The blacksmith was absorbed in his work for a while. Only after Vandiyathevan had knocked two or three times did he look up.

“Who are you, son? What do you want? Do you need a sword, a spear, or something of the sort? These days, there’s hardly any need for swords and spears, is there? Where do you intend to go with a sword?” asked the blacksmith.

“What is this, sir, that you say? You are working on a sword with your own hands, and yet you claim there is no need for swords?” said Vandiyathevan.

“This is just some rare job that’s come my way; someone brought in this old sword to be reforged. A few years ago, when the wars in Pandya country and the northern regions were raging, this workshop would be piled high with swords and spears, like mountains. Even when the Lanka war first began, there was brisk demand for weapons. Now, no one asks for swords or spears. People only come to sell their old swords and spears to me. Perhaps you too have come for that?”

“No, no! For a while yet, I still need my sword. Once I finish the task I have undertaken, then I’ll take up a cymbal in my hand, sing the Thevaram hymns, and set out on a pilgrimage to Shiva’s holy shrines. If you wish, I’ll bring my weapons to you then and hand them over.”

“Then, why have you come looking for me now?”

“I left my horse up on the mound. I have a long way yet to travel. I hear that horseshoes of iron are fitted to horses’ hooves to protect them. Can you do that?”

“Yes, that’s the custom in Arabia. Here too, some people have started fitting iron shoes to horses’ hooves. I have a little experience with that work myself.”

“Will you shoe my horse?”

“That will take quite some time. I must finish the work at hand before I can take up your task.” Vandiyathevan pondered; he too was weary. His horse was exhausted as well. He decided to wait a while, and then proceed, fitting armor to the horse’s hooves as they went.

“I’ll wait until you finish your work, but after that, you’ll do mine at once, won’t you?”

“What’s the trouble in that? Of course, I will!”

For a short while, Vandiyathevan watched the sword that the blacksmith was heating and hammering.

“This sword has an unusual workmanship, doesn’t it? It looks like a royal blade. Whose sword is this?” he asked.

“My lord! A little distance from here flows a river called the Arichandra.”

“I’ve heard of it too. But what of it?”

“It is my habit to go to the Arichandra river and bathe my head in its waters often.”

“A very good practice. The journey itself is a merit.”

“Therefore, as much as possible, I have resolved always to speak the truth, never to utter a lie.”

“What objection is there to that? Who asked you to lie? I didn’t, did I?”

“If you hadn’t asked me anything about this sword, I could have kept my vow and not lied!”

“Oh! Is that how it is?” thought Vandiyathevan to himself. “Well, I haven’t asked anything. You need not break your vow. Just finish your work quickly and then take up mine and do it for me!”

The blacksmith silently focused on his task.

Vandiyathevan gazed at the sword for a while. Near its hilt, at the base, he noticed a fish engraved. He was astonished. Why was there a fish? Did it have any significance? Or was it merely ornamental?

The blacksmith once again placed the fish-shaped object into the fire, heating it until it glowed, and then struck it with his hammer. It seemed his intention was to obliterate the fish shape so that it could no longer be recognized. Vandiyathevan wondered what purpose this act could serve.

As he pondered, his eyes began to grow heavy. For many days, the goddess of sleep, Nithradevi, whom he had managed to keep at bay, now cast her enchanting net over him with renewed strength. Vandiyathevan could not escape her grasp. After sitting for a while, he slumped over and fell asleep. Soon, he lay down beside the blacksmith’s furnace and drifted into a deep slumber.

In his sleep, Vallavaraiyan was tormented by dreadful dreams. One dream was about the dagger. Someone came and asked the blacksmith to return the dagger. The blacksmith handed it over.

“What payment do you want?” the man asked.

“I want no payment. Let it be my offering to the Young Queen of Pazhuvoor,” replied the blacksmith.

“Be careful! No one must know of this matter. Above all, never utter the name of the Young Queen of Pazhuvoor! Do you know what we will do if you do?”

“Why would I, sir, ever mention the name of the Queen of Pazhuvoor? I will not tell a soul.”

“Look, there’s a young man lying here! You’re speaking so loudly!”

“He is in a deep sleep. Even thunder would not wake him.”

“If we ever suspect that he has found out, throw him into the fire of this forge and be done with him!”

At the end of this conversation, Vandiyathevan dreamed that the blacksmith and the owner of the dagger dragged him and were about to throw him into the furnace. Then the dream changed.

Vandiyathevan was now being led to hell by the messengers of Yama. Yama, the Lord of Death, inquired about Vandiyathevan’s deeds on earth.

“He is an expert in lying. There is no measure to the number of lies he has told,” said Chitragupta, consulting the scroll in his hand.

“No, no! I told those lies only in service of the royal family. I lied only to accomplish the tasks I undertook.”

“A lie is a lie, no matter the reason. Cast him into the great fiery pit of hell!” commanded Yama. Instantly, from the depths of