The streets of Pazhaiyarai that day were in a state of commotion the likes of which had never been seen before. Crowds upon crowds of people streamed towards the part of the city where the royal palaces stood. Men and women, the old and the young, youths and children, all moved in groups, making their way together. Among them were Shaivites and Vaishnavites; Buddhists and Jains mingled in the throng. Here and there, a few fierce Kalāmukha ascetics, known for their severe vows, could also be seen amidst the crowd.

Many among the people wept and wailed as they went. Some cursed the Pazhuvettaraiyars loudly as they walked. Here and there, some youths could be seen carrying sticks in their hands. From time to time, they would strike each other’s sticks, making a sharp clacking sound as they walked. Whenever the sound of the sticks echoed, some would mutter, “Strike like that on the heads of the Pazhuvettaraiyars!” while others shouted it aloud. Among those who shouted, the Kalāmukhas were the most prominent.

The façades of the principal royal palaces in Pazhaiyarai were shaped like crescent moons. All the palaces together shared a vast open courtyard in front, known as the Nilā Muttam—the Moon Courtyard. On special occasions, this courtyard was spacious enough to hold tens of thousands of people. Surrounding the courtyard on the outside was a high enclosing wall. That wall had three gates. At each gate, a few palace guards stood watch.

The surging crowds now began to gather near all three gates of the Moon Courtyard. With every passing moment, the crowd grew denser. Only the two messengers who had brought the news, along with the town servants who had escorted them, were allowed inside by the palace guards. All others were stopped and held back.

But it was not possible to restrain them for long. From somewhere within the crowd, voices began to rise, calling out, “Go inside! Go inside!” Those at the back pushed those in front. Was it not like the waves of the sea, each one pushing the next, until at last a great wave crashes upon the shore? So it was with this human sea. Those in front, pressed by those behind, surged forward, pushing aside the guards at the gates and pouring into the courtyard.

That was all it took! Just as a small breach on the banks of the Kaveri quickly widens, letting the floodwaters rush through with a roar—so too did the crowd now flood into the palace grounds. The people surged into the moonlit courtyard with a thunderous commotion. In a short while, the courtyard was filled to the brim. Thousands had gathered there.

As the crowd broke past the guards and poured into the moonlit courtyard, the uproar they caused reached the ears of Sembiyan Maadevi, who was conversing with Madurantakan. She immediately ceased her debate with the prince and moved to the front balcony of the palace’s upper floor. The moment the multitude beheld the divine visage of that venerable matriarch, her serene countenance, and her folded hands raised in benediction, the tumult of that oceanic crowd subsided. For a few moments, silence reigned there.

“Mother! Where is our prince? Where is Ponniyin Selvan? Where is Arulmozhi Varman, the apple of your eye?” voices rose from the crowd.

That was enough; the uproar in that sea of people swelled many times over.

Sembiyan Maadevi stood bewildered, as if she understood nothing. She knew only this: some danger had befallen Ponniyin Selvan, who had stolen the hearts of the people of Pazhaiyarai. But what was that danger? How had it come about? Had the Pazhuvettaraiyars committed some terrible deed, bringing an indelible stain upon the Chola dynasty and upon Madurantakan?

At that moment, the messengers from Thanjavur forced their way through the crowd and came forward. One of the attendants who had brought them announced, “Perumatti! They have come from Thanjavur bearing important news!”

Sembiyan Maadevi gestured for the crowd to be calm and turned to the messengers. “What news have you brought?” she asked.

“Mother! We are the unfortunate bearers of grievous tidings. By the Emperor’s command, Prince Arulmozhi Varman was sailing from Lanka to Kodikkarai; on the way, the ship was caught in a cyclone. The vessel that accompanied him broke apart and sank. To save those aboard, the prince leapt into the sea. He has not been found since. Arrangements have been made to search the sea and the shores. The Emperor and the daughter of Malayaman, upon hearing this news, are plunged in deep sorrow. The Emperor has sent word through us, asking that you, Lord Madurandakan, and the young princess depart at once for Thanjavur!”

Thus, the words spoken by the messengers reached the ears of Sembiyan Maadevi. At the same moment, they fell upon the ears of the gathered crowd as well. Tears welled up in torrents from Sembiyan Maadevi’s eyes. Witnessing this, the people cried out all the more, “Oh!” in anguish.

One among those standing at the front of the assembly called out, “Mother! You must not go to Thanjai; nor should the young princess go to Thanjai! The Emperor must be made to come here!”

Another shouted, “It is a lie that Ponniyin Selvan drowned in the sea; it is the Pazhuvettaraiyars who must have killed him!”

Yet another voice declared, “Madhurantakan too should not go to Thanjai. He must remain here!”

Voices cried out, “Where is the young princess? We wish to see her!”

Sembiyan Maadevi turned to one of the attendants beside her and instructed her to summon the princess.

At that very moment, Azhwarkadiyan, who had mingled with the crowd below, quietly slipped away. Taking his usual shortcut, he swiftly made his way to the house with the flag, where Kundavai Devi was tending to Vanathi, who was just regaining consciousness. He relayed to her the last words the young princess had spoken to Vandiyathevan, and informed her of the tumult unfolding in the