Chandra gave him one aggrieved scowl before she turned away. “Oh, I am very good, Agrani,” said Veer under his breath, returning a mocking smile to his wife. He found he rather looked forward to obliging her if she wanted to battle it out with him.
Chapter 19: To Old and New Friendships
Two weeks later…
Shota took a dip in the cool waters of the rectangular temple pond and climbed the steps that surrounded it on three sides.
His thin cottonpanche—a regional variation of their traditionaldhoti—clung to him. His upper body was bare except for ayagnopaveetha, a three-stranded, woven, sacred thread he wore looped around his body, from his left shoulder to the right side of his waist.
The religious thread didn’t make him out of place here, where all the men wore it. For him, though, it carried a special significance—marking his place in his family and the world, and a reminder to himself that learning never ended.
He draped a thin cotton cloth around his neck and shoulders and proceeded to the temple.
As he made his way to the temple gates, he saw farmers setting out for their fields beyond the city gates, leading oxen and plows. A woman balancing three pots, one on top of each other on her head, made her way home, having collected the day’s water for her family.
The businesses lining the street were still closed, but no doubt would be open once the sun rose high enough in the sky.
The Brihadeeshwar Temple was built on religious principles, a treatise calledvastu shastra. Which meant the design was similar to all the temples.
The temple was oriented in the east-west direction. Square in design, the temple was enclosed on all its sides by eight-foot walls set with elaborate pyramid-like entrances, calledgopuras.
As he passed under agopura, climbing the short flight of stone steps, he noticed one half of the heavily carved temple doors had been taken down. Veer was probably at work repairing them.
Shota had only a cautious hope in Veer’s plan. He felt the risks were too great and the results too doubtful to risk it. Veer, of course, was all for it.
It was foolish, daring, and Shota still didn’t know if it was going to get them what they wanted. He wished he had a better one to offer.
Shota had been coming to the temple every day under the guise of a devotee from afar. He would bathe first thing and go to the temple. After he paid respects to the deity, he took theprasador offering, and spent time around the temple. Ostensibly praying, but really observing the carvings, the layout, and the all-important statue. And there was a lot to observe.
But although he had learned a lot about the stories and myths depicted on these walls, there was none that gave him a clue.
Few devotees were here this early in the morning. A long shadow stretched across the dark stone as the sun climbed in the sky. It was made by a cylindrical metal pillar located in the center of the temple courtyard, directly in front of the sanctum sanctorum.
Shota touched the warm pillar with his hand and gazed up. It was the tallest structure in the temple. Taller than theshikara, the pyramidal spire on top of the sanctum housing the idol.
At its top, this metal pillar had three horizontal perches pointing toward the sanctum of the temple. It was called thedhvajastambha.
Shota supposed there was a reason and a myth behind the presence of the pillar, but it had a more practical purpose. It acted like a lightning rod during heavy monsoons, protecting other tall structures nearby. People prostrated before this pillar prior to doing anything else in the temple.
Shota followed suit, then leaned down and pinched some holy ash lying at the pillar base, smearing his forehead in three horizontal lines. As well as both his pectorals and elbows.
Now properly adorned in the guise of a devotee, he went into themandapa—the long, pillared, open hall, where devotees waited in line for the priest to finish offering prayers to the Lord—and joined them. He was tall enough to glance over their heads to look into the sanctum sanctorum, thegarbhagriha, that housed the idol.
If he had any doubts that the idol was the key to finding the next piece of the lotus, they had disappeared once he obtained his first look at the idol. It was made of the same strange metal as the lotus key and those boats in the caves of Amaravathi were constructed of.
The people here even had a name for the metal,—moola dhatuor—prime metal. Shota had been disconcerted to note that although the idol was no bigger than three feet tall, it had required several men to lift it at one point.
The priest finished his recitation of prayers and came out of the sanctum with a ceremonial plate. Camphor burned on it in a steady flame.
Shota cupped his hands around the flame and touched his eyes. After taking theprasadoffered by the priest, he stopped to have a few words with him instead of leaving. He had become a familiar face here with all his visits.
The conversation revealed that a few days ago, another minor robbery had taken place quite close to the town. The bandits weren’t much of a problem when King Harideva was alive. Thianvelli’s loss of stability had led to all sorts of problems in the surrounding kingdoms.
Pondering about the bandits, Shota stepped out of themandapaand went around the temple buildings, as was his custom. He had theprasadin a cup made of dried lotus leaves, stitched together. Today the offering was a sweet rice pudding.
He made his way along the stone-paved paths around the temple, savoring the rich sweet and fishing the cashews and raisins out of the pudding to eat first since he was partial to them. His thoughts centered on Veer and Chandra.
He usually didn’t care much about Veer’s love life or his conquests, believing it not to be his business, but the princess was his wife, and she would be the future queen of Rajgarh, which meant hehadto pay attention to the kind of person she was.
