The next morning, Vandiyathevan was riding along the banks of the Arisil River toward the city of Kudanthai, carrying a palm-leaf letter from the Chief Minister Aniruddhar. He did not urge his horse to gallop, but let it amble gently, taking in the delightful sights that unfolded on either side of the path. In the early days of the month of Aippasi, the land of Chola was resplendent in all its glory. Nature herself, as if a queen, wore a robe of green silk and shone with the beauty of youthful maidenhood. How many shades of green adorned that silken garment! The paddy fields, ripe and ready for harvest, were of one hue; the young crops, transplanted some weeks earlier, were of another; and the newly planted, tender golden-green shoots glowed with yet another shade! The leaves that flourished on the banyan trees were one kind of green; the trembling foliage of the peepal trees, another; the lotus leaves, thick and sprawling in the ponds, held a magical green; the banana leaves dazzled with their own verdant brilliance; the coconut saplings bore a pale, ivory-tinged green; the earth itself was carpeted with fresh grass; the streams shimmered with the green of clear water; and the frogs leaping here and there in the water added their own shade to the tapestry.

To highlight the beauty of this green silk robe, blue lilies, white lotuses, red lotuses, and the crimson blooms of the Sengazhuneer flower sparkled here and there, like stars embroidered upon it. Vandiyathevan drank in all this beauty with his eyes as he journeyed on. He was keenly aware of the difference between the scenes he now beheld and those he had witnessed when he had traveled this way in the month of Aadi. Then, the river had been in spate, surging and foaming with fresh floods. Now, the force and fury of the current had subsided; the water had lost its reddish tinge, become clear as crystal, and flowed along in cheerful procession. The roar of the new flood, the tumult of the wind striking the branches, and the cacophony of thousands of birds had then sounded like the revelry of a grand festival. Today, in the cool, gentle breeze, the rustling of leaves, the gurgle of water in the canals, the varied croaks of frogs awaiting the rain, and the humming of countless insects all blended together to form a plaintive symphony, as if Nature’s queen herself was singing a sorrowful song.

Within Vandiyathevan’s heart, too, a strange, indefinable sadness had taken root. He searched and searched for the cause, but could not discern it. In truth, there was every reason for him to be filled with boundless joy— There were reasons. All the dreams he had spun when he traveled this way two months ago—every one of them had come true. Even things he had never dared to hope for, not even in his dreams, had come to pass. He had had audience with Sundara Chola Chakravarthi!