table of Contents

  1: Anklets, One of a Kind

  2: Kannagi’s Destiny Foretold

  3: A Child leaves and a Maiden will return

  4: Pleasure Houses and Sensual Maidens

  5: Kannagi and Kovalan’s Wedding

  6: A Stranger and a Celestial Nymph

  7: The Worth of a Tamil Maiden

  8: Kannagi’s Error

  9: Madhavi’s Soft Scented Folds

  10: Attempt at Reconciliation

  11: The First Fractures

  12: Kovalan and Madhavi Duel

  13: Kovalan returns to Kannagi

  14: Fortune lost to Folly

  15: In the West lies Fate and Fame

  16: Beast-Men of the Hills

  17: The Edge of Civilisation

  18: Spend Lies to Save Lives

  19: A Scorpion’s Trap

  20: Almost an Arakan Woman

  21: Avatar of Death

  22: Late for Salvation, Early for Vengeance

  23: In the Second Hides Truth

  24: The Little Sister Deified

  About the Author

  Books by Eric Alagan

  1: Anklets, One of a Kind

  MY WEDDING DATE LOOMED, and with dozens of matters requiring attention, the well-ordered household had grown chaotic. Heaps of shimmering fabrics, a jumble of brass and silverware, and piles of perfumed wood and eye-catching oil lamps and figurines assembled for the wedding cluttered the courtyard.

  Father attended to the high officials and Mother to the ladies and their whims. It fell on me, despite constant interference from relatives and well-wishers who kept flaunting age and experience to steer things their way, to arrange for the garments, jewellery, and dowry for Kannagi. My bride.

  I smiled. Friend, confidante, and even competitor. But bride? Kannagi and Kovalan. Kovalan and Kannagi. Day and night. Sun and moon. Two earrings to complete the whole. Paired all our lives, it was difficult to mention one name without the other rolling off the tongue. Promised at birth, and the day would soon be upon us.

  The principal article for Kannagi’s dowry had caused many sleepless nights and several days of counsel as I sifted through a vast selection of treasures fit for my future queen. I exercised great diligence because family, friends, and wider society would be quick to fault any shortcomings, whether real or imagined. As I was my parents’ only son, my future wife, the incoming flame of the family altar, would in time hold the keys to our fortunes—she will wield the keys to the iron safes. A heavy responsibility that my parents would transfer after a suitable passage of time and when the first grandchild arrived. Until then, the elders deemed the newlyweds as too inexperienced and too preoccupied with one another, and even too frivolous, to shoulder the burden.

  With celebrations stretching for days, Mother had declared that her new daughter-in-law would not wear the same set of clothing and jewellery twice. There were plenty of all nine auspicious stones: brilliant white diamonds; fiery red rubies; flawless green emeralds; perfect milky pearls; flaming orange coral; honey coloured yellow sapphires; multi-hued blue sapphires; lustrous hessonites; and lightning streaked cats eye gemstones. Added to these were the usual gold and silver. I selected the finest silks imported specially from Seenam, the mighty nation of the Middle Kingdom in the Orient. The ship survived the perilous journey, several weeks long, and when the captain finally dropped anchor, Father heaved a sigh of relief. And as the days progressed, the symbols of high wealth scattered throughout the house continued to grow.

  The entire city had some part to play in the wedding. And when Anandan, my friend of six lives, appeared, with welcomed relief I embraced him. He was second only to Kannagi in my heart. He would provide a respite from the chores and perhaps even a solution to my problem. Anandan did not fail me on both counts.

  He fetched Telamonius the Greek, a man of many years and a merchant of sorts, who had in his possession an intriguing article.

  ‘The perfect gift to adorn the slender feet of your bride,’ said the Greek. He spoke Tamil with a heavy accent, but passable enough for us to understand his words. Many years ago, the man had taken a Tamil girl for his mistress and gained an intimate knowledge of our local mores and quirks. He liked all things Tamil, and his inquisitive darting eyes always settled on any young woman in the vicinity.

  Having noticed the Greek’s roving interest, I shot sharp looks at the servant girls and they vacated the courtyard. The Greek spied my silent dismissal but, feigning ignorance, he said,

  ‘This one of a kind artefact specially crafted, sir Kovalan, for the fortunate. The blood red rubies within give voice, and the anklets sing divine music.’

  ‘How did you come by these precious works of artisanship, sir Telamonius?’

  ‘Dear sir Kovalan, hear the full story and the ankle rings will draw you as I was when my eyes first beheld them. I had the good fortune to call on a dear friend, one who resides in a foreign land, who lately returned from his manufactory. He was the portrait of dejection. I enquired after his dull state, and the accomplished craftsman related a sorry tale.

