Director S.S. Rajamouli explains a scene to Prabhas right after Amarendra Bahubali saves Devasena’s kingdom Kunthala from an attack by the PindarisIt was a sultry Sunday in October in Mumbai when I first received a call from an unknown number. I had just published my third novel, Rise of Kali, and had got busy writing screenplays and stories for television channels. That Sunday, I had decided to take a break from the hectic business of TV writing, which pays more than the novels but provides little creative satisfaction. I had to restart the Young Adult novel I was working on.

This was going to be a lighter project compared to the intense Ramayana and Mahabharata counter-telling in Asura and the two-book Ajaya series, which had taken almost 10 years of hard work. I was looking forward to a relaxed period of writing in the next few months. All the three books had become bestsellers and the first two had been translated into more than 10 languages at that time. I was enjoying what I believed to be well-earned success. I was proud of my research, and when some readers wrote to me praising my attention to detail (many more wrote critical letters, but a writer develops a thick skin and knows how to ignore them and relish only the adulation), I accepted the compliments as if it was nothing more than what I deserved. Luck is what happens to others, is it not? My success was the result of my own work, I used to boast. No wonder my friends called me an “Asura”. 

Must be a prank 
Little did I know that destiny was preparing to show the mirror to my face. I was irritated at the call and I tried to wave my wife Aparna away when she came with the phone. I have been unsuccessfully trying to create divine aura about writing, but it generally does not cut any ice with my family. She slammed the phone on my desk and said, ‘You better attend this’. I scowled at her and took the phone. The lady on the other side said she was calling from the Arka Mediaworks office. ‘Mr Rajamouli wants to speak to you, when would it be convenient for you?’ 

I wracked my brain to identify Arka and Rajamouli. It took a moment to register that Arka was the production company that made Bahubali and S.S. Rajamouli was the director of not only Bahubali but also other films like Eega and Magadheera, films I had watched multiple times. I said I could talk now. 

As I waited for the call to connect, doubts started creeping in. Surely, this was a prank. My college friends were notorious for setting up such prank calls, and even after 20 years of leaving college, we play such tricks on one another. Or maybe it was a radio station doing this on behalf of one of my crazy friends. It is not every day that a Rajamouli or a Mani Ratnam or a Bhansali or a Shekhar Kapur will call you to say hello! Though I walked with a swagger after the success of my three books and serials, I knew I had a long way to go to reach that league. This could only be a prank.

A polite voice on the other side said he had read my book, Asura, and was impressed by it. By this time, I was sure it was a prank. The only thing left was to identify which of my friends was behind it. I could imagine the stifled laughter on the other side and the faces of my friends flashed in my mind. During the last college reunion a few weeks earlier, I had boasted that one day Rajamouli will call me, James Cameron or Steven Spielberg will call me.  

My wife was standing beside me and if not for her, I would have burst into some expletives. I mouthed ‘some prank’ to her as I answered with mmms, yeses, thank yous and more monosyllables. She wrote on a piece of paper, ‘Do not say anything foolish’ and added, ‘as usual’. No one knows me better. 

Thankfully, I had the sense not to say something abusive. He ended the call saying if it was convenient for me, he would like to meet me. I said, I will let you know. Imagine that! 

 

Baaaaahubaliiii!
Then I waited for the phone to ring again and the radio jockey to announce which of my friends had played the prank. ‘We will soon get some gift vouchers,’ I said to my wife. She giggled and I said, ‘Do not laugh, that is going to be your birthday present’. 

What came instead was an email. It said, ‘It was nice talking to you. I liked your work Asura. Kindly let me know when we can meet.’ It was signed S.S. Rajamouli. I stared at it in disbelief.

Reading over my shoulder, Aparna let out a yelp of joy and punched my shoulder. I said, ‘Wait, wait, let me check if this is true’. I dialled back the number and said, ‘I am coming there, Sir. Do you want me to come today?’ He laughed and said, ‘If tomorrow is okay for you, please come. We are all looking forward to meeting you. Thank you for agreeing to come.’

The phone went silent and I was staring at it in disbelief. I had even forgotten to apologise for my earlier indifference in my excitement. 

‘Why are you silent? Is everything alright?’ Aparna asked. I punched her back and shouted, ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ Our dog, Jackie, looked up from his bed with a bored expression. Aparna called out to the kids. They came, irritated at being dragged away from the TV. ‘Why are you two dancing like kids?’ demanded our 13-year-old, Ananya. Aparna said, ‘Appa has been called by Rajamouli Sir, the director of Baaaaahubaliiii!’ 

