The horse that had been resting for so long beneath Vallavaraiyan was now full of renewed vigor; within the span of a single naazhigai, it had reached the gates of Kadambur’s Sambuvaraiyar Palace. Among the great clan-chiefs of Chola Nadu in those days, Sengannan Sambuvaraiyar was one. The gateway to his palace resembled the entrance to a mighty city’s fortress. On either side of the entrance, tall walls rose and curved away like the ramparts of a citadel.

At the fortress gate, elephants, horses, and bulls stood tethered; men bustled about, tending to these beasts, feeding them, giving them water. Here and there, others held aloft flaming torches, casting light all around, while some poured oil into the lamps. The whole scene was a swirl of activity and commotion. Witnessing all this, a slight hesitation and unease crept into Vallavaraiyan’s heart. “Clearly, some great event is taking place here. And I have arrived at just such a moment,” he thought. Yet, mingled with his apprehension, a keen curiosity surged within him to discover what this occasion might be.

The fortress gates stood open, but within the entrance, several spear-bearing guards stood watch. To behold them was to see the very minions of Yama, the god of death.

Vallavaraiyan reasoned that if he hesitated, they would surely stop him; it was best to boldly ride his horse straight in. No sooner had he resolved this than he put it into action. But what a disappointment! As the horse approached the gate, two of the spear-bearing guards crossed their weapons, blocking his way. Four more came and seized the reins of his horse. One among them stared intently at Vandiyathevan, while another brought a torch close, raising it high so its light fell directly on his face.

Anger flared in Vallavaraiyan’s face. “Is this the custom of your town? To stop guests at the very threshold?” he demanded.

“Who are you, brother, to speak so boldly? What is your village?” asked the gatekeeper.

“You ask my name and village? Vanagapadi’s Thiruvallam is my home. In days past, your own warriors bore my ancestors’ names upon their chests with pride! My name is Vallavaraiyan Vandiyathevan! Do you know it now?” he declared. “To say all this, did you really have to bring even a carpenter along?” said one of the guards. The others laughed at this remark.

“Whoever you are, you cannot go inside any further! All the guests who were to arrive today have already come. The master’s orders are strict: no one else is to be admitted!” declared the chief of the guards.

Noticing that some argument was taking place, a few warriors standing a little distance away inside the fort came closer. One of them said, “Hey! Isn’t that the same donkey we chased away at the festival gathering?” Another replied, “Call it a mule, not a donkey.” A third added, “Look at the way that fellow sits so stiffly atop the donkey!”

These words reached Vallavarayan’s ears.

He thought to himself, “Why get into pointless trouble? Should I just turn back? Or should I show them the signet ring stamped with Prince Aditya Karikalan’s royal seal and go inside?” The prince was the commander of the northern army—after seeing his insignia, who from the northern Pennai to Kanyakumari could dare stop him? As he debated thus within himself, the mocking words of the Pazhuvettaraiyar’s men stung his ears. At once, he decided what he must do.

“Let go of the horse; I will turn back!” he said. The guards released the reins of the horse.

With both legs, Vandiyathevan pressed hard against the horse’s belly. At that very instant, he drew his sword from its scabbard. The blade flashed like lightning, spinning in his hand as if he were wielding the divine discus of Lord Vishnu himself. The horse leapt forward, charging into the fort. The warriors in its path fell away in sudden confusion. Spears clattered to the ground. The horse bounded straight at the Pazhuvur men who had mocked him. Taken completely by surprise by this lightning assault, the warriors scattered in all directions.

Meanwhile, other events unfolded. The gates of the fort slammed shut with a resounding clang. Shouts of “Catch him! Catch him!” rang out. Spears and swords clashed with a metallic ‘clang, clang’. Suddenly, the drum of alarm thundered—‘tatam!’ “Thadam!” thundered the sound.

Vandiyathevan suddenly found himself surrounded by soldiers on all sides. Twenty, thirty, perhaps more than fifty men closed in around his horse. Without hesitation, Vandiyathevan leapt from his mount and landed on the ground. Whirling the sword in his hand, he shouted, “Kandhamaaran! Kandhamaaran! Your men are trying to kill me!”

At his cry, the soldiers who had encircled him started in surprise, hesitated for a moment, and stepped back.

At that instant, from the upper balcony of the palace, a voice boomed like thunder, “What is this commotion? Stop at once!” Seven or eight men were standing at that spot, watching what was happening below.

“Master! Someone has broken through the guards and entered. He is shouting the young master’s name!” called one of the men below.

“Kandhamaaran! Go and see what this disturbance is about!” came the same thunderous voice from the upper floor. Vandiyathevan guessed that the owner of that commanding voice must be Sengannan Sambuvarya.

He and the soldiers surrounding him stood frozen for a moment.

“What is this uproar?” came a youthful voice. At the sound, those standing there parted to make way. A young man hurried through the opening, lightly spinning a dagger in his hand. For a moment, he gazed in astonishment at Vandiyathevan, who stood poised like Subramanya himself after slaying the demon Surapadman.

“Valava! My dearest friend! Is it truly you?” he cried, his voice trembling with emotion. Rushing forward, the youth embraced Vandiyathevan tightly.

“Kandhamaaran! You have invited me so many times, urging me to visit your home. And now, on my arrival, I am greeted with such a heroic welcome!”