#ps ff

What would she do if any one of them had not returned from war? Where would all the words, all the love and all the worry she had for all them go? Where would she put them, just like she had struggled every morning since Aditha’s death, thinking of all the things that had been left unsaid between them.

When they came back, she decided, not if they came back, she would tell her grandfather how much she admired him and how she hoped she would grow to have the same energy as him. She would tell the Periya Velar how his daughter had grown from a timid teenager into a courageous woman, who always had the right words at the tip of her tongue. She would tell her brother, that she was proud of him, that whatever decision he took she would stand by him. That her hopes and dreams for him were great, but it did not surpass her love for him.

She would tell Vandiyadevan, that she had been enamoured by him from the first time she saw him, that he had slowly wormed his way into her heart with his wit, his stories, his loyalty, his unruly curly hair that seemed to have a mind of its own, his powerful arms that she had been awestruck by when he had thrown his spear at that stuffed crocodile. That smile of his, which always seemed to come straight from his heart, she wished she could spend hours just staring him while he laughed and spoke. How distraught she had been when she heard of Kandhamaran’s accusations against him, her heart in her mouth as she had waited for news of him from Elangai. Despite having the most unshakable confidence in him, that he would return, with her brother in tow. He was after all, Aditha’s friend. When she had seen him, blindfolded, and yelling into the void, she had not told him of all the many things she felt for him, merely alluded to his promise of being hers. She would have to tell him, that she was as much a prisoner in his heart, as he was in hers. That she was the golden moon, reaching down to with all her might to touch the many arms of the mighty ocean. That she was the thunder caught in his rain clouds, loudly announcing to the world that she had found her home.

Even as all these words swirled around in Kundavai’s head, she lapsed into frenzied work, sharing administrative responsibilities with both the chief minister and the head of the fort, working from one of the balconies overlooking the entrance to Tanjai’s fort, waiting for the scraps of news that came from the front. Vanathi had waited with her, her silence a blessing to Kundavai’s fraught thoughts.

Just as they lit the many lamps on the balcony, a messenger on horseback had sped through the gates, everyone had rushed down to the entrance. Kundavai held onto Vanathi’s hand, squeezing it tight as they waited for the man to alight. Both Aniruddha Brahmarayar and Chinna Pazhuvettarayar waited with them, faces marred with worry. Pazhuvettarayar had one hand on his sword, as though waiting, to jump onto a horse and rush off to the battlefield, but he did not have to, “Victory is ours, we have had many casualties, the wounded are being treated at camp and the rest of the army has been reassigned to guard the borders. Malayamaan and Periya Velar are making their way back with Ponniyin Selvan as we speak, they should reach in a few hours, I was sent on a fast horse to deliver the news.”

Vanathi had squeezed Kundavai’s hand, sharing in her elation and the tension of her news, why had there been no news of Vallavaraiyan?

The chief minister had turned to Kundavai, “Ilaya Piratti, shall we start making preparations for their return?” What he had left unsaid was, “do what you always do, occupy yourself.”

Kundavai found her voice, “of course, will you be going to inform the Chakravarthy? I shall get the rest of the lamps in fort lit and gather the women at the entrance while the servants prepare quarters for all the returning members of the family. Vanathi, will you take care of that?” Vanathi nodded, her an encouraging smile on her face, “keep hope, akka, he will return to you,” she whispered as she walked away.

She would try. The rock that was in her chest had barely moved, despite the good news.

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From where she stood, waiting with her parents, she could see her grandfather, his horse trotting next to Velar’s. They crossed the threshold of the fort, showered with flowers and shouts of joy, the moon was bright in the sky but the fort had been lit with enough lamps that it outshone the cool light of the moon. Kundavai held her breath, behind them was her younger brother, her only brother now, a small voice at the back of her head whispered, and next to him, smiling but bloodied was the man she had kept prisoner in her heart. He had seen her, his smile had widened and her face had broken out into one too, even before she had felt the relief that surged through her.

