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 often ask for the signet ring? For what purpose? Why does she frequently go alone and sit in the Latha Mandapam? What is the reason for that? We have heard that some magician comes to see her often—she herself has admitted it—why is that? What does she seek to learn from the magician? Whom does she wish to enchant with his spells?

With all this going on, for how much longer does she intend to keep me in this state of ‘married, yet a celibate’? She keeps talking about some vow, some penance, but never explains what vow, what penance! Is this not like the cunning women in stories who use clever tricks to evade and manipulate? I must not allow this to continue any longer! Tonight, I must speak to her about it and settle the matter once and for all!

When Pazhuvettarayar reached the entrance of his palace, the women of the household, the servants, and the nursemaids were waiting to welcome him. But, though his eyes searched all around, he did not see the young queen whom he most wished to see. Upon inquiry, he learned that she was still in the Latha Mandapam. In his mind arose the question, “What business does she have there even at this hour, past midnight?” Along with that, a suspicion and anger that she was neglecting him also took root. With a touch of irritation, he strode toward the Kodi Mandapam.

As he reached the entrance of the Kodi Mandapam, he saw Nandini and her companion approaching him. When she saw him, Nandini stopped, but instead of looking at him, she turned her gaze toward the darkness that had settled over the garden. The nursemaid stood a little distance away.

Even after Pazhuvettarayar came near her, Nandini did not turn to look at him. Instead of rebuking her as he had intended, he found himself needing to soothe her anger!

“Nandini! My precious one! Why are you angry? Why this indifference?” he asked, gently placing his iron-like hand upon her shoulder.

But Nandini, with her hand softer than a flower, pushed away his hand, which was as hard as a thunderbolt. Ah! Is it possible that such strength can reside in such softness and delicacy?

“My life! You touched me with your silken hand and pushed me away—ah, that itself is my fortune! From the peaks of Trikona Malai to the Vindhya mountains, not a single hero among the bravest of warriors could accomplish what you have done! That is my luck! Yet, should you not tell me the reason for your anger? My ears burn with longing to hear the honey-sweet music of your voice,” pleaded that great warrior, who had triumphed in a thousand battlefields.

“How many days has it been since you left me? Has it even been a full four days?” Nandini’s voice quivered with emotion. That trembling tone, which could melt the hearts of even the unyielding Pazhuvetaraiyar—who had withstood countless swords and spears—softened him