BENGALURU : Jai Mahishmathi!’ the crowd roared.
The arena was the same, the king was the same, and the chants were the same. ‘Kill the traitor!’
‘Traitor, traitor, traitor!’ ‘Jai Mahishmathi!’ the crowds screamed. Thirteen years have made no difference, thought Sivagami. People were still bloodthirsty. It didn’t matter who killed whom. It was just entertainment for them.
The rulers knew this well, and used it to control people, to keep them subservient. They regularly arranged these spectacles for the crowds because they helped to instil a sense of pride for their nation. Once that pride was born, it didn’t matter whether they starved like dogs or lived like pigs; they still felt their country was the best in the world, that their ruler was their god, and they, the ruler’s blind devotees.
Sivagami stood in the arena, gripping her sword tight. They had brought him in chains and freed him before her. He looked tired. When their eyes met, he smiled, and her heart sunk. ‘Uncle Thimma, forgive me,’ she whispered as she stole a glance at the maharaja of Mahishmathi. He was sitting on his throne, his arms resting on the lion-shaped armrests, and his eagle eyes watching her.
‘Redeem yourself, girl,’ someone cried. ‘Prove you aren’t a traitor like your father.’
Sivagami had one chance. She had to be careful. There was a way to save Thimma. A risky way, an insane one, but that was her only chance. When Maharaja Somadeva had told her to kill Thimma, Sivagami had asked for a duel for a reason. She might be dead by evening, but she was determined to avenge her father’s murder by taking out the man who was responsible for it before dying. That would be her redemption. She had unknowingly prevented Thimma from doing it by ending the coup. Now, she would do it for her father and Uncle Thimma.
She didn’t care who ruled this blasted country after that. But the evil man who was responsible for all of this had to die. She closed her eyes in prayer, trying to push away the fear that was creeping up her spine. ‘Amma Gauri, I promise Maharaja Somadeva will not see tomorrow’s sunset,’ she whispered.
Just then, she saw soldiers bringing Akhila and Bhama to the arena. They were in chains. Maharaja Somadeva called out, ‘Thimma, for old times’ sake, I shall grant you this. You lose, you die at the hands of your foster daughter. You win, you still die in the gallows. But, if you win, I shall pardon your wife and daughter.’
Thimma’s face was impassive.
Sivagami’s heart sank as she looked at Bhama and Akhila. She hoped she would lose to her foster father. How else would she face Akhila? She turned towards Maharaja Somadeva, who was smiling smugly. Somadeva, the God—an omniscient, omnipotent, evil God. Everything was his leela, a play. Like all gods, he rejoiced in the misery of those who depended on him. Inflicting misery was the mark of power. God is power. Power is God. She gritted her teeth and gripped her sword. Somadeva may seem omnipotent, but he was no immortal.
The conch sounded the beginning of the duel and the crowd exploded with joy. It would be a bloody show, where a daughter would fight her foster father and kill or be killed by him. Excerpted with permission from Chaturanga - Book II of the Baahubali trilogy by Anand Neelakantan, Published by Westland.