The prince abruptly halted his tale and asked, “Did either of you hear the sound of footsteps?”

His two companions, who had been listening with rapt attention, replied that they had heard nothing.

After a moment’s pause, Azhwarkkadiyan said, “The place where we are sitting now feels warmer than before!”

“There’s even a faint smell of smoke!” said Vandiyathevan.

“Sir! There’s no danger in this place, is there?” Azhwarkkadiyan asked anxiously.

“If there were any danger, Kaveri Amman herself would surely come and warn us. Do not worry!” said the prince, and continued his story.

“We left that place at once, spurring our horses forward. Even so, ten of our soldiers were struck down with fever. Ah, that fever is a terrible thing. It can turn even the bravest warrior into a coward. Men who would not flinch from wounds in battle, after three days of fever, would lose heart and begin to say, ‘I must return home.’ I believed it was Durga Parameswari, the guardian goddess of the Cholas, who came in the form of that mute woman and made us leave that place. Even after that, the goddess did not abandon me. Wherever I went, she continued to follow me. Wild beasts, mountain serpents, hidden enemies—she protected me from all such dangers. She would appear suddenly, and vanish just as suddenly. In a few days, I gained the power to converse with that goddess through expressions and gestures. Most of the time, whatever she thought in her heart, my own heart would come to know. Not only that; even without seeing her with my eyes, I would sense where she was nearby. Even now… Well, enough. You both go at once and lie down in your beds. Even if sleep does not come, pretend to sleep! Quickly!” said the prince. In this manner, the two of them lay down to sleep. They tried to close their eyes. But the eagerness that possessed them refused to let their eyelids shut.

As they watched, a figure appeared near the moonlit balcony. It was the same woman they had seen earlier, standing opposite the ruined mansion on the street. A very soft “hush” sound came from her. Arulmozhi Varman rose and went to the edge of the balcony. The figure standing outside made some sign. The prince pointed towards his companions who were lying in the room. In the language of gestures, some reply was given to that as well.

Immediately, Arulmozhi Varman told his two friends to follow him and left the mansion. The three of them walked silently along the path the old woman took. On either side, trees grew thick, shrouding the path in darkness. After they had walked a considerable distance, suddenly, in the moonlight, they beheld a wondrous sight. Huge black elephants stood in rows, guarding a magnificent stupa. At the sight, Vandiyathevan felt as if his breath had stopped. But the old woman, without the slightest hesitation, walked towards the group of elephants. Only when Alwarkadiyan, leaning close to Vandiyathevan, whispered, “Did you see how lifelike those elephant statues are?” did Vandiyathevan’s astonishment subside. Yet his sense of wonder did not leave him.

The elephant statues stood close together, as if supporting the mountain-like stupa. Each one had two long tusks. Among the hundreds of elephants standing in such a row, only one had a broken tusk. The old woman went near that elephant. She removed a large black stone lying at its feet. Beneath it, a staircase was revealed. She descended by that way, and the others followed her. After going a short distance along a narrow passage, they came upon a mandapam. In it, two large oil lamps were burning.

The old woman took one of the lamps and held it in her hand. With a gesture, she indicated that only the prince should come with her. At first, the other two were a little concerned about this. But when they saw that the old woman was merely showing the prince the paintings on the walls of the mandapam, their worry lessened somewhat.

The pictures that the prince saw on the walls of that hall appeared to be a series of paintings narrating, in sequence, the events of some story. Much like the manner in which the previous incarnations of Lord Buddha are depicted in the Buddhist viharas, these paintings too were arranged. But these did not portray the incarnations of Buddha. Instead, they depicted the story of a mortal woman. The features of the woman in those paintings closely resembled the face of the old woman now holding the lamp and showing him the way. Thus, the prince easily understood that this mute woman had painted her own life story upon these walls.

The first painting showed a young woman standing alone on an island surrounded by the sea, while her father returned from fishing, riding a raft. Next, the woman was shown walking through the forest. Upon the branch of a tree, a young man sat—he looked like a royal prince. A bear was climbing up that very tree. The prince, unaware, was looking off in another direction. The woman screamed and ran. The bear chased after her. The young man leapt down from the tree and hurled his spear at the bear. A fierce battle ensued between the bear and the youth. The woman, leaning against a coconut tree, watched the fight between the bear and the young man. At last, the bear fell dead. The youth approached the woman and expressed his gratitude to her. But she, without replying, wept silently. Afterwards, she ran and brought her father. The fisherman explained to the youth that his daughter was mute and could not speak. The prince was saddened at first, but soon his sorrow faded, and he befriended her. He plucked wildflowers from the forest, wove them into a garland, and placed it around her neck. The two wandered hand in hand through the woods.

One day, a great ship