Remember how our fathers or grandfathers narrate stories about all these kingdoms and hidden cities with beautiful maidens and brave warriors. This story is entirely fictional. This is the story of Muziri, a harbor town lost through the pages of history.
Read the earlier parts of the story here –
1. Sons of Muziri I – The Prince’s Dilemma
2. Sons of Muziri II – The Tourist Battalion
3. Sons of Muziri III – The ambush at the docks
4. Sons Of Muziri IV – The Chola Pride
The Wrath of Periyar
The ultimatum declared that the Cholas were ready to announce the son as the new king of an independent Muziri. It clearly said that if the father and son were not prepared to cooperate, the Mahodayapuram army would attack Muziri. The court fell silent. The power-hungry father and son looked at each other. His brothers looked at the duo like a pack of hyenas waiting to eat the remains of the lion that lost the duel.
Raja: Now, son, you know nothing. This is just a trap to make us surrender the throne!
Prince: Exactly, father, I know nothing. But our kingdom came into being only when I attacked. I kicked down the doors of the Chola empire. They fear me now. They want me to be king.
Raja: Fie on you! How dare you speak to me like that! Before you were born, I had my eyes on this kingdom. I was a young lad of royal lineage. All my relatives were slaves to the empire despite being of the same blood. I fought and killed several pirates from Nakkada when they lusted after Muziri! I drenched my sword and hands with their blood for Muziri!. And now you tell me to renounce what I worked for. I was awarded this for my valor; I was not made a slave to this great town. I deserve this throne!
Prince: Yet, O truly noble one! You sold your soul to the Cholas who used you as a mere pawn.
Raja: Over my dead body, you shall ascend the throne, you wretched fool!
Prince: Oh no, father, it is not me who will end your atrocious obsession for the throne.
The workers and sailors entered the court and rushed towards the king.
Prince: I think they need me like a king, father. Unfortunately, your old wife’s tale cannot convince them.
They proceeded to take the old monarch away, with all the soldiers and ministers watching.
Prince: Lock him in the dungeons!. If he starts yelling, behead him and throw him into the Kaveri river!
The prince finally ascended the royal throne and was crowned king. Under his rule, Muziri properly flourished in trade, and the economy was steady and rewarding. But all dreams had to see the light of day.
A few months later, the monsoons came along with torrential downpours. It rained heavily everywhere over the Chola empire. There were frequent storms. The oceans were violently churning, giving out bad omens to the independent port town.
The Prince sat down at the dungeons where he spoke to his father.
Prince: Was the pirate story true?
Raja: Yes, your highness. It is true. Muziri was nothing but a small plot of land where one of Sugreeva’s monkeys searched for Sita in the Ramayana. This beautiful land deserved independence. We traded with the Romans, Africans, and now Chinese, Arabs, and also the Persians. Attacking them and everyone around you is not going to make the place a sovereign.
Prince: I just hope the rain is not God’s wrath upon us for desiring some liberty from all these power-hungry rulers.
His father started laughing madly. The old man had truly gone insane with power. He started hitting his head and screaming as if he had seen a demon. The prince helplessly watched his own father going mentally insane. He instantaneously left the dungeons.
Raja: Oh, Raja! Your Majesty! None can escape the wrath of the Gods. You are finished! You are cursed! They will follow you unto your doom!
Far away, the workers of the foreigner watched as each log started breaking away from their dam. The generals watched with murderous glee as their master plan unfolded. Finally, the tributary unleashed its rage onto the barren land, encapsulating the mud and dirt, and ultimately, they became one.
The violent tributary is painted on a canvas of destruction and sorrow. It consumed anything which was blocking its path. The beautiful town of Muziri felt rumbling tremors. They felt the ground shaking underneath them. Within a few hours, the tributary completely wiped out all the citizens, monuments, and hillocks. It was all gone as if it were a myth. The final things that filled the prince’s ears were the cacophonies and hues of the helpless people who trusted him. They were all dead.
The tributary hurried back to its mother, which was the ocean. They embraced as the prince cried aloud as he only survived the landslide. Nature bathed him in mud and continuously washed it off like a doting mother. Naked and covered in the remains of his kingdom, he wept as the rains continued to fill the ocean.
This was a punishment more severe than death. He was left to suffer alone without a crown and without a scepter.
The Chola rulers saw as their port town became nothing but mud deposited onto different pieces of land. So the foreigners rode off and crossed Muziri from their maps. They would return in the form of an “East Indian company.” But that is another story.
Generations later, this magical port came to be known only through Sangam literature that the poor bards and poets wrote and sang.
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