  ‘His wealthy client, who had commissioned the anklets, not only rejected these marvels of craftsmanship but also commanded him to melt the pair and break the mould. It broke my dear friend’s heart to destroy this divine miracle. It was at this juncture, troubled as he was, that I, having chanced upon his predicament, suggested gaining purchase of the beautiful twins. He expressed reluctance tinged with fear, for he dared not disobey his client, but I relayed my plan to merchant the peerless pair in the pearly cities of Greece. There are many brown-eyed damsels in my sunny country, who
will press their kings and lovers to acquire an article as rare as these wonders.

  ‘For truly, sir Kovalan, this pair created with tender patience and unrivalled skills is for new lovers. These were my thoughts as your friend and mine, sir Anandan here, mentioned your esteemed name and a possible need for some special gift to form part of the dowry for your virginal bride.’

  ‘Dear sir Telamonius,’ I said, ‘you offer the pleasure of ornaments, beautiful as they are in all aspects and of high value, but already rejected, even if the rejecter may be of noble birth. Why sir do you think I wish to adorn the feet of the queen of my heart with these discards? Do you not think my bright new wife deserves better?’

  ‘Truly spoken, sir Kovalan, but please hear my feeble words,’ said the Greek. ‘There are no flaws, seen or unseen, in these marvels. But my friend’s client sees no merit in the music made by rubies. But does that diminish their worth or value? There are some who prefer the song of the Malabar, and for others the mockingbird is more divine. These prejudices are as unique as the judgements of one who sees beauty in one maiden but not in another, even when the second is more pleasing.’

  The Greek leaned in and I, catching a whiff of his stale, disagreeable breath, bent back but held his fixed smile. He said,

  ‘Can one man’s prejudice diminish the beauty of a fair maiden or the song of a gifted bird? You will not find such a pair anywhere in the three worlds, sir Kovalan. I was on my way to the harbour where even now my galley tugs at her moors, ready to catch the wind, but providence intervened and our thoughtful friend, sir Anandan, who loves you as a brother, intercepted me. So, here I am at the bidding of friend and fate.’

  Ordinarily, such rambling would irritate me. But on this occasion, the man’s verbosity gave me time to think. Taking my smile as an invitation to continue, he said,

  ‘Your bright new wife-to-be, sir, is the only person worthy to wear these anklets. And favoured fate has chosen you, already promised a blissful communion, to relish the whispered melodies of this divine creation. Take the high ground, sir Kovalan, and recognise the hands of gods at play. They wish to bless your union and had these marvels crafted and, lest these fall into wrong hands, charged me as their instrument of deliverance into your possession.

  ‘Though I have not yet had the pleasure and privilege to set eyes on your dear promised wife, Kannagi, whom I already consider my little sister, I hear said by all who know her, in person and in passing, that she is herself a creation of great purity and the gods broke the mould after breathing life into her. She, and only she, is fit to wear these anklets. Hear the music within, sir Kovalan, sung by the finest of rubies.’

  The Greek shook the anklets, and indeed the tones mesmerised with their fine clean tinkling that soughed and sang. The ankle rings spoke to me and I imagined the music accompanying the footsteps of my beloved Kannagi as she moved about our home. And the thought of the mellifluous melody of the many tongued ankle bracelets whispering various enchanting modes filled me with immense joy.

  At long last, I had found the important addition to Kannagi’s dowry. A peculiar arraying of birth stars had denied my Kannagi the skills of music, a vital attribute for a high-born woman such as herself. The music from these ankle rings, I supposed, would veil and compensate for her lack of artistic skills, and please my parents and dispel the gossip.

  The Greek misinterpreted my reticence as reluctance to proceed with the purchase. To bolster his case, he said,

  ‘I am told, sir Kovalan, in Tamil norms no blame attaches to one who speaks a thousand lies to facilitate a welcomed marriage. There is no lie required or attached to this gift of love, sir. Simply, do not reveal its pedigree. When a man adorns his lover’s neck with a sparkling diamond, does he also regale her with tales of the slaves who work the dark mines? Some things are best left unsaid and when you don’t speak, sir Kovalan, you don’t lie.

  ‘Watch your relatives and friends behold these delicate beauties with awe. Let them envy your resourcefulness in locating such rarities. There is no story here, sir, only a clean palm leaf. Write your own epic, sir Kovalan, as you lovingly slip these over your wife’s slender ankles. If these ankle bracelets are beautiful now, imagine them when worn by your peerless queen.’

  ‘And what of the price, my dear Greek?’ said Anandan. ‘I remain wary for my friend, Kovalan, for I know well your reputation for hard bargains.’

  Insulted by Anandan’s sudden talk of money, my cheeks flushed red. Though a dear friend, he had spoken as a new-rich which was thanks to his father. He is yet to learn that real wealth does not speak of money.