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A cool breeze blew through the city, as Kundavai had sneaked into Vandiyadevan’s rooms, waiting for him to return from his dip in the river to wash off the grim and dust of the battle field. She stood waiting by the window, her head turning as she heard him open the door, there he was standing with his hair wet and curly from his bath, slightly shocked at seeing her in his rooms.

He rubbed his eyes as little, “I must be exhausted, I’m seeing things” he muttered.

Kundavai laughed, walking up to him and taking his hand in hers, “No, I’m really here.”

Vandiyadevan looked even more shocked, “But Devi, at this time of night, in my chambers? Has something happened? Are you alright? Let me just get my sword and armour…” he trailed off as she continued to smile at him.

“I wanted to talk to you…and to see you…properly,” she said, the last bit in a whisper.

Vandiyadevan looked down at her, her hair was in loose braid snaking its way down her neck and over her shoulder, wearing plain white skirts that he assumed she usually slept in, no jewellery except small ruby earrings and the shining diamonds of her nose pins. He took in a deep breath, taking her other hand in his, guiding her to the seat by the window, she clearly had a lot on her mind, if she had broken every rule and protocol.

They sat facing each other, Kundavai looking down at their hands, “I also wanted to apologise…”

“You have nothing to apologise for…”

“No, no, I do. I stood by silently as you were bound in chains and accused of killing my brother. I said nothing, even though I knew the truth,” she closed her eyes, hold on his hands harder as tears slipped down her cheeks

Vandiyadevan entwined their fingers, “Ilavarasi, I failed in my duty to protect your brother, and I was willing to face whatever punishment your father bestowed on me. I failed you too, I had promised that I would look after him,” his voice cracking with emotion.

Kundavai, “But I should not have asked that of you, when we both knew that Aditha was willingly walking to his death. We knew, when he left the vihara, that it would be last time we saw him alive. We knew, and yet I asked you for the impossible.”

He nodded, “It would be very uncharacteristic of you Devi, if you not tried to stop the inevitable. It would have been beyond me, to do the same.”

She raised their entwined hands to her lips, kissing his fingers, “Thank you. For being with him at the end. I am sure he would have been happy to have you by his side.”

Vandiyadevan’s head dropped, suddenly overwhelmed by everything that had happened, “I could not believe it, I had been hit on the head and for a while I had hoped I was hallucinating. I cannot help remember the times I saw him alive, dancing, fighting, laughing. It had barely been a few weeks into my training when I encountered him, dancing, with the soldiers at the camp. Pouring drinks into their cups, beating drums to the tune of new songs. He was the life of the encampment.”

“He encouraged my ideas, sometimes even the slightly mad ones. Trained me to fight better, he was proud of me, even when I felt like I had nothing to be proud of. All that nonsense I sprout about being from the Vanar clan, I had never said those things before Karikalan had put them into words. I should have done more to protect him.”

Kundavai released one of her hands from his, using it to wipe away the tears streaming down his face, “He did not want to be protected. He rarely ever spoke of how the years of battle had taken a toll on him. How taking Veera Pandyan’s life had been eating away at him for years. His love for Nandini, that had never ceased, that turned into this battle between the two of them. He never said a word, but I had hoped he would put his duty before anything else. I had hoped, that his duty would save him.”

Vandiyadevan sunk into the feeling of her hand against his cheek, when was the last time someone’s touch had comforted him. Kundavai continued, “But his duty was never a comfort to him, like it was for me. Until I saw you in those chains, I wish I had put it aside, and come to your aid.”

He opened his eyes, “What would have been the outcome, Ilavarasi? It would have erupted in more accusations at both you and Ponniyin Selvan. You doing your duty, did not do any harm to me. There would have been too many questions to answer, if you had spoken for me.”

“I would have answered them.”

“What would you have said?”

“That you had promised me your life, and it was my decision on how to punish you.”

Vandiyadevan smiled, “How would you punish me?”

Kundavai smiled back, “By making you promise to use my given name, I have longed to hear you say it for days now.”

Vandiyadevan turned his face into her hand, giving her softest kiss, “That is more of a reward than a punishment, Kundavai.”

