Two thousand years ago—one thousand years before the time in which this story takes place—there lived a Sinhalese king named Valahambahu. Even during his reign, the Tamil army marched upon Lanka. At that time, Valahambahu fled from his capital and hid himself in a mountain cave at a place called Thambalai. Later, he gathered his forces once more and recaptured Anuradhapura. In gratitude to the mountain cave that had given him refuge, he further excavated it and transformed it into a temple. To express his thanks to Lord Buddha, he had numerous Buddha statues, both large and small, fashioned within that cave.

The sculptors who created those hundreds of Buddha images were not satisfied that they had fully displayed their artistic prowess. Therefore, amidst the Buddha statues, they also carved a few images of Hindu deities. Even today, those marvelous wonders of sculpture can be seen in the cave temple in the village of Thambalai.

When Vandiyathevan entered that sacred place, it seemed to him as though he had stepped into a new world. The fragrance of fresh flowers intoxicated his senses. At the street corners, heaps of lotus buds and champaka blossoms were piled high. Devotees bought these flowers and carried them in beautiful palm-leaf baskets as they made their way toward the temple. The throngs of worshippers, both women and men, filled the streets as they proceeded. Here and there, Buddhist monks clad in ochre robes could be seen. The great cry of “Sadhu, Sadhu!” rose from the crowd of devotees.

All these sights filled Vandiyathevan with wonder. Turning to Azhwarkkadiyan, he said, “We thought we were coming to the center of war. But isn’t this a Buddhist holy place?”

“Yes, my friend! For a thousand years now, this has been a renowned Buddhist shrine,” replied Azhwarkkadiyan.

“But you said it was under the control of the Chola army?”

“Yes; and I still say so.”

“But I don’t see any Chola soldiers here.”

“They are stationed outside the town, in the barracks. Such is the prince’s command.” “Which prince?”

“Why do you ask? The very prince we have come seeking!”

“I meant to ask you about that. Parthibendran, having searched for the prince here and found nothing, is now heading back. What is the use in us searching here again?”

“Just because that Pallavan says ‘he is not here,’ should I believe it? I will search and see for myself. Did Prahlada believe Hiranyakashipu when he said there is no god called Hari?”

“Oh! Brave Vaishnavite! In our land, you are always quarreling with the Shaivites, aren’t you? Here, so many Buddhist monks are passing by, yet you remain silent. What is the reason? Are you frightened by the crowd of enemies and have you lost your nerve?”

“Brother! What is fear? What does it look like?”

“It is black, monstrous, as big as an elephant. Haven’t you seen it?”

“No,” said Azhwarkadiyan, and then he approached two men who were watching the street from the roadside. They appeared to be Tamils. After conversing with them for a while, Azhwarkadiyan returned.

“Vaishnavite! What did you ask them? Did you ask whether Vishnu is greater or the Buddha? If you ask anyone in this town, they will say, ‘the Buddha is greater.’ Haven’t you seen how magnificent each Buddha statue is?”

“Brother, I have left all my fierce Vaishnavism tied up in a bundle at Rameswaram and come here on royal business. Do you understand?”

“Then what did you ask those men? Did you inquire about the prince?”

“No; I asked what special event is happening in this town today.”

“What did they say?”

“They said that today, two Chinese pilgrims are expected to arrive here; in their honor, there is to be a festival at the Buddhist vihara. That is why the town is so festive.”

“Where are these Chinese pilgrims coming from?”

“They say they arrived here yesterday and then went on to Simhagiri. Now, it seems, they are returning from Simhagiri and will be here shortly.”

“Where is Simhagiri?”

“It is not far from here—just within earshot. It still remains under the control of the Sinhalese. If it were daytime, you could see it from here. At the summit of Simhagiri hill stands a formidable fortress. Within a cave there, there are marvelous, unfading murals. The Chinese pilgrims must have gone there to see those paintings. They must have struggled greatly to climb up and down the hill… Look, there!”

At the spot Alwarkadiyan pointed out, a grandly adorned elephant was approaching. In its howdah sat two men. Their appearance and attire made it clear that they were the Chinese pilgrims. The mahout, holding an ankus, sat astride the elephant’s neck. Crowds of people surrounded the elephant, raising all manner of jubilant shouts.

“Did you see?” asked Alwarkadiyan.

“I saw, I saw! Amma! What a huge elephant! Shall we look to see if there’s a ditch nearby?”

“No, no, it’s enough if we just step aside from the street.”

So, as the elephant drew near, they moved to the edge of the road. The elephant passed them by, the crowd following in its wake.

Vandiyathevan fixed his gaze on the pilgrim seated in the howdah. He marveled at the devotion of those Chinese, who had journeyed so far, crossing countless seas, to visit the sacred Buddhist shrines. It was only right that such honors were being accorded to them here. But how astonishing it was that, even in a time of war, their pilgrimage was allowed to proceed undisturbed! Surely, this must be the arrangement of Prince Arulmozhi Varman. Only he was capable of such magnanimous deeds. But where was he now? Was it possible to find him? Had all his struggles, traveling with this Vaishnavite through so many hardships, been in vain?

“Thambi! Did you see?” asked Alwarkadiyan.

“I saw.”

“What did you notice?”

“The faces of the Chinese pilgrims looked pale, and their attire was strange…”

“I did not ask about the pilgrims.”

“Then?”