  ‘You must excuse our dear friend, Anandan,’ I said. ‘He exhibits a direct streak which is refreshing, but also promises an occasional shock.’

  ‘His intentions are laudable, sir Kovalan, to keep you as sharp as a sword and to keep me as honest as daylight.’ Telamonius tapped Anandan on the shoulder and said, ‘But as you can see, sir Anandan, your friend and mine, sir Kovalan, is a cultured man, and his regal bearing and words are in concord. It is not the ways of the learned to let coin come between them, for she owes no man her loyalty.’

  ‘Wisely spoken, sir Telamonius,’ I said, ‘for panam, gold coin, indeed lacks loyalty and she is a tenuous lover.’

  Nevertheless, with the subject of money now in play, I felt compelled to commit.

  ‘Hear me, sir Telamonius,’ I said, ‘and let us not dwell on this base topic of money. Whatever your planned profit, I shall double it, for my delicate love, my wife-to-be, deserves a gift that remains in the dreams of all others.’

  AND SO IT WAS ON THE day of the wedding, with hundreds of eyes watching in rapt awe and envy, that I, Kovalan, only son of Sir Masattuvan—he of a long line of renowned merchant princes, patrons of the arts, and philanthropists extraordinaire—bent and touched the trembling skin of my bright new wife and embellished her dainty feet with the tinkling anklets, even as her toes curled in virginal modesty. I drew my dagger and twisted it, releasing the fine gold thread linking the two ankle bracelets.

  ‘Let these be a symbol I have chained you with my love and unchained you also, to come and go as you wish. Remove these not for any man, woman, or god.’

  ‘I will remove these beauties only for you,’ said Kannagi. ‘I thank you, my dear husband, for this great generosity of freedom. My place is beside you and I freely choose your wishes for my chains.’

  Over the next days and weeks, all in my household marvelled at the choral music of the rubies singing from my wife’s feet, as I had first imagined, when she moved about the house. And many times, Kannagi said,

  ‘Dear Athan, what a lovely and appropriate gift, these ankle rings. I am not blessed with the talents of music or song, and my parents did not see fit to have me schooled in these arts, but in my stead let these marvels sing for you and keep you blissful.’

  2: Kannagi’s Destiny Foretold

  MY FATHER, MANAYAKAN, named me Kannagi but not once did he use that name. Instead, he drew from a chest full of pet names: gold, diamond, ruby, and so forth. I loved the names more than the actual jewellery. To Mother’s great consternation, I refused to wear jewellery and resisted until I came of age. Mother also complained that I had a runaway mouth. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps I should have started from the beginning.

  I was born in Kaveri-Poom-Pattinam, also known as Poom-Puhar, but referred to by her inhabitants as Puhar, ancient capital of the glorious and upright Cholan Kingdom.

  When the fortune-tellers declared his new-born daughter, Kannagi, would gain fame, Father delighted. Nevertheless, as the celebrations peaked and well-wishers praised his great fortune, the implications of the news seeped in and his spirit waned.

  It was bad enough if the son he did not have were to outshine him—but a daughter?

  After all, parents nurtured female children only to marry them off to bring good fortune to another house. Moreover, a good daughter-in-law obeyed and respected her husband and her in-laws. Expectations fulfilled d
id not receive praise but unworthy conduct found its way to the doorsteps of her parents.

  It was a loser’s covenant, and not of the kind any shrewd merchant welcomed. And Father was as shrewd as any in Puhar or, for that matter, in all the three kingdoms of Tamilakam: Cholan, Pandyan, and Cheran.

  ‘Will she excel in music or dance?’ he asked the astrologers and fortune tellers.

  Father wondered whether the fine arts might serve as a carriage for my foretold fame. Such education for girls was a preserve of the upper classes of society. As patriarch of one of the foremost families of the mercantile class in Poom-Puhar, Father was also renowned in the royal court of the Great Cholan, Maha-Rajah Kari-Kaalan himself.

  The astrologers blamed the stars and the fortune-tellers could not provide specifics.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said the chief astrologer. ‘Her fame takes root in the west-country and spreads beyond the shores of Bharatham.’

  Father turned dark in thought, compelling the men of strange rites and magical words to gather their beads and things mystical, and to slink away in silence.

  Aunty Chinnamma, my mother’s younger sister, told me of Father’s reaction to the fortune-tellers’ predictions. She related stories of Father’s unhappiness that his first-born was a girl, would find fame, and so on. My aunty saw herself as the keeper of family secrets.

  ‘But what good is a secret not revealed?’ she said. And when I spent time with Chinnamma, she was generous with snippets of our family history.

  She was close to Mother, and they shared many intimate details of their lives. I found their relationship remarkable but even at my young age, I knew I could never share such privacy with anyone.

  When Mother could not conceive again, she grew worried, and sought to assure my father. She said,