Her breath hitched; a blush stole its way across her face making Vandiyadevan smile wider, before he noticed how tired she looked, “Have you been sleeping at all, Kundavai?”

She shook her head, “Sleep has been most elusive, every time I close my eyes, I can only think of Aditha. If I somehow fall asleep, there have been some very scary nightmares,” she did not elaborate on them, and he did not want to ask her to relive them either.

Vandiyadevan did something he had only ever dreamed of, he pulled the princess closer, tucking her into his chest and wrapping his arms around her. Kundavai, used to being folded into hugs by her friends, slipped into his arms easily, letting the warmth of his body seep into her skin, her nose against his neck, taking in the smell of the river and the turmeric applied on his wounds. She should have been startled, never having been so close to a man before, but she was tired, and it had been a long day. Before she knew it, the steady thump of his heartbeat had lulled her to sleep. He stretched his legs out, pulling her closer, feeling her breath against his neck, relishing in the fact that he had survived all of those battles, to be able to hold this woman against him.

It was a little before dawn when his consciousness resurfaced, the dewy breeze announcing the arrival of the sun, but that had not been why he had woken up. Kundavai had been shaking, shivering in his arms, muttering under her breath, another nightmare he thought, before sitting up.

The sudden movement threw Kundavai out of her nightmare, and she opened her eyes, looking into the brown depths of Vandiyadevan’s eyes. She tightened her arms around his neck, and buried her face into his neck again, groaning slightly when she realised that even his presence could not drive away her nightmares, “Why is it so difficult?”

Vandiyadevan ran a hand through her hair, his chin against her head, “I miss him, I miss him every day. I will continue to miss him for as long as I live, just as I do my parents. Grief is constant Ilavarasi; we will learn to live with it.” Kundavai hummed, “There is so much I have to tell him about, I didn’t even get the chance to tell him about you.”

“He knew, that I would meet you and forever be held prisoner.”

“Did he?”

“It was always, when you meet Kundavai, never if you meet Kundavai.”

Kundavai laughed, “Was my brother a better matchmaker than I am?”

“I think I’m better than the both of you,” he huffed.

Kundavai looked at him incredulously, “Who have you tried to bring together?”

“No one yet! But when I do, it will not take as long as it did the both of you!”

Before Kundavai could answer, a soft knock on the door startled her out of his arms and behind the curtain. Vandiyadevan had but a second to miss her warmth before he opened the door to find an amused Vanathi, holding a small lamp in her hands, “Could you please return my akka to me before dawn breaks, Kamsamama?”

Vandiyadevan opened the door wider, a bashful grin spreading across his face, “I can’t promise not to steal her away again, mayakannan.”

Kundavai emerged from her hiding spot, “I trust you will be staying for a while?”

“Ponniyin Selvan has me commanded to be by his side till the coronation, Ilavarasi.”

Her brown eyes, soft in the glow of the lamp, bright from both the prospect of having him around, and getting a few hours of rest, stared into his for a while before she broke the spell to smile at him, “Get some more rest, Devan.”

He watched the two princesses walk away, having only then realised that they had both not been wearing their customary anklets, or even bangles, the reluctant spy in him marvelled at their tricks.

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Vanathi kept her silence until they reached her chambers, “Akka, the suspense is killing me!”

A small giggle escaped Kundavai, “I had a lot to say to him, but his presence was so calming that I think I fell asleep before I could even finish half a thought.”

Vanathi giggled too, “You have been very brave, akka. I am proud of you”

Both of them dissolved into a fit of laughter, their joy echoing through the silent walls of Tanjai Fort which had been deprived of their tinkling laughter for a very long time now.

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Preparations for the coronation kept the two of them busy during the day, but Kundavai had found such comfort in sleeping in his arms that she found herself doing exactly that on most nights. Taking off her anklets, blowing out the lamps in her chambers and making her way to his. He would be waiting for her, arms wide open, offering comfort, sharing stories of Aditha. They had cried, laughed, and missed him together. They had started healing. Vandiyadevan took his time getting used to how their love was growing; his initial shock of suddenly having his arms full of Kundavai had faded in the face of comfort, kindness, warmth, and gentleness that they shared.