‘Oh yeah?’ she looked at her younger brother Abhinav, and said, ‘As if.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ I asked indignantly. ‘He has read Asura and was impressed by it.’  

‘Abhi, you know what? I had sent the recording of my songs to Justin Bieber and he is coming to meet me,’ Ananya said.

Her aspiring football star brother answered with the same straight face: ‘Ronaldo has sent me tickets to meet him. He seems in awe of my moves.’ And they burst out laughing. Jackie joined in mocking me by barking and running around in circles. No man is a hero in his family. It took a lot of convincing and a restaurant and film date to convince them that, for once, it was not an empty boast from their father. They believed it completely only when I posted a selfie with the star director. 

In Mahishmathi
The next day, I was sitting in his Hyderabad office and sipping coffee, more nervous than the day I had proposed to Aparna. I was waiting for him to appear. I looked around and I was transported to a bygone era. I was no longer sitting in the simple yet cosy office of a genius but in the chamber of the King of Mahishmathi. In a corner sat a few cardboard boxes, stacked with the ornaments worn by Sivagami. The headgear of Kattappa was lying above it. There was the famous sword of Bahubali leaning in a corner. I walked to it and lifted it up. It was surprisingly light. You need not have the biceps of Prabhas to lift it, I thought, flexing my imaginary muscles. 

Except for its weight, it looked stunningly real. The ornaments looked like what we see in museums — graceful and rich, belonging to an era where even everyday wear were works of art.

I was surprised by a handsome man with a clean-shaven head. There was a moment of awkwardness as I was still holding the sword. He extended his hand, ‘Welcome Mr Neelakantan, I am Prasad Devineni.’ 

I kept the sword in its place. ‘Ah, the producer of Bahubali. Call me Anand as Neelakantan is my father’s name,’ I said, trying to hide my nervousness with a smile. 

For a man who had produced India’s most expensive and successful film, he was disconcertingly unassuming and polite. ‘Shobu and Rajamouli will be here in a minute,’ he said. Shobu Yarlagadda, Prasad’s partner, was equally charming when he came. We chatted briefly, and they said, ‘Rajamouli keeps talking about your books.’ That made me more nervous. They showed me various artefacts and props and the attention to detail in each of them was stunning. When Rajamouli entered the room, we were still appreciating the artefacts. 

Story hunter 
The most striking thing about Rajamouli are his eyes. They sparkle with enthusiasm and unbridled zest for life. ‘Anand, it is an honour to meet you,’ he said in a soft voice, a smile lighting up his face.
I took his hand and he hugged me briefly. I was starstruck for a minute. He talked about Asura, especially a chapter where Ravana explains his 10 heads to his guru, Mahabali. He said that was ‘great writing’. That brought back some of my confidence. The Asura in me was back. I found my tongue. 

Soon, we were talking like we knew each other for ages. Of course, that was true. I had known him through his films. He had known me through my books. Nothing connects people like art and literature.

He asked me my critical opinion of Bahubali. I was shocked. How could I say? But encouraged by him, I opened my mind. I said what I liked and what I did not. He patiently listened and then said why each scene was the way it was. It takes a lot of confidence to be so convincing. It needs a lot of conviction in one’s art to be so compelling. 

He talked about the empire of Mahishmathi. For him, and now for every Indian, it is no longer a fantasy but a part of our history, an addition to our mythology. He said the world of Mahishmathi had more stories than what could be told in five hours. As he spoke, the universe of Mahishmathi began expanding before my eyes. He said there were stories lurking in every inch of Mahishmathi’s land. If we listen carefully, we can hear the faint whispers that float through the curtains of time. We can hear the laughter of evil nobles. We can smell the conspiracies that were hatched in the dark corners of the palace. The earth reverberated with the stomp of marching armies. The air was rich with the clang of swords. A world was unfolding before me.

He thumped down some 5,000-page folders that contained drawings and character sketches. His team had etched even the carvings of the pillars. How Kattappa should stand, how Sivagami should glare, everything was typed out in minute detail. I sat in awe of the sheer amount of work and its aesthetics. 

The pride I used to carry for my attention to detail in my works melted away as page after page unfolded before me. When he had finished and I had come out of my trance, I asked him what he wanted me to do. Honestly, I did not know what more could be done on something that had become so iconic. 

