At the very beginning of this tale, we became closely acquainted with Alwarkadiyan Nambi, but for some time now, we have neglected to pay him any attention. For this, we beg forgiveness from our readers and, most importantly, from Nambi himself. Indeed, at this very moment, we must certainly seek Nambi’s pardon, for Alwarkadiyan is now in a state of great, great anger! His front tuft is flying in the wind that blows along the shores of Rameswaram. His staff is whirling above his head. Around him, many Adi Saivites and Veera Saivites have gathered, encircling him. Their commotion is so loud that we cannot help but feel a little anxious about what might become of Alwarkadiyan. Yet, the fierce Narasimha-like appearance of Nambi, and the speed with which his staff spins, dispel some of that worry.

Alwarkadiyan, who had overheard the conversation between Vandiyathevan and the Young Princess in Pazhayarai, set out that very day. With the swiftness of the wind and the speed of thought, he journeyed southward. Nowhere along the way did he involve himself in the usual Saivite-Vaishnavite quarrels. He restrained his mind, determined not to let any distraction interfere with his purpose, and even when arguments arose, he brushed them aside and continued on his way. He stayed for a short while in Madurai, where he inquired and learned the news he sought, and then departed for Rameswaram. On the very evening that Vandiyathevan, traveling in Poonguzhali’s boat, landed on the island of Lanka, Alwarkadiyan Nambi arrived at Rameswaram.

The moment he set foot on that sacred soil, the Vaishnavite fervor that had lain dormant in Alwarkadiyan’s heart for so many days surged forth, breaking all bounds. The Veera Saivite Pattars, who thronged everywhere on the island of Rameswaram, only added fuel to that fervor. The duties of these Pattars were to guide the pilgrims who came to that holy place, to lead them to bathe in the many sacred waters, to arrange for their worship of the deity in the temple, and to explain the special significance of each tirtha and each idol. Therefore, whenever new pilgrims arrived, many Pattars would immediately surround them. Thus, they now swarmed around Alwarkadiyan as well.

“Come, sir! Come, come! Bathe in the sixty-four sacred tirthas of this place and wash away the Vaishnavite heretical marks that stain your body! Is this not the holy place where even Rama was freed from the sin of Brahmahatya?” “You can even wash away the sins you have incurred by wearing those Vaishnavite heretic symbols!” said one of the priests with a sly smile.

Another interrupted, “There are sixty-four sacred tanks here—Rama Theertham, Lakshmana Theertham, Anjaneya Theertham, Sugreeva Theertham, and so on. Each person bathes in the appropriate tank to absolve his own faults. Come with me first to the Anjaneya Theertham! I will make the proper vow to cleanse you of the taint of those Vaishnavite marks!”

A third priest chimed in, “Oh, don’t listen to these fellows! I will