There is nothing in this world as mysterious and unfathomable as life itself. Who can say how happiness arrives, or how sorrow descends? For ages, the sky has shone, unblemished and serene. Then, all of a sudden, dark clouds gather; every direction is shrouded in darkness, thunder roars, lightning flashes, and rain pours down in torrents. Sometimes, it seems as if wind itself has vanished from the world. Even the leaves of the trees stand motionless. Then, from somewhere, a whirlwind arises and sweeps through with fury. In its wake, mighty trees are uprooted and topple to the ground. The lush green groves that just moments before stretched skyward in tranquil beauty are now transformed into a devastated forest, as if Hanuman himself had laid waste to Ashokavana.

Such a whirlwind was now raging through Kundavai’s life. Until recently, she had not known the meaning of worry. Life had been an unbroken festival of joy. Love and affection, dance and song, poetry and painting, jewels and adornments, pleasure gardens and graceful boats—these were what she believed life to be, as her days passed in delight. Her father, her mothers, her elder brother, her younger brother, ministers, teachers, nurses, and friends—all regarded the young princess as the very apple of their eye. Sorrow was something she knew only as a creation of poetry and drama, a thing of imagination.

But when suffering finally came to this fortunate one, it struck her again and again without respite. Her father’s condition was a cause for grave concern. The kingdom itself was beset by great trials. Her brothers were far away in distant lands. Astrologers and soothsayers spoke in riddles, foretelling some great calamity about to befall the Chola dynasty. Secret conspiracies were brewing in the land. The people were plunged into an unnamed, pervasive fear.

Born into a lineage of warriors with hearts of diamond, Kundavai possessed the courage to face all this with valor. She had a steadfast faith that, with her sharp intellect, she could overcome any danger threatening her family or her kingdom. Yet, a small incident in her life—an unexpected encounter—had softened her diamond heart and shaken her courage. When Kundavai met Vandiyathevan, the lotus of her heart, which until then had remained a closed bud, blossomed open. But what misfortune! At that very moment, a black beetle crept into the heart of that flower and, stinging it with its venom, caused its delicate petals to fall! Alas! What agony! How much pain did the thought that the valiant scion of the Vanara clan might be imprisoned somewhere bring her? How cruelly did the dreadful words that he might have been killed rend her heart? How hard she had to struggle to keep such torment from showing on her face! Though she had parents, kin, siblings, and dearest friends—so many loved ones—why did her heart flutter so for someone who was a mere traveler passing by, someone she had met only two or three times by chance? Why should