KK Thief of Poompuhar

Nila Iyer

Description

The voluptuous beauty Mekalai is coveted by the evil feudal lord Narasimhan. But Mekalai loses her heart to Vikraman, the notorious thief of Poompuhar, whose escapades have been giving sleepless nights to the rich in the town. The romance however seems star crossed under Narasimhan's evil shadow. Will good win over evil? Will love conquer lust? Fraught with dark secrets and unbridled desire, the story of Mekalai and Vikraman is sure to set all hearts on fire.

Sujets

• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd.
• Date de parution: 12 décembre 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9788184002577
• Langue: English

Extrait

RANDOM HOUSE INDIA
Published by Random House India in 2011
Copyright Nila Iyer 2010
Random House Publishers India Private Limited
Windsor IT Park, 7th Floor, Tower-B,
A-1, Sector-125, Noida-201301, U.P.
Random House Group Limited
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London SW1V 2SA
United Kingdom
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EPUB ISBN 9788184002577
For my grandfather who loved telling stories and my husband who loves to hear them
PROLOGUE
T HE MOONLIGHT SHONE LIKE a champakam flower in spring. A waft of air floated across the river, turned into a breeze, and sang its own lullaby. Twilight had disappeared reluctantly; and the inky purple sky with its single shimmery adornment captivated the tall, slender girl who stood by the river Kaveri with her head tilted upwards.
Mekalai was no ordinary girl. It seemed as though fire coursed through her veins instead of blood. Her beauty was like a star-ethereal, unbelievable, and forever. She seemed to belong in the sky, not on earth. Perfectly sculpted, with honey-tinged skin; large, smouldering eyes with charcoal-dusted eyelashes; a sharp nose; and a full, sensuous mouth, her allure was enhanced by an inviting mole just below her lower lip. It was rumoured that a mad poet from Madurai had written odes in praise of her exquisite beauty.
The moon blinked at her sleepily. Mekalai smiled back, her knee-length raven-coloured tresses billowing like clouds in the night breeze. Please look after me, she silently shot up a prayer. The moon glowed back reassuringly. Manikottai, the fortress in which she had spent all seventeen years of her life, stood at the edge of the bustling port town of Poompuhar. Towering over the landscape like a large dark monster, it almost disturbed the tranquillity of the night. The fortress seemed to cast a dark spell over everything around it. It looked eerily evil, portending gloom. Mekalai gazed at it intently. There was a strange gleam in her eyes. It won t happen, she muttered. I won t let it happen.
She turned around and bolted like a comet towards the dark, disappearing into the sepulchral woods. Mekalai moved like the wind, her feet barely touching the springy, dew-drenched grass that stretched out for miles like a velveteen carpet studded with diamonds. Flowers sparkled like stars in the sky, their fragrance forming a heady cocktail for the senses. The woods unfurled, deep, mysterious, and intriguing. But Mekalai knew her way around. Just as she knew what she was looking for. Ever since she was seven, she had frequented these woods, running wild, climbing trees with the boys, and setting off on solitary adventures.
She stopped by an abandoned ringed well. There were many like this around the banks of the river, on the fringes of the woods that no one ever really wanted to enter. The only people who dared to set foot inside these were thieves, fugitives, or smugglers. But Mekalai was none of these. She was just a young girl with secrets, secrets that she held close to her troubled heart.
Mekalai let herself down the well by the rusty shaft and pulled out something wedged between the ancient damp bricks. It glistened brilliantly in the moonlight. Her sword. Her iron companion, her secret confidante, her force. She looked at the exquisitely crafted gold handle, with a band of amethyst and sapphires embedded around the base. It was said that a great courageous Velir chieftain had once owned this sword. Over time, it had passed through several hands and finally after decades, landed with her family. And it was her brother who had gifted her this family heirloom. She let out a deep sigh and curled her slender fingers around it
The night stood silent witness as she practised her craft. It was like a dance, a dance between Mekalai and her nightly companion. The curved sword made lithe, light moves in the air and her graceful figure swayed along with it. Her smoky eyes were incandescent in the night, as if a common soul ran through her sword and her, igniting a fire in her.
