PETER PANDIYA THE WHITE KING (Poem)

 

                        

I

The most ancient of kings,

the Pandyas, great patrons of

Tamil Language, held courts of Sangam Poets

as did Macedonians, with Pythian Games.

The Britons then,                                                         

speaking Gaelic, Welsh, Cornish

and a few other forgotten tongues

were rolling their dices on boards,

wouldn’t know the use of a

a stylus, quill, or reed.

  

Longest was the Line of Pandyas-

stretched over two millennia.

But History had its pack of cards to draw,

and ironies to throw. Something

stranger than fiction would happen:

The First in line of Pandyas was

the Great Nedunchezhiya. He was of the

Pearl-Fish-Coast of Tamil Country.

But the Last of Pandya  

would come from Cornwall,

of the Celtic Coast of English Country.

                       II

Rous Peter was his name when baptized, and

fate would have him rechristened to Peter Pandya.

This odd heir to the throne of Madurai would

set sail to the land of sullen people-

‘Half Devil and Half Child.’

Cornwall thus, sent forth the ‘best of breed

binding its son to exile... to wait in heavy harness.’

 

“Take up the White Man’s burden”

His Grand Son would implore,

a hundred years later.

 

It was the year 1801: Peter beach landed-

on the Golden Sands of Madras before

Fort St. George wetting his groins.

Wellesley-the-monstrous, was on the Citadel,

the Nemesis of Mysore Madurai and Waterloo!

Treachery, War, and Siege had felled Madurai by then.

 

‘Savage Wars of Peace’ is a magic spell.

Transmutes WHITEGREED into

White Man’s Burden.

In a land of boundless spoils,

you needed countless princelings

to bring Order, and Collect Tax.

Princelings were made Collectors, and

as they collected, simply became Rulers-

some Lords and a few, even KINGS.

“To seek another’s profit and work another’s gain.

To serve the Captive’s Needs,” Grand Son would say.

 

Prince Peter of Cornwall to begin, had to play

the Royal Apprentice. He stayed in the Fort.

Then, had to go from Court to Court

to learn the Imperial Craft for a decade

and more. His groins dry now, was ready

to mount the Throne of the Ancient Town.

                  

                       III

Madurai is as old as Athens, Rome,

and Xi’an if not Jericho and Damascus,

but you must ask Pandya Kulasekara

for the Founding Date. Kulasekara

seeing God Indra worshiping an autopoietic

Phallus sprouting out of earth in the

Kadamba jungle, cleared the tangle, and built the

Town and the Temple. Madurai became the Town,

Meenakshi’s was the Shrine.

 

Meenakshi who?

Ask Venus, Isis, Hather, Brigid, and Freya...

They know!

The most beautiful of women with fishlike eyes,

and a Third Breast on the breastbone.

She was born of fire, to an heirless Pandya of yore.

Coming of age, ascended the Throne of Madurai and

ruled as a Galant Queen. Defeated Indra in war!

Marched North next, to Himalaya, the Home of Shiva!

As she engaged The Destroyer, He poured and poured

a potent love brew into Her Bosoms.

Her Breastbone-Breast vanished.

Shiva then, came down to Madurai on a Chithirai Day

married the Mighty Queen.

Became Her Consort.

Meenakshi Ruled, Rules, and will Rule Madurai ever.

 

                             IV

Peter was sworn to be the Princeling

where the Queen reigned supreme.

Took the oath:

“In patience to abide, To veil the threat of terror

And check the show of pride, By open speech and simple...

Fill full the mouth of Famine And bid the sickness cease...

No tawdry rule of kings, But toil of serf and sweeper...”

 

Clever was Peter, half of what he swore

he will wear, and what he spurned he will throw.

Greatest was his obeisance to the Mighty Queen

dismounted the horse a mile afar from Her Shrine

shoes and hat in hand, he walked foot bare.

The peasant and the poor he served waving all-tax,

and all-rent, that no Caeser would dare.

And sang, “I have filled-full the mouth of Famine

and bid the sickness cease.”

‘Peter Pandya’ people hailed, all the noise he liked.

 

Best of bargains he had with the rich,

chanted, “Win-Win.”

A thousand elephant he rolled-down-the-hills,

laughed, “Gun-Fun.”

Mughal Robes he wore and tee-heed, “Gold Spun.”

Private Mansions he built but no harem he kept.

Emeralds, Diamonds, and Rubies he picked,

only as gifts, and to give back as gifts.

No personal money he kept, but all that he wanted

he took from the Big Chest.

One-a-million ten-a-million they counted as lost,

“No Book I kept” he just said in jest.

                       

                        V

Peter loved the People, and The Queen,

People loved The Queen, and Peter.

One day, Peter slept tight, and had a

Low-Lit-Ink-Blue-Dream.

Carrying a colossal weight on his shoulders

Peter had lost his way climbing a hill.

Feeling the weight as sin itself, and the journey

a Pilgrim’s-No-Progress, he wept. Now, a little girl

walked into his dream with the tinkles of her anklet.

She held Peter’s hand and walked him

out of the dream, out of the palace,

and into a torrent of rain and storm.

Lightning struck, and the palace behind fell.

Peter saved.

Walking on the sheet of water

the little girl crossed the river in spate,

with the same pair of bare little feet, that ambled

the heirless Pandya’s yagna fire when she was born.

 

‘I will ornament Her Feet’ Peter vowed.

Made a golden pair of shoes studded with

412 rubies, 72 emeralds, and 80 diamonds

as seers would recommend-

No monarch on earth ever would wear a pair

Meenakshi would wear.

It is no Westminster, The Temple. No Ferangi-

prince or pauper, the priests allow to enter.

Peter made the Offerings at the Gate.

Devi would whisper “I know the priests...

And I know the hearts...

In good remembrance of you Peter,

I will put on this fabulous pair of shoes

you’ve offered, on the best occasion of the year.

All would see in awe!” She did. She does. She will.

 

                                  VI

“Nonsense...” burst out the Voice in the Citadel,

“A White Man becoming a White Burden?”

A posse of men arrived soon at Peter’s capital.

Enquired into all they wanted to enquire.

“Embezzlement... Embezzlement...” they blared.

Peter became sick, lay in bed in delirium.

Moved his lips often to mumble:

“English Law and English crime...

English Crime and English Law”

Then a pause:

“Whiteman’s Burden is White Man’s Crime...

White Man’s Crime is White Man’s Burden”

In endless cycles, he went on for twelve days.

At sunset, on the twelfth day,

Peter forfeited his life as did the ancient Pandya,

as the gem from the Woman’s Anklet,

leapt over his face.

Peter’s-men-in-waiting called it a suicide.

Inquest held. The Last Will and Testament read:

“Liquidate all my personal wealth and put it back

in the Big Chest... Burry me close to the Shrine...

I can sleep facing My Queen,” it read.

Closest was the Altar of St. George’s,

the garrison church he built.

There they Buried him.

The people of Madurai sat on the bank of Vaigai

sang the song,

“O’ Peter Pandya... the Great White King of Madurai...”

They wept. 

Peter lies ever facing the Queen...

saying his prayers to His Lord in The Altar.

 

Dr. Chinnaraj Joseph

17. 11. 2023.