From the presence of the venerable matriarch of the Chola clan, Azhwarkadiyan set out towards the palace of the Young Princess. The sights he beheld along the streets of Pazhayarai filled him with great enthusiasm. How joyously these people were celebrating the sacred day of Krishna’s birth! There could be no doubt that Vaishnavism was destined to take root and spread throughout this Chola land. True, there were many reasons for the growing influence of Saivism here. For a hundred years, the kings of the Chola dynasty had been building new Shiva temples across the realm. The hymns of the three great Saivite saints were being propagated through these temples. Grand temple festivals and processions were conducted with great pomp. Yet, for all this, the glory of Lord Thirumal had not diminished in the least. Krishna, the ninth and complete incarnation of Vishnu, had captured the hearts of the people.

The divine exploits performed by the Lord in Gokulam, Brindavan, and northern Madurai had taken up residence in their souls. Ah! How many groups of Bhagavathas! How many street plays! How many different costumes and disguises! Yes, there were more now than ever before. The crowds that gathered around these troupes, their excitement and noise, too, had grown greater than before. New drama troupes kept arriving from the villages surrounding Pazhayarai.

In one such troupe, Vasudeva, Devaki, Krishna, Balarama, and Kamsa appeared in costume. There was much singing, dancing, and dialogue among the performers in this group, so Azhwarkadiyan paused to watch. At that moment, a conversation was taking place between Krishna and Kamsa. The boy playing Krishna, in his childish voice, listed out the crimes committed by Kamsa and challenged, “Come, fight with me!” In reply, Kamsa, in a loud, thunderous voice, declared, “Hey, Krishna! Your tricks and illusions will not work on me any longer. I am going to kill you now. I will kill your brother Balarama too. I will kill your father Vasudeva as well. And look there—standing with his body smeared in sandal paste and marked with sacred symbols—that fierce Vaishnavite—I will kill him too!”

At this, everyone standing around turned to look at our Azhwarkadiyan and burst into laughter. Even those dressed as Krishna and Balarama turned their gaze upon him. Many in the crowd pressed closer, surrounding him, laughing boisterously and making fun of him. Thirumalai Nambi was seized by a tremendous anger. He spun the staff in his hand, wondering if he should try it out on someone in that crowd. Most of all, he longed to land a blow on that Kamsan’s head. But there was no use striking Kamsan’s head, for the man playing Kamsan had covered his own face and was wearing a fearsome false head made of wood, adorned with a grotesque moustache and sharp teeth, painted with vivid colors. All in all, Thirumalai decided it would not be wise to use his staff in such a large gathering, and so he slipped away from that place.

Even though Kamsan’s voice—loud and booming as it was—rang out above the crowd, to Azhwarkadiyan it sounded strangely familiar, as if he had heard it somewhere before. Pondering where he might have heard that voice, he walked along the street.

Suddenly, a change swept over the crowd’s enthusiasm. As time passed, the people’s excitement visibly waned. What was this? Why had this sudden change come over them? Why was the crowd dispersing so quickly? The blare of instruments and the sounds of singing and dancing had ceased! In their place, people gathered in small groups along the sides of the street, whispering secrets to each other. After speaking, why did they hurry away? Why were doors being slammed shut with such urgency?

Now the reason became clear. The drumbeats that had sent a chill even through Princess Kundavai’s body, and the proclamation about capturing the spy—these were the cause. The sound of those drums had utterly destroyed the festive spirit of the people who had gathered for the celebration. Those walking alone were eyed suspiciously by others as they passed! Every unfamiliar face was regarded with doubt. Even Azhwarkadiyan was met with wary, distrustful glances from some, who then hurried on their way.

Thirumalai guessed the reason behind this. Not only that, but he also had some idea, through intuition, of what the people were discussing in small groups along the roadside. A few words that reached his ears confirmed it. They were speaking about the tyrannical rule of the Pazhuvettaraiyars. It was only natural that both the people of Pazhayarai and the villagers from the surrounding areas harbored anger against the Pazhuvettaraiyars.

“Who can equal Sundara Chozhar of Pazhayarai In all this ancient land!”

So sang the poets in praise of the emperor, but had they not taken him away from Pazhayarai to Thanjavur? Was not the glory of Pazhayarai diminishing day by day since then? Today, this... If only the Emperor himself had remained in this city for the Krishna Jayanthi festival, how much more magnificent would the celebrations have been! Would not all the drama troupes, dressed in costumes depicting stories of Krishna, have paraded through the streets and finally gathered in the courtyard of the Emperor’s palace? Would not the Emperor have bestowed generous rewards upon the actors, singers, bards, dancers, and poets? Would not the crowds have swelled so much that it could be said the entire Chola land had assembled in Pazhayarai? Would not the trade in the shops have increased a hundredfold compared to now? When, at night, Venugopala Swami set out from the Nandipura Vinnagara temple and proceeded in procession through the streets, how much music and drumming, dance and song, stick games and mock sword fights would have resounded through the air?

All of this had vanished because of the Pazhuvettaraiyars. Besides this, another deep sorrow had taken root in the hearts of the people of Pazhayarai. Their beloved prince, Arulmozhi Varman, had crossed the seas and was waging war in the