Vandiyadevan had dared dream of more, so had Kundavai. She had felt his hands running through her hair, sending little shocks of pleasure down her spine. Would he feel the same, if she ran her hands through his hair? It did not feel the same when her friends did. She had felt the soft touch of his lips on her hands, and she had wondered how it might feel elsewhere on her skin. Her chest had been pressed against his, she had marvelled at how different his body felt to hers. He was all muscles, scars and unruly smiles drowned in sunlight while she was bathed in moonlight.

As the dark blue inky night turned into a purple dawn, she had left a small kiss on the corner of his lips as he had slept. He had felt her soft coral lips throughout the chaos of the day, with Arulmozhi Varman placing the crown on Sendhan Amudhan’s head, Chinna Pazhuvettarayar’s disappearance in the midst of the chaos and Kundavai’s confusion and horror at her brother’s actions. He knew she would not come to him tonight, and he would have to leave tomorrow along with Thirumalai, he made his way to her instead.

She was sitting surrounded by a bunch of scrolls and olais, and turned to look at him as he climbed through her window, “I am so angry with you.”

“I was bound to secrecy! How could I betray Ponniyin Selvan’s trust,” his face open, eyes wide and pleading.

“You could have given me a small hint!”

“I tried to convince him that you would take his side, but he was adamant that no one should know. I am very sorry Ilavarasi.”

She sighed, irritated but resolved to move past her hurt, “Well, what is done is done.”

He sat in front of her, “I have to leave tomorrow.”

She looked up, “In search of Chinna Pazhuvettarayar?”

“Yes, the chief minister thinks it would be wise to send me instead of a large battalion.”

Kundavai had begun to put away her olais, he stood up, taking the bundle from her arms and placing it on the nearby shelf. She stood too, “You came to take your leave then?”

He walked back to her, stopping only when his hand wrapped around her waist and his toes in line with hers. She gasped, her hands holding his arms, her eyes wide. This was different, this was very different from all the nights she had spent sleeping in his arms. His hands, ran up her waist, slowing setting her skin on fire. Pulling her closer, he left a kiss on the corner of her lips. Just as she had done in the morning. But he did not stop, he continued to kiss his way down her neck, her shoulders, back to her collar bones and before she knew it, she had plunged her hands into hair, her mind going blank, her skin tingling. She pushed herself into him, closer. Why had they not done this before?

Vandiyadevan raised his head, his hand on the back of her neck, “The little flower of a kiss you gave me this morning has stayed with me all day. I’m going to kiss you properly now Kundavai, tell me to stop.”

She shook her head, eyes closed and raised herself onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. His hand around her neck kept her in place, as her entire being focused on where his body met hers. Her tongue tangled with his, her fingers in his hair, her chest pressed in his, his hands running up and down her back. Oh, she could do this forever, be held by him, to kiss him.

They had to come for breath though, she had meant to say something, which was lost when she felt his lips going down her neck again.

“Is this where you keep me prisoner, Ilavarasi?” he asked, stopping at the valley between her breasts, eyes looking up at her.

“Yes,” she let out in a huff

She felt him smile against her skin, continuing down to her waist, leaving kisses on every bit of her skin. She felt her knees buckle when he bit down where her waist chain usually sat, her nails sinking in his shoulders. He kissed he way back up to her lips, his forehead against hers as they took in deep breaths.

“Is this how you take your leave?” she asked, still pressed into him.

“This is how I will take your leave” he smirked, hands running down her back.

She kissed him, this time trying to commit to memory how he felt against her. Her hands against his warm skin, feeling the way his breath hitched when she kissed down his neck, the way her hips moved closer to his, when her hands wandered across the vast expanse of his shoulders, when she kissed his chest, asking him the same question he has asked.

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His countenance was grim the next morning, the task ahead of him was not an easy one. But he turned back to look at Kundavai, as was to become habit as he went on his many adventures, and she smiled, the most encouraging smile she could muster. He smiled back, his eyes twinkling with the promise to return to her. She raised her hand to her chest, her palm fisting, holding him prisoner in her heart, entwining his soul to hers even as his body crossed oceans and cities that she would never see.

