In those days, those who traveled from Kudanthai to Thanjavur would reach Thiruvaiyaru either by following the banks of the Arisil river or the Kaveri river. From there, they would turn southward towards Thanjavur. Convenient fords were available at those places to cross the rivers Kudamurutti, Vettaru, Vennaru, and Vadavaru that lay along the way.

Setting out from Kudanthai, Vallavaraiyan first made his way towards the banks of the Arisil river. The sights he beheld along the way filled him with even greater wonder than all he had ever heard about the Chola country. Is it not true that when we behold a beautiful scene for the first time, its sweetness seems doubled?

Lush green fields, ginger and turmeric patches, sugarcane and banana groves, coconut and areca nut orchards, tanks, streams, ponds, and canals appeared one after another in endless succession. The streams were thick with blooming lilies and blue lotuses. In the ponds, red lotuses, white lotuses, blue water-lilies, and the radiant sengazhuneer flowers presented a feast for the eyes. Flocks of white storks flew gracefully in the sky. Crimson-legged herons stood on one leg as if lost in meditation. Water gushed through the sluices of the tanks with a bubbling sound. The fields, enriched with manure and green compost, were being ploughed deeper still by the farmers, turning the fertile soil. In the prepared fields, women were transplanting seedlings, singing sweet rustic songs as they worked.

Beside the sugarcane fields stood the crushing sheds. The harvested black canes from the previous year’s crop were cut and brought to these sheds, where their juice was pressed out. The mingled scents of fresh sugarcane juice and boiling jaggery wafted through the air, overwhelming the senses.

Amidst the coconut groves stood huts thatched with palm leaves and small tiled houses. In the villages, the thresholds of the houses were swept clean and polished until the earth shone like a mirror. In front of some houses, paddy was spread out to dry. Chickens came and pecked at the grains, then strutted away, cackling “kokkarakko!” The little girls set to guard the paddy did not bother to chase the chickens away. “How much rice can a chicken eat, after all?” they thought indifferently, and continued playing choli and pallanguzhi.

From the rooftops of the huts, smoke from the hearths curled upwards. Mixed with the smoke was the aroma of parched paddy, the scent of roasting millet, and the mouthwatering smell of meat being cooked. In those days, most warriors were staunch meat-eaters. Vallavarayan was no exception; thus, the aromas wafting through the air made his mouth water.

Here and there along the roadside, blacksmith forges appeared. The fires in the kilns blazed and crackled brightly. The sound of iron being hammered on the anvil rang out—“tanar, tanar.” In those forges, alongside the ploughshares, mattocks, and crowbars needed by the villagers, there were also heaps of knives, shields, spears, and javelins. Villagers and warriors alike stood waiting in eager competition to purchase these implements and weapons.

In the small villages, tiny temples came into view. From within the temples arose the sounds of cymbals being struck, the deep resonance of the nagara drum, the chanting of mantras, and the singing of devotional hymns. Priests, carrying the village deities such as Mariamman in procession upon palanquins, danced with karagam pots balanced on their heads, beating the small udukku drums as they went from house to house collecting offerings of paddy. Boys drove cattle with bells tied around their necks out to graze; some among them played sweet tunes on their reed flutes.

The villagers, weary from their labor in the fields, sat beneath the shade of trees to rest. To amuse themselves, they set rams to fight and watched the spectacle with delight. Upon the rooftops, peahens perched and called out; hearing their cries, the peacocks, unable to restrain their pride, spread their tails and flew up to settle beside the hens. Pigeons, swaying their graceful necks, circled here and there. Alas! The parrots and mynas, trapped in their cages, sang plaintive songs of sorrow.

Taking in all these scenes, delighting in them, Vandiyathevan rode his horse at a gentle pace. His eyes were busy, for there was much to see. His mind, too, rejoiced in the variety of sights. Yet, as if shrouded by a thin mist, the face of a certain woman lingered persistently in the depths of his heart. Ah! Could that woman not have parted her red lips and spoken a few words to him? If she had, what loss would it have been to her? Who could she be? Whoever she was, should she not have shown at least a little courtesy? Did he appear so unworthy as to deserve such indifference? That astrologer, too, had deceived him by not revealing her identity! What a sly old fox he was—an incorrigible trickster. How deeply he could read the minds of others! How skillfully he spoke, with what worldly experience! Yet, he had revealed nothing of real importance. In matters concerning the affairs of the kingdom, he had been exceedingly cautious, skillfully evading every question.

Or perhaps, for everyone— He managed to get by, repeating only what he already knew, but with a flourish of cleverness. Still, hadn’t the astrologer said a good word, claiming that his lucky stars were at their zenith? Let the Kudanthai astrologer be well…

Pondering all this, Vandiyathevan walked on. From time to time, the scenes that appeared before him pulled him from his world of thoughts back into this world. At last, he reached the banks of the Arisil River. After walking a short distance along the riverbank, he heard the jingling sound of women’s bangles and the cheerful peals of their laughter. The trees, thickly grown along the bank, hid the spot where the women were gathered. Curious to find the source of the women’s voices, Vandiyathevan walked along the river’s edge, peering through the foliage.

Suddenly, he heard a cry of alarm: “Ayyo!