He said, ‘I need a story hunter.’ I was to enter the Mahishmathi world and hunt for stories. He did not want the film to be novelised. That would have been easy and banal. He wanted me to create new characters. He wanted me to write a prequel to what was shown in the film. He asked me which character I wanted to choose. The obvious answer would have been Bahubali. But I went by my instincts and said, ‘Sivagami’. By the spread of his smile, I knew he wanted the same thing. 

He asked me the reason and I said a book was quite unlike a film. The book needs more mystery and what could be more mysterious than the mind of the strongest character in the film. ‘I want to travel with Sivagami on her journey to become Rajamatha,’ I said. He asked me whether I could write a few scenes.

That was a challenge as I write when the mood strikes. I thought I needed to sit in my space and wait for the story to come. He said a good artist is one who can work within the constraints.

Spurred by him, I took up the challenge. Sitting in his room, it was easy to go into the world of Mahishmathi. I started writing scene after scene. All random, with no characters from the film. In that room, Pattaraya was born. In that moment, Keki and Kalika were born. Achi Nagamma came from nowhere, so did Skandadasa. I had never written anything in such a frenzy. I was in a trance-like state. When he came back after two hours, the printout was ready and I sat like a student waiting for the professor to hand over his marksheet. It was true in one way. I was a student before a master storyteller. 

100-day epic 
The first scene got 2/10 and my heart sank. But slowly the marks started increasing scene by scene. Finally, there were 11 scenes out of 20 that got more than 7/10. He pushed those papers to me and said, ‘Anand, if you can maintain the same standard, we can think of a trilogy.’ 

I was breathless. I took his hand and said, ‘I will write, Sir.’ My eyes were going hazy... and then he dropped the bomb. ‘You have 100 days.’ I said, ‘Sir, Asura took me six years!’ He smiled and replied, ‘Remember, a good artist should know to work within the constraints.’ I feebly shook my head and he shook my hand, patted my arm and he was gone. The room was spinning around me. 

He arranged a meeting with his father, Sri K.V. Vijayendra Prasad, the legendary screenplay writer who had given multiple superhits and who had conceived of Bahubali. I was apprehensive because I thought he would be possessive about what he had created. I was judging him with my standards. 

He was grace personified and we had lunch together at his home. He became a guru to me, and we talked at length about Sivagami and Kattappa. I asked him the question that was bothering me. ‘Would I have the freedom to do anything with the characters?’ He said, ‘Unless you deviate from the basic characterisation of Sivagami and Kattappa, you are free to do whatever you want with the plot and the characters you create.’ Rajamouli Sir assured me of the same thing.   

It was only when I was flying back that the enormity of the responsibility I had shouldered started weighing me down. Here was a man who had spent five years of his stellar career making India’s greatest film. Bahubali was already on its way to becoming a Rs 5,000cr-plus brand. He was trusting me with it. It was a great risk he was taking. Would I measure up to the challenge? 

Writing a 500-page epic in 100 days has never been done by any professional writer in the world, as far as I know. I had to create at least 40 new characters and come up with a riveting plot. There would be comparisons with the great films and the book should not be found wanting. No reader is going to be bothered about how much time it was written in or the limitations of a book in creating a visual splendour without losing gravitas. My career and reputation were at stake, but it was nothing compared to the risk Rajamouli was taking. Was I capable enough to create with my words even a small percentage of the magic that Rajamouli had created on the silver screen? 

I had no answers at that time. I would be taking a huge financial hit as I would be withdrawing from TV writing. I had to talk to my publisher to postpone the book I was writing. None of this was important. As the flight cruised far above the clouds, I could see the city of Mahishmathi spreading out below me. I could hear the laughter of Bijjala, the sneer of Pattaraya. I could see a 17-year-old Sivagami, an orphan standing with a book clutched to her chest. I wanted to do nothing else in life. I wanted to go story hunting into Mahishmathi. I did not want to fail Rajamouli. I did not want to fail myself.

Now, looking back, the enormity of the task has increased manifold. Bahubali: The Conclusion is racing towards Rs 2,000 crore, breaking all records. The book, Rise of Sivagami, has been ruling the bestseller charts since its release. Would I be able to rise to the expectation in my second book of the trilogy? When hounded by such apprehensions, I remember Rajamouli’s words, ‘A true artist gives his best when constrained’. 

The journey that started with what I thought was a prank call, continues with all the excitement of a Bahubali film. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened had I not taken that call? Life is made of such quirky turns, so are great stories.

Jai Mahishmathi.