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A sudden wave of shyness swept through her, she looked down. 

Dressed in brown pants, a very dull shirt over another checked shirt. She dared to steal a glance at his face. A head full of curly hair, a scruffy beard and dark brown eyes that were staring into hers. Startled when she met his eyes, he turned away, raising his hands to run it through his hair.

Vandiyadevan felt a sudden wave of shyness too, this woman standing in front of him was breathtaking. The red of her saree, the strands of jasmine falling over her shoulders, the elegant hand twisting the door knob, her light brown eyes, which he unexpectedly toppled into. Was she the owner of the house? Sensation and thought returned to him, he was here to do something else! 

He stepped in, “Hi, I’m Vandiyadevan,” he held his hand out. Before she could take it in hers, her mother came bounding out to greet him.

“Come in, son, come in! Have you come from the US?”

“Yes, New York. How did you know?”

“Did you come alone?”

He had looked thoroughly confused, this should have been Kundavai’s first warning but she just stood as he said, “I like handling things in a straightforward way." He brushed past her and walked in with her mother.  The calming breath she took in brought with it traces of tobacco, sweat, dust and sandalwood? Would the smoking be a problem, she wondered as she followed him into the main hall where her mother insisted she stay while they spoke. 

Vandiyadevan was awestruck by the house, it was perfect! He just had to get their permission to shoot now. He had begun the conversation and it had all gone downhill from there. They had mistaken him for a potential groom! The beautiful girl in the red saree had not said yes to giving them permission to shoot at her home, but to marry him. 

He was pushed out of the house, thoroughly annoyed by the entire episode until he had seen her standing on the balcony, crying. There he was, embarrassed by the whole ordeal. Only, she must have been more heartbroken. She had seen him looking, quickly wiping away her tears, but not hiding. He had walked back to where the film crew was working, in awe of this woman who he had just met, and who had agreed, in some twisted way, to marry him! 

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When Arunmozhi had asked her, in a fit of his poetic inspiration, what kind of man she had wanted to marry, she had said, “I want him to have kind eyes.” 

The man sitting in her living room, with those brown eyes that reminded her of coffee and somehow the faint smell of rain hitting the earth, had kind eyes. Pushed to a corner, despite her misgivings, she had said yes, she’d marry him. He was handsome, and seemed like an educated young man, what was the worst that could happen? 

“The car met with an accident!”

“I’m an assistant director, I came to ask permission for a shoot!”

Her stomach had dropped, her hands growing cold when she realised he was not the potential bridegroom. A total stranger who had not come for her hand, but something else entirely. She was initially mortified, at the confusion only for a wave of utter humiliation to take over her when she realised that she had agreed to marry someone she had barely spoken a word to. She ran to the terrace, tears streaming down her face without her even noticing. 

When she had moved to her grandfather’s village with her mother and her younger brother, she had made her peace with many changes. From spending her time with computers and codes, she had jumped into administering not just an educational institution, but various other organisations and charities her grandfather had started. She accepted her changing roles in life with grace. Her mother, who had taken over the running of the household, depended on her. Her younger brother, a dreamer who only came alive to poetry. Along with her ailing grandfather, they formed the centre of her life in the small village that had unexpectedly become home. 

Her fiance’s death had been unexpected, she had never had much attachment to the man but he had died and left her with the taint. But she had accepted that too, she was not auspicious or lucky, she would not marry into some family and be called the Lakshmi of the house. She was cursed by the stars and there was no amount of pujas or penances that would solve the problem. Yet, her mother kept trying to find her a suitable groom. As the years went by, they had become less suitable and more desperate. Her mother kept trying and she did not have the heart to tell her that it was a hopeless quest. Kundavai, the perfect daughter, was not so perfect after all. 

She felt eyes on her, there he was, Vandiyadevan looking up at her from the street. He seemed mortified by the entire episode too, but he had not been the one to blame. He was not cursed, as she was. She wiped away her tears, and couldn’t bring herself to look at him again.

