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 take you straight to the very place where Rama, after slaying Ravana, fashioned a lingam out of the sand and worshipped Shiva to rid himself of the sin of Brahmahatya. I will take you there myself!”

At this, Azhwarkkadiyan’s eyes flashed with sparks of anger. He glared at them all and said, “Enough of your nonsensical talk! First, go and wash your own tongues in those sacred tanks you mentioned, and cleanse yourselves of your own sins!”

“Oh ho! Do you think we have incurred sin just by uttering the names of Rama and Lakshmana? Not so! The very name of this kshetra is Rameswaram; it is the place where Rama worshipped Shiva, the Lord of Lords, and freed himself from sin. Along with that, any taint associated with the name of Rama has also been washed away!” declared a zealous Saivite priest.

“Oh, you crown jewels of ignorance! Why do you keep babbling such nonsense? You haven’t even understood the true meaning of this holy place’s name!”

“Let’s see if you know—go on, tell us!”

“Because Shiva severed one of Brahma’s heads, he was afflicted with the sin of Brahmahatya. It was here, at this sacred spot, that Shiva, touched by the feet of Rama—who is none other than the full incarnation of Vishnu—came to rid himself of that sin. Since it is the place where Shiva was worshipped by Rama, it is called Rameswaram! Have you understood now, you peerless gems among fools?” thundered Azhwarkkadiyan.

“Who are you to call us peerless fools? Hey, stick-wielder! Have you grown horns on your head?” one of the priests shouted angrily.

“No, sir, priest! I have not grown horns on my head; it is only in my hand that I carry this staff! You asked who I am, did you not? I shall tell you. I am the servant of the servants of Nammazhwar, who was born in Thirukkurugur and rendered the Vedas into Tamil!” “The man who cracks skulls with his staff!” he said, raising his stick for all to see.

“O devotee of Alwarkadiyan! Why do you wear your kudumi at the front of your head? If you shaved that off as well, your skull would be the same inside and out!” mocked a Saivite.

“Priests! I had come to this sacred kshetra with the very intention of removing my kudumi before you. You have reminded me just in time!...”

“Hey! Go to the barber’s street and fetch a barber! Tell him to sharpen his razor well! We can have this fellow’s tuft uprooted, root and all!” said a priest.

“Why call a barber for this? We can do the service ourselves! Bring a good sharp knife!” said another Saivite.

“Wait a moment; there’s still one thing left to do. Once, my head was covered with thick hair. I took a vow that I would break a Saivite’s skull and then pluck a single hair from my head. According to that vow, three-quarters and a half of my hair