The room that had been noisy a moment ago fell silent again. All eyes turned to Ajay Rayan.

“I told you she’s a sharp one, Ajay”, said Daniel, beaming at Sarayu.

“Uncle Daniel, please… Do you expect us to believe that you helped Ajay Rayan just because of the story he told you and the letter he showed you, jeopardizing not only your future but also your sons’ future, out of the goodness of your heart? I know you didn’t do it for any monetary consideration. You are not that kind of a person. What are you hiding or trying to hide behind your casual joviality?” asked Sarayu sharply.

An uncomfortable silence dropped on the group as all eyes turned to Daniel Wenham in an uncomprehending confusion.

“Do any of you know what a ‘pallippadai’ is?” the unexpected question came from Ajay Rayan.

“Isn’t it some sort of a temple?” asked Muthuramalingam.

“A temple raised in memory of a beloved king or queen”, said Seethalakshmi. “Didn’t Rajendra Chozhan raise one for the mother who raised him, Panchavanmaadhevi?” she asked.

“Yes and yes to both”, said Ajay Rayan and continued. “When a job is given to Neil Ringkett, he does the most thorough job you can expect, leaving no stone unturned. So when he said that he had tracked the idol, not only had he traced its whereabouts but also from where it was stolen all those years ago. Actually Daniel didn’t agree to help me the first time I asked him to. He outright said no. It was then that I decided to go to the place of origin of the idol, to know more about it. I didn’t know what else to do. So once Daniel refused to be a part of the plan, I made a visit to the place, not just to see the place of my grandfather’s crime but also to seek inspiration and perhaps, even some form of guidance, as to the direction in which I should turn my next steps. I was desolate and desperate and hoped to find some answers.

I had taken the photo of the idol with me and when I reached the village from where it had been taken, I was first surprised to see that the village still existed but only in name. The place was near deserted and almost no one lived there. There were only a handful of old people surviving somehow, unable to leave the place that their roots had become too deeply attached to. I visited each of them and showed them the photo, not only to try to get some information out of them but also to identify and confirm that the idol belonged to that village.

I came across perhaps the oldest man of the village, an old man of indeterminate age, a man who had almost withered away, his life held to his body with nothing but a dream, it seemed. When I showed him the photo he started crying, sobs wracking his whole body and he prostrated on the ground in front of me, touching my feet and blabbering incoherently. Even the translator couldn’t understand what he was saying until he recovered enough to get up from the floor and wipe his face. He caught hold of my hand and led me through the streets and took me to a dilapidated stone structure that stood in ruins. He pointed to a huge stone slab that was lying half buried in the sand and mud and showed the stone and then pointed to the photo in my hand. He took the photo from my hand and went inside the dark sanctum sanctorum and placed the photo on what looked like a broken stone pedestal. He then prostrated before it and started crying and blabbering once again. We could get nothing more out of him so we came to the stone slab he had pointed out. There seemed to be some inscriptions carved on it and so we cleaned it as best as we could and tried to see if we could decipher or read anything. It was a futile attempt. The interpreter told me that the script engraved on it was ancient Tamil. I asked if someone could decipher it and she said that she would find someone. Meanwhile I got some labourers to completely dig up the stone slab and place it on the ground. We washed and cleaned it, ready for the person who could decipher the message carved on it. It took us two full days to do this and by the time we finished the interpreter came back with an expert”, Ajay Rayan stopped.

The room hung on every word of his. Ajay Rayan took few more sips of water to wet his throat and continued.

“During the time of Raja Raja Chozha, at around the time he started building the great temple at Thanjavur, Rajendra Chozha was tasked with the protection of the kingdom’s borders. As a protective measure, he had set up border posts in border villages that were prone to frequent enemy attacks and had trained the local citizens to man them. Watch towers were set up with big torches and cauldrons filled with oil, to be lit as a warning signal to be conveyed to the nearby army camps so that they could be warned of the impending attack. One such watch tower was set up in the border village of Natraazhi.

And on a dark night the enemies attacked, the tower was manned by Sembuli, a soldier who had lost a leg in a battle and his twelve-year-old adopted mute daughter, Paavai who herself was a trained martial artist. Sembuli patrolled the tower from the base, while Paavai took her station at the top, by the cauldron. The enemies had somehow attacked and killed Sembuli and Paavai herself was struck by the enemy’s arrow. Having taken out the warning system, the enemies killed all the villagers of Natraazhi who were asleep and then proceeded to attack the army base situated some distance away.

But they were met by an alert and ready Chozha army and were all killed. But before dying, the enemy captain asked the base commander how they knew of the coming attack to which the commander showed him the burning oil signal from the watch tower at Natraazhi. The enemy captain then told him that there was no one left to light the fire as they had killed everyone, even the young girl at the watch tower.

And so the Chozha army went to investigate and found the burnt body of young Paavai, with an iron arrowhead lying within her skeleton, her spine broken, lying in a pile of ashes, the watch tower itself having burnt down, the cauldron of oil spilt, with her hand inside the rim of the cauldron, seemingly spilling the oil and somehow managing to light it in time, having been unable to stand and light a torch due to her broken spine. No one knew how she broke her spine. The ‘pallippadai’ was raised in her memory, an honour accorded to royalty, for her courage in protecting not just the army base but the entire Chozha kingdom. Who knows what turn history would have taken if the enemy armies had invaded? Would we have the Thanjavur temple now?” Ajay Rayan paused.

“Your Uncle Daniel did what he did for this story he heard from this stranger, Sarayu. He did what he did for Paavai, to bring her back home, where she belongs, to be loved and revered and worshipped as she deserves to be. That’s why he did what he did”, he stopped.

Sarayu got up and left the room without a word.

When her father tried to go after her, Seethalakshmi signalled to him to just let her be. “She’ll be all right. Just give her a few minutes”, she said.

No one knew what to say and everyone was lost in their own thoughts.

“Come on, everyone, if you are all going to be so glum, then I won’t invite you to the ceremony I came to invite you for”, said Ajay Rayan.

“Ceremony? What ceremony?”

“Where?”

“The consecration ceremony of the ‘Ellai Naachi Paavai Amman’[1] temple in the village from where she was taken. It seems the crying old man was the one who helped Natesan arrange the theft of the idol when he himself had been a very young man and has regretted it every moment of his living life since then. He has been adamant that he would perform the duties of the priest for as long as he is alive, as penance for his sins. I couldn’t obviously refuse, could I? The temple would be maintained with the funds I have set up for it. So, would you like me to invite you or not?” Ajay Rayan asked with a smile.

“Let’s see you go without us, Mr. Rayan”, said Sarayu as she joined the group again.

“And now she’s back”, said Vael as he welcomed his sister back with a bow. He got a cushion thrown at his head for his efforts.

“Hey, Sarayu! Got a proposition for you”, said Ajay Rayan, looking at her with a broad smile of relief. He was glad to see that she was fine. “How would you like to work for the RGH when you graduate a few years from now?” he asked.

“Are you sure you can afford to pay me?” Sarayu asked in answer.

The house filled with hearty and long-deserved laughter, the happy sounds reverberating around the house.

EPILOGUE

The papers for the contents of the safe room in the Geneva Freeport were delivered to the Indian Embassy in Switzerland. Diplomatic due process is being undertaken to bring back the artefacts and idols.

The End

[1] ‘Deity who protects the borders’