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I love Sense and Sensibility, I love Kandukondain Kandukondain. They adapted the novel to both the context and the time so well. Tabu played Elinor/Sowmya with such grace and ease.

“Aditha!” Malayaman called out, his hand around Vandiyadevan’s shoulders. 

The crown prince turned from where he was training a battalion, his gaze on his grandfather, “Have you brought me another recruit, thata?” he asked, a hint of humour in his voice. 

Vandiyadevan looked from Malayaman to Aditha, he was the same height as the prince, though he was a few years younger, wondering what the older and more experienced commander of the Chola forces had in mind when he had pulled him out of the infantry training schedule. 

“This boy fights well, he’ll do well in your cavalry,” he gently pushed Vandiyadevan forward. 

Aditha looked at him, “Your name?”

“Vallavarayian Vandiyadevan,” our hero answered, his voice strong and proud. 

“Ah, a warrior of the Vanar clan! Do you know how to ride a horse?” 

“I do, your highness. But I do not yet know how to fight on a horse.”

Aditha laughed, “That’s the spirit.”

Vandiyadevan’s training had begun that day, he knew how to look after a horse, to ride, to saddle, but to fight on a horse was an entirely different matter. For the first month, he had to master the art of using the reins of the horse with one hand. With one hand tied back. Aditha had taken extra care to tie his tighter, after he had artfully gotten it loose the previous day. The crown prince had a smirk on his face when he had personally pulled the knot tighter, “You have way too much skill in escaping Vallavaraiya.”

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Vandiyadevan nursed his aching body after a particularly long day of training, where he had somehow managed to fall off his horse and straight into a puddle*. Kandamaran had brought him hot rock salt tied in a cotton rag to put on his aching muscles before him and the rest of their troupe headed to the nightly bonfire. He heard the tent flap open and close, wondering which of his friends had returned early; he turned his head to find Karikalan.

“How are your aching muscles faring, Vallavaraiya?” he asked as he sat down in front of him. 

Vandiyadevan who had stood up, “They’re getting used to the falls and tumbles, Ilavarase.”

Aditha gestured for him to sit down. 

“Give me that bag and turn around,” he held his hand out. Vandiyadevan looked at the prince in shock, “I’ll ask Kandamara when he comes back your highness, no need to trouble yourself.”

Adhita took the bag and placed his hands on Vandiyadevan’s shoulder to turn him, before pressing the warm compressing into Vandiyadevan’s aching muscles, “When I began training, Periya Velar had me falling off my horses almost every day. I was just tall enough to get on the horse by myself at that time. That tumble you took was quite bad.”

“It seems like you were born to be a warrior, Ilavarase, you do everything with such ease,” Vandiyadevan said.

Aditha laughed, “You wouldn’t be saying so if you were there in Pazhayarai when Partibha and I had just started out.”

“Did the Pallavan also fall off horses?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Aditha laughed again.

Vandiyadevan slept that night, trying to imagine a young Aditha Karikalan training for battle. How different it must have been for a prince like him, who came from a line for fierce warriors. He had so many great names to live up to. So much pride to uphold and so many great feats to perform if he had to make a name for himself in the long line of illustrious kings. Vandiyadevan too came from a long line of warriors, but he was never expected to rule. His kingdom was the sky above him and the piece of land he stood on. He was proud of his ancestry, he knew some of the songs they sang about his long lost grandfathers and great-grandfathers. But he fought for himself, he had joined the army to make a name only for himself. 

But listening to the prince today, he wondered if there was more to being a warrior than just fighting. Karikalan did not have to check in on each soldier, he did not have to care about the wellbeing of the people who were training to fight and to eventually die. But he did, he knew his soldiers, he asked after their families, he made sure the medical tents were open and stocked. He made sure there was always enough food to feed everyone. He rarely sent anyone who was not trained enough out to battle. He did not speak much, only saying what needed to be said, he had a terrible temper leading to impulsiveness and was more melancholic than not but in the time that Vandiyadevan had spent training under the prince, the prince had gained his loyalty. He had wanted to fight by his side before because Karikalan was a warrior, but now he wanted to fight by Karikalan, because he was his leader. 

