When Vandiyathevan saw that lightning had struck and set fire to the top of the catamaran, he became certain that there was no longer any escape for that wooden craft. Therefore, he too could not hope to escape with his life. Yet, even at that moment, Vandiyathevan felt not the slightest distress. Instead, his heart brimmed with enthusiasm, and he laughed aloud. He untied the rope that bound him to the catamaran. Was it not better to sink quietly to the bottom of the sea in the cool water, rather than to burn alive in the middle of the ocean?

Vandiyathevan did not wish to waste even the few moments left in his life. In the glow of the burning boat, he looked all around, eager to savor the wild beauty of the raging sea. Was it not fitting to take a good look at the very place where his body would soon find its watery grave? Do they not say that those who die such untimely deaths will have their souls wander forever around the place where they perished? Would his spirit, too, hover above these waters? Would it float in the wind? Would it roam upon the waves? When the whirlwinds blew, would his soul also circle restlessly?

“Ah! Perhaps, one day, the Princess of the Cholas will sail upon this sea in a royal ship. The sailors will point and say, ‘Here is the spot where Vandiyathevan sank with his boat!’ If tears should well up in her spear-bright eyes and fall like pearls upon her moonlike face, if, as a spirit, I could be near to witness that sight—would I be able to wipe away her tears?”

The boat climbed to the crest of a giant wave. In the light cast by the burning catamaran, the surroundings were visible for a great distance. The sea, dark as polished onyx, gleamed wherever the fire’s glow touched it, shining like molten gold. Even as Vandiyathevan was marveling at the wonder of this beauty, something else caught his eye and drew his attention.

A short distance away, he saw a wooden boat. Upon it, the tiger flag fluttered in the wind.

“God! There seems to be no limit to Your miracles! The one coming in that boat must surely be Prince Arulmozhi himself. He is coming in search of me,” his inner voice declared.

The very same whirlwind that had ensnared and tossed about the ship Vandiyathevan was aboard, now caught Parthibendran’s vessel as well. But on this ship were sailors who understood the nature of such storms and were masters in the art of navigation. The mats spread across the decks were swiftly rolled up and secured. They steered the ship with expert hands, adjusting the helm so that the full force of the wind did not strike the vessel head-on.

One moment, the ship would tilt so steeply that it seemed certain to capsize; the next, it would right itself and stand firm. No matter how many