The night danced like a majestic courtesan, thumping her soft feet upon the floors of a royal durbar. The tumbling of rekla wheels in the narrow lane, with no lamps to guide, made it look like a mundane horror story that every village had. Everyone was snuggled into the arms of sleep, but my eyes had left sleep behind at that platform. My mind kept pondering over this expensive watch, which didn't seem to belong to any Indian manufacturer. The intoxicating smell of fresh wood on its strap blew my mind back to the faceless stranger, cloaked in a big brown robe with a height almost touching the roof—easily 6 feet. His well-built physique didn't resemble that of a South Indian native.
I started playing with the strap absentmindedly when I noticed Revathi Athai's half-open mouth was invaded by a night fly. Uncle Rajan's loud snores filled the air as Sethu kicked his leg into Rajan's face, while Swamy remained wrapped tightly in Athai's saree. That familial warmth—the belonging I had longed for my parents—pierced my heart. For a moment, I envied them. This is the power of family: it gives you the strength to feel unconquered, shielding you from the unknown evils of the world.
Mukundam Periyappa was whipping the bulls to keep them awake and moving. The lantern hanging on the side rattled with the friction of the wheels, while the silent night became a witness to all this chaos. Suddenly, one of the wheels got stuck in a puddle, and the bulls began shaking their heads. Mukundam Periyappa managed to steady the imbalance, but the commotion woke up Athai.
"I told you, Swami, this old man is of no use! Look at his fragile rekla—it couldn't even handle our lightweight bodies for a few minutes. Hey! What happened now? Are we going to spend the whole night in this lonely lane?" Athai's ranting grew louder, startling one of the bulls, which broke free and ran into the darkness. Mukundam Periyappa had to chase after it to tie it back to the cart.
"Amma, why are you shouting in this inauspicious lane? Don't you know this is the infamous lane of the legendary dancer Nagaseni? See that old tamarind tree?" Periyappa's irritated voice betrayed his underlying fear, causing his Adam's apple to bob.
This sparked even more fear in Uncle Rajan, whose lungi was now on the verge of loosening. Swamy was the first to fully awaken, eagerly glancing toward the eerie manor in the distance.
Revathi Athai's face turned pale. She was aware of the history, though I had only heard snippets. "What... what do you mean? Don't talk rubbish! There's no such thing… don't try to frighten me. Just fix this trash and take us home!" Athai almost cried as a big tawny owl flew past her, its wings cutting through the still air.
My eyes drifted to the grand Chettinad-style mansion standing in forgotten glory. It was massive yet abandoned, held together by its imposing carved pillars, adorned with figures from ancient Tamil myths. The structure had weathered time's merciless blows, its wrought iron gates tarnished, and weeds overtook its once-pristine grounds. Even in ruin, it spoke of its glorious past.
"Periyappa, whose house is this? It's so big and majestic!" Swamy's excitement lit his eyes like a Diwali diya.
"Swamy, shut your mouth, or I'll slap you! Go back to sleep!" Athai's harsh rebuke couldn't deter the boy, who was now fully awake and brimming with curiosity.
"No, Amma! I want to know! Periyappa, you tell me!" Swamy's persistent protests defeated Athai's authority. Mukundam Periyappa, with the expertise of an old village storyteller, began narrating the tale.
"This house, built during the reign of the mighty Cholas—or was it the Pandiyans.... couldn't recall it correctly, belonged to the legendary dancer Nagaseni. She was a courtesan of extraordinary beauty, blessed by Goddess Saraswati herself. Her face rivaled that of Apsara Rambha, and her voice could shame even celestial singers. she was a great devotee of Lord chandrashekhara whom she worshiped three times in a day and had made him her dancing guru, the natraj as he was, had blessed Her mastery over every form of dance, music, and the art of playing vivid instruments with different unknown ragas had earned her immense worldly fame.
"Adored by the King, she was gifted this palatial home, adorned with gems, gold, and silver. She hosted grand performances every Saturday in the Natya Nilayam within this mansion that's why her house was named Natya shailadri, which still holds her oil portrait painted by a European artist captivated by her timeless beauty. This painting still adorns one of the walls, its colors vivid even after all these years, as though her soul resides within it.
"Nagaseni was bold and fearless, yet graceful as a tigress but as plump as a red rose. She lived like a queen, her possessions unmatched, She was the first woman who broke the taboo of that society and used to run an art company , with thousands of other courtesan practicing under her guidance, her room had been filled with every antique items from every corner of the world, gifted to her by her lovers—from the silk curtains of her silver mannequin cart, gifted by a Sheikh of Baghdad, to the Afghan horses that pulled it. This cart, said to be lined with velvet cushions and mirrored interiors, was well built with all luxuries, let it be the delicious foods, her ornaments and her beautiful dresses,reflected her enigmatic charm while shielding her half-veiled face from the world.
"But her life ended tragically. The head of the King's army, driven by lust, broke into her chambers one full moon night. Refusing to surrender to his evil intent, she leapt from the third floor into the deep, sacred waters of Mother Kaveri. Her devotion to Kaveri was unparalleled, and she believed the river would cradle her as a mother cradles her child. Since then, her restless spirit is said to wander these grounds, dancing under the moonlight and seeking justice. Travelers who pass by this lane at night claim to hear her anklets and see her shadow in the Natya Mandapam."
Periyappa's story sent shivers down my spine as my gaze returned to the looming mansion. Its eerie silence seemed to whisper the secrets of its haunting past, as we hurriedly fixed the rekla and continued our journey, leaving behind the mysterious ruins of Natya Shailadri.