Time passed, Vandiyadevan grew taller***, acquired more scars. Aditha’s hair grew longer, he was named the crown prince. They trained together, fought together, drank and danced together. Vandiyadevan stood by the side, watching Aditha, Malayaman and Parthibendra plan battles; they laughed as he pulled pranks lightning the mood of the war weary soldiers. They expanded the borders of the Chola kingdom village by village. The battles got bloodier, Vandiyadevan heard nothing but the harsh breathing of his horse, the sound of swords clashing, tuning everything else out. His focus was Aditha, protecting him as he surged through the soldiers, his spear and sword swinging in lightning speed, like he was the mythical prince Abhimanyu fighting inside the chakravyuha. They burnt more pyres than they had time to grieve for. They continued, until they had conquered the town of Kanchi and offered prayers at the shine of the goddess Kamakshi. 

That night, Vandiyadevan sat with Kandamaran and the rest of his friends regaling them with stories of his childhood, most of which included stealing fruits off trees or sugarcane from fields and finding ways to escape from punishment. Karikalan and Pallavan had joined in eventually, laughing and joking. It was a time for celebrations and rest. 

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Vandiyadevan had not seen Aditha for a few days, the prince had been in talks with his grandfather and a messenger from Tanjai, the mood had been tense. Rumours were floating around of the treasurer of the Chola kingdom, Periya Pazhuvettarayar having denied the prince funds to continue his northward expansions of the kingdom. In return, Aditha had refused to send any of the plundered loot back to Tanjai, deciding to use the money to rebuild the city of Kanchi. He wondered what would happen as he scrubbed down his horse, Semba, a magnificent beast who had a fondness for sugarcane. 

As he exited the stables, a strong hand wrapped around his arm and pulled him back inside, he raised his other fist, ready for a fight when he realised it was Karikalan who had pulled him back, “Ilavarase!”

“Vallavaraiya, come along!” the prince said, as he walked through the stables and out the back.

“If you had called for me, I would have come myself,” Vandiyadevan said, catching up with the prince who said nothing until they were out on the streets. Vandiyadevan realised the prince was dressed in regular clothes, his signet ring turned inwards and hidden from view, his usual red shawl replaced by a nondescript white one. He followed in silence wondering what had gone wrong, “Is something the matter, Ilavarase?”

“Yes, I have a craving for mangoes,” the prince smiled as they entered a large mangrove through a gap in the wall, “I thought you would be the best person to tell me which tree I should climb to get myself one.” Vandiyadevan’s face broke out in a mischievous grin, and he looked around to find the best fruits. 

That afternoon, Aditha Karikalan and Vallavaraiyan Vandiyadevan found themselves sitting on the branches of a sturdy old mango tree, biting into some of the most delicious mangoes they had ever tasted, sunlight streaming in through the leaves, squirrels and birds twittering at them for laughing too loud. They sat there, until they were chased out by the workers of the orchard, they ran, laughter echoing through the streets, hands sticky and stomachs protesting the sheer amount of mangoes they had consumed. 

That was when Vandiyadevan had realised that the prince’s childhood had been brutally cut short by war**. He made it a point, to include the prince in whatever games and pranks he could, his ears peaked for the prince's loud and booming laugh. Malayaman had patted him on the back one day, “You are a good soldier, Vallavaraiya, but I think you might be an even better friend.” 

.

.

.

News reached Kanchi of the Rashtrakuta forces gathering to attack.

Vandiyadevan found himself sitting by the fire with the crown prince when the rest of the troops had retired to bed. Vandiyadevan got up too but turned around, gathering courage, “Might I ask you something, Ilavarase.”

Adhita smiled, gesturing for him to go on.

“When you become the king, and I pray that it is not for a long time, but when you do, would you give me permission to join your Vellaikaarar regiment?”

