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Ponniyin Selvan Book 1 First Flood Introduces Us To The World Of Cholas

Carefully crafted in lyrical prose, First Flood—Book One in the Ponniyin Selvan series—is the quintessential page-turner: full of adventure, intrigue, conspiracy and romance

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Nandini Krishnan
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Ponniyin Selvan First Flood
When Ponniyin Selvan was first serialised in Kalki, no one could have imagined the impact it would have on the circulation of the magazine. Nor that, years later, this Tamil magnum opus, which blends travelogue with history and Chozha myth-making, would lend itself to the big screen, its cinematic form shaped by one of the finest directors of our time.
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Carefully crafted in lyrical prose, First Flood—Book One in the Ponniyin Selvan series—is the quintessential page-turner: full of adventure, intrigue, conspiracy and romance. The First Flood introduces us to the world of the Cholas and quite incredibly marries a page-turner of a story with travelogue and history.

Here's an excerpt from Ponniyin Selvan First Flood

Vandiyadevan’s horse, having rested all this while, had regained his energy; he bounded towards Kadambur Palace and had reached the entrance within a naazhigai. Sengannar Sambuvarayar was the head of one of the most illustrious families of Chozha Naadu in that era. The entrance to the palace could have passed for the portal of a grand walled city. The boundary wall rose high into the air.

Elephants and horses and bulls and their handlers and those assigned to feed them, and the torchbearers and those who had to refill the oil in those torches, all contributed to a heaving crowd. Vandiyadevan, observing all this, felt some hesitation and trepidation creep into his chest.

This appears to be a huge occasion. Perhaps not the best time for me to have landed up here, he thought to himself. He was eager to find out what the occasion was, though. The doors to the palace were open.

However, they were being guarded by men with spears in hand. They looked exactly as he had imagined Yama’s dwarapalakas would.

Our young warrior figured it would be most expedient to charge in confidently on his horse; if he dithered, he would be stopped and questioned. He put the thought into action right away. But what a disappointment! No sooner had the horse approached the entrance than two guards crossed their spears and blocked his way. Four others marched up and caught the horse’s reins. One of them studied Vandiyadevan’s countenance. Another brought the torch almost to his face.

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Vandiyadevan, red with rage, snarled, ‘Is this the custom of your city? To stop guests at the door?’

‘Who are you, thambi, so quick to anger? Which is your hometown?’ one of the guards asked.

‘You ask me my name and that of my hometown? My hometown is Tiruvallam of Vanagapadi Naadu. Once upon a time, the warriors of your city would brand their chests with the names of my ancestors and swell with pride. My name is Vallavarayan Vandiyadevan! Do you recognise me now?’ he demanded.

‘All you’re missing is a town crier in your entourage,’ one of the guards said drily, and the others laughed.

‘Whoever you are, you can’t enter now. All the guests who were expected today have already arrived. Ejamaan—master—has ordered us not to let anyone else in,’ the head of the guards said.

The altercation had drawn the attention of some soldiers further inside the fort, and they came closer.

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‘Ade! This horse looks like the one we shooed away at the Tiruvizha, da!’ one of them cried.

‘Call it a donkey, not a horse,’ another said.

‘Look at the poise of the rider of the donkey,’ yet another laughed.

These words were spoken within Vandiyadevan’s earshot.

Why invite a fight? Should I go back? he wondered. Or, should I show them Aditya Karikalan’s emblem with his seal on it? The seal of the prince who commanded the northern army would guarantee his welcome anywhere between Vadapennai and Kumarimunai, t wouldn’t it? It was when he was weighing these options that he heard Pazhuvettaraiyar’s men mock him and his horse. He decided on a course of action right away.

‘Let my horse go; I’m going back,’ he said.

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The soldiers let go of the reins and stepped back. Vandiyadevan pressed his feet against the horse’s underbelly, and reached for the sword in his scabbard at the same time. As he flashed his sword, and it reflected the blinding light of the torch, you might have mistaken him for Tirumaal wielding his chakra. The horse galloped into the fort. The soldiers in his path tumbled as the horse charged through their ranks. The spears clattered against each other as they fell. The horse then pushed through the Pazhuvoor squadron. Entirely unprepared for this lightning strike, the men scattered.

Several other things had occurred by this time. The gates of the fortress had been shut with a ‘thadaal-thadaal’. High-pitched cries of ‘Pidi! Pidi!’—Catch him! Catch him!—rent the air. The ‘clang-clang’ of swords and spears was compounded by the ‘dadam- dadam’ of the murasu drum that sounded out a warning of sudden and extreme danger.

The soldiers swarmed around Vandiyadevan’s horse. Twenty, thirty, fifty, perhaps more. Vandiyadevan leapt off the horse and landed on the ground. Swishing his sword, he yelled at the top of his voice, ‘Kandamaara! Kandamaara! Your men are killing me!’

His words startled the soldiers surrounding him into backing off by a step.

A voice from the balcony on the highest floor of the palace thundered down, ‘What is that commotion? Stop it!’

Seven or eight faces peered down from the balcony. ‘Ejamaan! A stranger has broken through the cordon of guards and entered the fort. He has been throwing Chinna Ejamaan’s2 name about!’ one of the soldiers called.

‘Kandamaara! Go and see what the fuss is about!’ said the same stentorian voice they had heard from the balcony. Vandiyadevan surmised that the possessor of that voice was Sengannar Sambuvarayar. He and the men surrounding him stood frozen in motion for a while.

‘What is this scene?’ a young voice asked. The soldiers made way, so the youth who had spoken could reach the centre of the drama. He gazed in astonishment at the man who was flashing his sword as if he were enacting the soorasamharam of Subramanian.

Extracted with permission from Ponniyin Selvan Book 1 First Flood by Kalki translated by Nandini Krishnan, published by Eka, an imprint of Westland Books.

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Nandini Krishnan Ponniyin Selvan First Flood
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