As soon as Vandiyathevan said, “Draw your sword from its sheath!” the prince cried out, “Here, I have drawn it!” and unsheathed his sword with a flourish. At that very moment, Vandiyathevan too drew his sword from its scabbard. These were no ordinary blades—they were grand, monstrous swords. The men who had come with their horses and halted near the sacred Bodhi tree at Anuradhapura had handed over these very swords before departing.

The prince leapt down from his horse and said sternly, “Come, get down! I can no longer endure your endless speeches! We must settle this here and now, with our own hands, before we leave!” Vandiyathevan was taken aback. He could not tell if this was mere sport or deadly earnest. Yet, since the prince had already dismounted, he too was compelled to follow suit.

“What is this, sir! Why do you hesitate? Did you not try to humiliate me last night? Did you not say that your grandfather’s palace courtyard was guarded by my ancestors? Did you not claim that poets watched as their umbrellas and palanquins were snatched away, and bore it in silence? The more I think of it, the less I can bear it. One of us must settle this matter here and now before we move on!” So saying, the prince gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and, spinning it, advanced towards Vandiyathevan.

Yes, as we have said, this was no ordinary sword. No matter how strong a man might be, it was a great feat to hold it upright with one hand. Only by gripping it with both hands could one swing it and strike at an enemy.

When the prince thus spun the sword with both hands, he no longer appeared as the delicate, pampered royal youth raised amidst palace luxuries. He seemed instead like the ancient heroes—like Bhima, Arjuna, and Abhimanyu. In his very form, he resembled the battle-scarred Vijayalaya Chola, who bore ninety-six wounds, and the valiant Rajaditya Deva, who fell atop his elephant. He stood there, a living reminder that he was descended from such a heroic lineage, radiating martial splendor and grandeur.

Vandiyathevan too gripped his sword with both hands and began to swing it. At first, confusion and hesitation held sway in his mind. But as the moments passed, his resolve hardened. The frenzy of valor surged within him. Though his opponent was the prince, worthy of his respect and loyalty... He forgot. He even forgot why this fight had begun. Before his eyes, only the enemy’s whirling dagger remained. His entire attention was fixed on a single thought: how to escape being struck by that blade, how to knock it aside and wound his opponent in return.

The speed at which the daggers spun, the force with which they clashed—clang! clang!—against one another, began at a measured tempo, passed through a moderate pace, and now surged into a furious tempo. At first, even Azhwarkkadiyan could not comprehend the prince’s intention. Yet, he was certain there must be some purpose behind it. Perhaps it was a strategy to halt the approaching riders, to discover who they were, and to decide what action should be taken accordingly. Therefore, he let both warriors’ horses stand crosswise in the middle of the road, seized their reins, and waited.

The mounted warriors who had been approaching from the opposite direction now drew near. When Azhwarkkadiyan saw the tiger banner fluttering among them, his anxiety vanished. They are our men—but who could they be?

The heralds at the front of the party announced the answer with resounding voices.

“Victorious is the commander of the Lankan forces who routed Mahinda’s armies in the war of Eelam, the mighty Kodumbalur Periya Velar, Bhoothi Vikrama Kesari Maharaja, who took the head of the valiant Pandiyan at the battle of Vaigai! Hurrah!” thundered a voice like rolling thunder.

“Victorious is the scion of the Pallava clan—the peerless hero who took the head of the valiant Pandiyan at the battle of Vaigai, the conqueror of the Vengi army at the battle of Vadapennai, Parakrama Bhoopathi, Parthibendra Varman! Hurrah!” echoed another thunderous voice.

Behind these heralds rode about thirty horsemen. At their center, mounted on splendid white steeds, sat the imposing commander Periya Velar and Parthibendran. Following the cavalry, a great elephant advanced, bearing a howdah.

A little distance further back, the infantry could be seen, their ranks blurred by a cloud of dust. The horsemen in the vanguard, delayed by the obstruction in their path, appeared visibly displeased.

“Who is that?” “Move aside!” “Clear the way!” came several voices.

Afterwards, the secretive murmurs of the crowd—those “kasamusa kasamusa” whispers—and exclamations of astonishment, “Oh ho!” and “Ah ha!” arose.

The warriors leapt down from their horses. They surrounded those who had fought with knives, standing guard.

Both Boothi Vikrama Kesari and Parthibendran had also dismounted from their horses and set foot on the ground. They came forward to stand at the forefront of the warriors.

Parthibendran was bristling with agitation. He turned to Vikrama Kesari and said, “Did you see? Was I right or not about Vallaththaan? What a blustering braggart! He has begun to display his tricks right before the prince himself. Are we to stand by and watch this in silence?…” As he spoke, he raised the knife in his hand.

Boothi Vikrama Kesari caught his hand and restrained him. “Wait a moment, let us see! What a marvelous knife-fight! It has been so many days since I witnessed such a thing,” he said.

The foot soldiers—about three hundred of them—who had come up from behind, now joined the gathering. They formed a circle and began to watch the spectacle.

Meanwhile, a woman descended from the howdah atop the elephant. She slipped between the horses and the warriors, coming to stand at the very front of the watching circle. The excitement that had taken hold of her face at that moment is beyond description. As the knives flashed and darted here