As he neared the stream, Vandiyathevan clearly recognized that the young princess seated in the boat was none other than Kundavai herself. Since Azhwarkkadiyan was standing nearby, Vandiyathevan hesitated and paused.

“Why are you standing there, my friend?” said Azhwarkkadiyan. “The young princess has been waiting for you a long time. As soon as you board the boat, first tell her the good news: ‘The prince has arrived; he is safe.’ Don’t waste time recounting your heroic exploits! I am leaving now. Today, in Pazhayarai, we have unleashed the demon of chaos. Let me see if I can catch it and lock it up again. How many troubles your reckless adventures have caused!” With these words, Azhwarkkadiyan hurried away the way he had come.

Vandiyathevan was filled with wonder. How does he know all these details? He never asked me a single thing! Is it all guesswork? Or does he truly know everything? Among the Andis, there are two kinds: those who are Andis by lineage, and those who become Andis out of necessity; it seems there are two kinds among spies as well. I became a spy out of urgency; that’s why I keep landing in trouble. This Vaishnavan seems to be a hereditary spy; that’s why he does his work calmly and without any fuss. But for whom is he working? Is everything he told me about himself true?

Thinking thus, Vandiyathevan reached the bank of the stream and looked at the princess’s face in the boat. He forgot Azhwarkkadiyan. He forgot the mission he had just completed. He forgot the world—he even forgot himself.

Ah! This maiden’s face has never left his thoughts, not even for a moment. In dreams and in waking, in storm and on mountain, in forest and in the midst of the sea, it has always been with him. Yet what a wonder! When seen in person, why does the beauty of this face seem even greater? Why does his throat feel choked? Why does his heart beat so wildly?

Without conscious thought, Vandiyathevan stepped into the water, waded a few paces, and climbed into the boat. The princess signaled to the boatman, and the boat began to move. Vandiyathevan’s heart, too, began to sway. “Nimithakkara! Do you tell omens only for princes? Will you tell them for me as well? How do you divine omens? Do you look at the planets and stars in the sky? Or do you watch the crows and sparrows? Do you read the lines of the palm?… It seems you tell omens by reading faces. Otherwise, why do you keep staring fixedly at my face? If you behave so, no woman of noble birth will ever come to you to ask for omens!” said the young princess, her words ringing in Vandiyathevan’s ears like the sweet chime of anklets.

“My lady! I was not looking at your face to tell your fortune. I was only trying to recall where I had seen such a face before, as if I had glimpsed it somewhere, some time ago…”

“I know, I know! I know you are a master of forgetfulness. Let me remind you. Nearly forty days ago, you saw me for the first time at the house of the Kudanthai astrologer. Then, on that very day, you saw me again on the banks of the Arasalar river.”

“My lady! Please, stop! I cannot believe your words. Was it only forty days ago that I saw you for the first time? Was it not forty thousand years ago? Have I not seen you a hundred thousand times in a hundred different births? Did I not see you at the foot of a hill? Did I not see you atop a mountain peak? Did I not see you by the edge of a spring? Did I not save you when you came running, chased by a fierce tiger in the heart of a dense forest? Did I not hurl my spear and kill that tiger? At that time, I was a hunter roaming the woods! I caught beautiful parrots with multicolored wings in my net and brought them to you. You took those birds from me, released them to fly into the sky, and laughed with delight. Once, I was a fisherman. I traveled to distant lakes and rivers, caught silver fish, golden fish, emerald fish, and brought them to you. You took them from me and released them again into the flowing water, watching them dart away with joy. I journeyed to faraway seas, dived into the ocean’s depths, gathered pearls and corals, and brought them to you. You measured them in your hands, then called the little boys and girls of the village and poured the pearls and corals into their tiny palms. From the ilandhai tree that had grown for three hundred years, I waited for the fruit that ripens once every thirty years, plucked it, and offered it to you. You gave it to the naganavai bird you had raised, and watched with delight as it pecked and ate the fruit. I went to the celestial realm and brought you the mandara flowers that bloom there, and scattered them before you. ‘The beauty and fragrance of the jasmine that blooms on our garden fence far surpass these…’ “Would it suffice?” you asked. I brought you the incomparable ruby necklace worn by Devendran himself. “Would I, a woman of virtue, touch the garland worn by Indra the Immoral?” you replied. I journeyed to Kailasa, and after performing penance before Goddess Parvati, I brought back the anklet she wears at her divine feet. I promised to adorn your feet with it. “Oh no! How could the golden anklet of the Mother of the Universe touch my feet? What a sacrilege! Take it back and return it at once!” you cried.

I went to the battlefield, conquered the kings of sixty-four lands, gathered all their jeweled crowns, and laid them as an offering before you. You kicked those crowns