Pazhuvettarayar was well aware that many people gossiped in various ways about his marriage at such an advanced age. He had even heard that among those who spoke disparagingly, Princess Kundavai was one of them. Yet, until now, no one had ever come to him and bluntly repeated what Kundavai had actually said. Now, hearing it from Nandini’s own lips, his heart became like the blazing furnace of a blacksmith’s forge. His breath came in hot, heavy gusts, as if mixed with fire.

Nandini’s tears only served as oil to make the fire in his heart leap higher and burn fiercer.

“My dear! Did that wretched, sinful woman truly say such things? Did she call me an old buffalo? Let it be; that woman… that woman… Watch what I shall do to her! Just as a buffalo tramples a lily creeper under its hoof, I shall crush her! And more… that woman… that woman…” Pazhuvettarayar stammered, unable to speak further in his rage. The terrifying expression that came over his face was indescribable.

Nandini tried to calm him. She took his iron-like hand in her own soft, flower-like palm, entwining her fingers with his.

“My lord! I know you cannot bear the humiliation that has befallen me. But a lion, mighty enough to split the skull of a great elephant and drink its blood, cannot simply pounce upon a mere cat. Kundavai is a female cat, but she is a great enchantress. With her magic and sorcery, she has everyone dancing to her will! She has the entire Chola kingdom under her sway! Her sorcery can only be overcome by a greater spell. If you do not wish it, tell me so. This very day, I will leave this palace…” she said, breaking down into sobs once more.

Pazhuvettarayar’s rage subsided; his infatuation grew stronger.

“No, no! Summon a thousand sorcerers if you wish. But you must not go! You are my very life! No, more than that—you are my life itself! What use is this body if life departs? Even now, your keeping me at a distance is killing me while I yet live! You know so many spells—will you not teach me just one?” he pleaded. “Natha! When you hold sword and spear in your hands, what need have you for spells? Leave those magical incantations to a foolish woman like me! Why do you, of all people, require magic and mantras?” said Nandini.

“Beloved! The moment your coral lips part and you call me ‘Natha’, my whole body shivers… When I gaze upon your golden face, my mind reels! It’s true that I carry sword and spear in my hands. I shall wield them on the battlefield, to strike down my enemies. But what use are those weapons here, in this flower-laden pavilion? Against the arrows of Manmatha, the god of love, I have no weapon at all. But you—do you not possess such power? You ask why I need magic! My body and soul are being consumed ceaselessly by a fire—only to quench that fire do I seek a mantra! If you know any spell for that, tell me! If not, grant me the fortune of touching your flower-soft skin! Somehow, save my life! My jewel-eyed one! It has been two and a half years since you and I were wed, as the world knows, according to the rites of the shastras. Yet, we have not begun our married life as is customary. You keep me at a distance, always speaking of vows and fasts. You torment and torture the husband whose hand you took in marriage! Or else, in some way, give me poison with your own hand and end my life…”

Nandini covered her ears and cried, “Ayyo! Do not utter such cruel words! If you speak so again, I shall do just as you say. I will drink poison and die. Then you can live on in peace, without sorrow!”

“No, no; I shall not speak so again. Forgive me! If you die by drinking poison, will I ever find peace of mind? I am half-mad now—then I would become wholly mad…”

“Natha! Why should you become mad? From the very day we joined hands in marriage, we became one body, one soul. Our lives have mingled; our hearts have merged; every beat of your heart echoes here in mine. Every thought that arises in your mind is reflected here in the mirror of my soul. When your brow furrows, my eyes grow dim. When your moustache quivers, my very entrails tremble. Now that we are life to each other, why think only of this body? This body is made of earth; one day it will burn to ash and return to dust…”

“Stop! Stop! My ears are burning from your cruel words!” cried Pazhuvetarayar. Without giving her a chance to speak further, he continued: “You say your body is made of earth? Lies! Lies! Do not utter such a great falsehood with your honeyed lips that exude the scent of nectar! Did you say your body was fashioned from clay? Never, not for a single day. There may be countless women in this world. Brahma may have created them from earth, from stone, or by mixing charcoal and ash. But do you know how Brahma created your divine form? He gathered flowers that had fallen from the mandara trees of Devaloka; he came to Tamilakam and plucked fresh red lotuses; he collected all these blossoms and placed them in a golden vessel filled with the nectar of the gods. When the nectar and the flowers had steeped together and become one wondrous mixture, he took it up. Into that mixture, he poured the rays of the full moon. He summoned the ancient bards of Tamilakam and bade them play the yāzh. He blended the music of that yāzh into the mixture. From that miraculous blend, Brahma fashioned your divine form…”

“My lord! You speak as if you stood beside Brahma himself and