She must have practised for an hour or more when she noticed a sudden movement. The stillness of the night had been disturbed as the rustling in the undergrowth seemed to draw closer and closer. A faint sound echoed from the depths of the tall banyan, mango, palmyra, and neem trees. She instinctively drew the sword behind her. No, it wouldn t bode well for her to be seen with it. A woman with a sword? In the land of Narasimhan? This was unheard of and the news would spread like wildfire. Mekalai hid behind a tree and closed her eyes, praying that it was just some wild animal. Just then, the movement ceased, as abruptly as it had started. Mekalai stood as still as she could. Must have been a rabbit, she thought, her breath quickening. She wasted no more time, climbed down the shaft, and hid her sword in its original place.
The moon seemed to conspire with her as it simultaneously retired behind the clouds. Mekalai made her way back through the woods, into the town and to her home, pondering on her narrow escape. As an expert swordswoman, she had nothing to fear except the discovery of her identity.
Poompuhar glistened in the moonlight. She made her way through the perfectly aligned streets with their torched lamp posts that cast dancing shadows on the walls. She passed the tall buildings, the warehouses that held various kinds of merchandise, and the famous street known for its bales of silk, all up for sale. She wound her way through the towering mansions speckled with night lamps on their top floors.
A few horses and some stray dogs looked at her curiously, but luckily no people were in sight. Poompuhar was a town that slept well. The solitary guard outside her home was deep in slumber, his grunting snores assuring her that she was unnoticed. She crossed the cold grey stone steps and entered the house. The gleaming mansion, with its buttery-white plastered walls and ornate carvings, had been built by her father. The door was imposing, made of wood and iron and crowned by an arch of intricate murals. The elaborate patio had beautiful life-size mayilvilakkus strewn around, throwing their flickering light on everything around. As she let herself into her expansive chamber, her maid stirred. But she didn t wake up. Mekalai went to her window and stared at the sky above. The moon was back in its full glory
CHAPTER ONE
M EKALAI AWOKE AT SUNRISE to the sound of rhythmic chants from the nearby Murugan temple. The incessant ringing of the conch shells could be heard from a distance. It reminded her of the childhood stories her father used to tell her-of the priests who were so gifted and powerful that their combined chants used to bring the rain gods themselves to their doorstep. He had then given her a small conch shell as a way for her to call for him if she ever wanted him. Smiling at the memory, she stretched her long limbs and sat up. Her bed was huge; four people could have slept in it easily. The head was made of ivory and had intricate carvings of peacocks. The bedding was made of soft, downy swan feathers, a luxury only the very affluent could afford. But Mekalai had never considered herself wealthy. For her, wealth did not matter as much as the legacy that needed to be preserved and respected.
She remembered her father s indulgence and her mother s wrath. You are letting her get out of control, her mother would chide her father. She might as well have been born a boy. See how she runs wild all the time. Just yesterday, the next-door neighbour was here with enough complaints to fill the king s coffers. She not only broke into their house and painted a moustache on that old hag there, but also broke their new swing.
Her affable father would only chuckle indulgently, letting his wife do all the worrying. He also knew part of Mekalai s tomboyishness stemmed from the way she worshipped her older brother. Nithilan was swashbuckling and popular even at twelve, and little Mekalai wanted to copy him in everything, much to her mother s chagrin and her father s amusement. She ran with the boys, sometimes outrunning all of them, and was an undefeated champion in catapulting. She was usually the first to climb up to the top of the mango tree with its golden juicy fruit. Mekalai often went off alone through the gritty lanes where the affluent never set foot, pausing at the little stalls with their colourful dolls and terracotta animals. She walked along the river banks, picking the wildest flowers and arranging them in large brass urns all around the house. Her mother would be appalled that such lowly flora had found its way into their stately home and would promptly throw it all out.
Mekalai s parents had always emphasized the importance of being self-sufficient. The children had learned this lesson well, but many around them attributed their natural self-reliance to the riches that they possessed. Mekalai, however, knew that wasn t true. Behind all the gold and the opulence, there lay in the hearts of her brother and herself a profound sadness that no amount of wealth could take away. Just then, the sound of her maid, Guna, bringing her cardamom-flavoured milk in her silver cup, shook Mekalai out of her reverie.
I didn t realize you would be awake already, Guna said in response to Mekalai s smile.
Mekalai reached for the silver cup and said, I love the music of the town awakening. It somehow fills me with hope. She took a long sip from the cup and replaced it on the tray. The maid withdrew