That night, in one of the ancient Pallava emperors’ palaces at Mamallapuram, those three illustrious heroes took their rest. After they had finished their evening meal, the Malaiyaman king, having heard that the tale of Aravan was being recited near the Five Chariots, went there to listen. Aditya Karikalan and Parthibendran ascended to the upper terrace of the palace.

From the terrace, Aditya Karikalan gazed for a while at the nightscape of Mamallapuram. Here and there, a few lamps flickered dimly, casting a faint glow. Silence reigned over most of the streets. In the temples, the midnight rituals had ended, and the outer doors were being shut. The roar of the sea sounded with a mournful note, echoing “Ooo…” By the Five Chariots, the ballad singer and his troupe were performing the tale of Aravan; the crowd gathered around them, listening intently, appeared as dark, shadowy forms in the lamplight.

“At this age, the old man has gone off to listen to stories! See that? Whatever else may be said, men of the old days were truly men! Who among us today possesses their strength of body and firmness of mind?” said Aditya Karikalan.

“My lord! Have you too begun to praise the greatness of the olden days? What feat did those men of the past accomplish that we have not matched in our own time? Even in stories and epics, I have not heard of anyone who, in his youth, performed deeds of valor on the battlefield as you have,” said Parthibendran.

“Parthiba! You are a man of true heart. I know well that you do not speak one thing while harboring another in your mind. Otherwise, you would not be my friend; I would suspect you to be a secret enemy. Yet, you flatter me so much! Nothing else can cast a man into the deepest pit of hell as surely as flattery!” said Aditya Karikalan.

“Sir! If one, with selfish intent, invents and utters false praise about another, that is flattery. If I were to go to Madurantakan, who is now a slave to the Pazhuvettarayars in Thanjavur, and say, ‘You are the bravest of the brave,’ that would be flattery. If ever you find me doing such a thing, kill me at once with the sword in your hand. In what I have said about you, not a word—” “Not many words, are there? In ancient times, what hero achieved such great deeds at so young an age? If one must name someone equal to you, perhaps your great-grandfather, Rajaditya—who sleeps atop his elephant—might be mentioned; but even he cannot be said to have surpassed you…”

“Stop, Parthiba, stop! Where is Rajaditya, and where am I? Who are we to even speak of Rajaditya, who, with a small force, stood against the vast, surging armies of the Rashtrakutas—raging like the great ocean—and destroyed them utterly, attaining the hero’s heaven? To compare ourselves to him? Leave aside the Chola lineage; even in your own Pallava clan, what