Adhita looked at his friend—he had begun thinking of him as a friend for a long time now—it had been years since Vallavaraiyan had fallen off his horse during training. Now he walked into the battlefield, knowing without having to glance back that Vallavarayan was behind him. 

“You would be tied down to Tanjai, my friend. Only leaving the city when I do.”

“I would be by your side, at all times,” Vandiyadevan said, “that is all that matters.”

Aditha stood, placing a hand on Vandiyadevan’s shoulder and squeezing. His eyes glowing in the fire, a small smile on his otherwise grim face,  “Off to bed with you now, we have much Rashtrakuta blood to spill tomorrow.” 

.

.

When he was on the ground in the heat of battle, an axe wielding soldier bearing down on him, he did not raise his sword. A moment later he saw Vandiyadevan brandishing a spear after having felled the man. He smiled, the proud smile of a man who knew he could count on Vallavaraiya. The proud smile, of a prince who would dispatch his best soldier on the mission of a lifetime that very evening. 

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*Basing this off Karthi's interview's where he talks about falling off the horse not once, but twice!

**this is 21st century sensibilities, to be horrified at the thought of a child going to war at the age of 12.

***couldn't stop thinking about @toasted-stiletto's post about their heights, I giggled for a long time (https://www.tumblr.com/toasted-stiletto/703456440650809344/this-scene-made-me-wonder-how-tall-vikram-was?source=share)

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his body against hers,

gasps of pleasure as he thrust into her,

his face buried in her neck, arms around her hips,

her nails running down a powerful back.

The next time he came around, he was unconscious. Parthibendran had carried him away from a distance battlefield, where he had collapsed after landing the final blow of victory. He had his head on her lap while the physician had closed his wounds, his anguished screams muffled into her thighs as she held his arms down.

“I suggest he stays here for a few days, until the fever subsides,” the physician had said.

They spoke, for the first time at length while she had helped with his bandages, and he had laughed his booming laugh, looking at her with eyes that sparkled with so much mirth that her breath left her for a moment.

For weeks after, gifts flowed into her house; precious gems, exotic perfumes, soft silks.

He came by frequently too, late into the night, ‘to listen to her sweet music to calm his nerves.’

To look, to listen, to speak, never to touch.

But he knew he was trapping her in his charms.

That half smirk when she won a game against him,

The way he caressed the veena which he played while she sang,

The fire in his eyes when she wore a gift he had sent.

The hitch in his breath, when she broke the rule once and had run her hand down his muscled arm while handing him the tamboola.

It was monsoon again, when they started playing new games. He had come by, drenched in the rain, having helped with the flood evacuations. She had pulled the armour off him, kissing away the droplets of water that were making their way down his body. Her hands on his powerful thighs, her mouth on the dip of his hip bones.

Hands in her hair, moans filling her ears.

She was pressed into the bed before she knew it, his mouth on her breasts, counting her ribs, biting into her waist, leaving marks on her thighs.

Thunder and lightning raged outside as she rose and fell in ecstasy.

She had languidly licked salty sweat off his shoulders and neck.

The last time she saw him, was the night his brother had disappeared.

He was agitated, his nightmares never ending, she had held him, soothed him.

News of the younger prince’s drowning had taken him from the warmth of her arms, to the cold embrace of death.

She refused to remember his nightmares, his anguished screams for his long-lost lover, the depths of despair of a man who chipped away at his own soul with each life he took.

She refused to remember the crown prince, dripping with ambition, unrestrained in his fury and straining at the noose of administrative bureaucracy.  

She would remember her lover. His warm golden skin, gentle caressed by the sun.

His long hair that tangled with hers too often.

His calloused fingers that held spears with the same confidence with which he held her. His strong chest pressed into her, as she strained her hips in search of the beautiful friction of their bodies. 

His body as much as weapon as his sword.

His kisses executed the same way he went about decimating the enemy.

His tongue, whip sharp and capable of leaving her a moaning mess in the matter of minutes. Aditha Karikalan, who loved with the same intensity with which he went to war.

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*the costume designers of Ponniyin Selvan mentioned how they put tigers for Karikalan and elephants for Arunmozhi, so much thought has gone into these details.