When Periya Pazhuvettaraiyar finally returned to his mansion, midnight had passed and the third watch of the night had begun. He dusted off the grime of the street, but within his heart, a storm raged fiercer than the swirling winds outside, raising clouds of confusion and turmoil. He felt a pang of regret for having rebuked his dear younger brother so harshly. There was no limit to the affection he bore for his sibling; it was only because of that deep love that he had spoken as he did. Yet, why should a man so full of suspicion unnecessarily speak ill of Nandini? Such is human nature, perhaps. It is the way of ordinary men to blame others for their own faults and thus escape censure. But why should his brother, of all people, stoop to such a base method? Instead of punishing the wily, thieving youth who had fallen into his hands, was it fitting for him to cast aspersions upon a woman—upon his own wife, no less? Was this in keeping with his valor and manliness? Let it be! After all, he had already repented and asked for forgiveness, had he not? Why should he dwell on it any further?

Still, could there be even a grain of truth in what his brother had said? Was it possible that, at this advanced age, he himself had fallen prey to a woman’s wiles? For the sake of a woman he had plucked from the wilderness, had he really been compelled to rebuke his own brother, his companion through a hundred battlefields, the one who had stood by his side as his strength, who had, time and again, risked his own life to save him from danger? What was so special about her? He knew nothing of her lineage. Her actions and words, at times, did give rise to suspicion. Shame! His brother’s words had sown such confusion even in his own heart! What injustice is this? How dearly she loves him, how respectfully she conducts herself! With what enthusiasm she involves herself in all his affairs! At times, she even offers him wise counsel. Had she not, with courage, married this old man of over sixty? Shouldn’t that count for something? If a swayamvara were held for this beauty, even Indra himself would descend from the heavens to win her hand! Which crowned king in this world would not desire to marry her? Ah! If this Sundara Chozhan were to lay eyes upon her, would that not be enough? How foolish, then, to harbor any suspicion about such a woman! How ridiculous for old men who have married young women to entertain baseless doubts! We have heard of people who, by their own actions, turn their lives into a living hell. We have seen such examples in the world. Should we, too, make ourselves the object of others’ ridicule in such a way?

Yet, it is necessary to learn certain details from her own lips. Why does she so