Part Three – The Sword of Slaughter

The night before the new moon, darkness had fully descended. Black clouds, rising from the northern horizon, had now spread across the entire sky, veiling it completely. Not a single star twinkled in the heavens. Only the fireflies flitting over trees and bushes lent a faint glimmer. By their feeble light, Vandiyathevan guided his horse onward. Where was he going, for what purpose, and would any good come of it? None of these questions had clear answers. Danger had befallen the beloved companion of Princess Kundavai. It was his duty to try and save her. Beyond that, there was God!

Even after riding for a full naazhigai, he could not find the palanquin. A doubt crept into Vandiyathevan’s mind—had he embarked on a madman’s errand? He reined in his horse. At that moment, a sound reached him from a little distance away. He listened intently. It was the sound of hoofbeats. Yes, a horse! Was it only one horse, or several? Perhaps these were the horsemen escorting the palanquin. He would have to proceed with caution—he must not be caught in the midst of a large group. That would be of no help to Vanathi Devi; his own mission would also be ruined…

Slowly, pausing often, he dismounted and led his horse on foot. Soon, he was able to ascertain that only a single horse was ahead. After a short while, the horse ahead seemed to be climbing a sloping embankment. Vandiyathevan wished to remain hidden, so as not to be discovered following. He looked around carefully. Nearby stood a ruined mandapam, its walls collapsed in places. He led his horse close and stopped behind a crumbling wall. Fixing his gaze on the embankment, he strained his eyes in the darkness to watch the horse ahead.

“Who is there?” A voice startled Vandiyathevan.

It sounded like the voice of someone he knew well.

“Maharaja! It is I, your humble servant!” came another voice in reply.

Within a minute, a lamp flickered to life at the spot where the voices had been heard. From behind a tree, a man emerged holding a lamp in his hand. In its glow, the horse became visible. Someone was seated upon it. It was now certain that the rider was none other than Madurantaka.

As the man standing on the ground seized the torch, the horse upon which the prince was mounted grew terrified. Rearing up on its forelegs, it spun around once. Then, with a sudden leap, it sprang forward and began to gallop away.

The spot where the horse had been standing was the bank of a wide canal. From that raised embankment, the horse leapt straight into the floodwaters of the canal. The man who had grabbed the torch shouted, "Maharaja! Maharaja!" as he plunged into the canal after the horse. But as he jumped, he slipped and fell. The torch was swallowed by the swirling waters.

In the next instant, a darkness far deeper than before enveloped everything. At that very moment, a light drizzle began to fall. Amidst the sounds of trees swaying in the wind, the patter of the rain, and the harsh croaking of frogs, the shouts of men and the pounding of horses’ hooves mingled in confusion.

Vandiyathevan knew well that Prince Madurantaka was not a man famed for his courage. His heart trembled at the thought of what danger might befall Madurantaka, perched atop the terrified horse. The horse might continue to bolt, carrying him away in panic. Or it might have thrown him into the canal’s floodwaters. Or perhaps, after carrying him a short distance, it might have tossed him elsewhere and run off.

Could the man who had come with the torch manage to follow the horse and save the prince? But he himself had already stumbled and fallen into the canal’s flood. What was to be done now? Should he go in search of Vanathi, or rush to Madurantaka’s aid? For a moment, this struggle raged within him.

He had no idea where Vanathi Devi had gone. But Madurantaka was in danger right before his eyes. It would be easy to help him; there was no risk in finding and rescuing him. Afterwards, there would still be time to search for Vanathi! Oh God! Had he not just resolved, only moments ago, never to interfere in matters that did not concern him? And now, what was he doing?

From behind the shelter of the mandapam wall, Vandiyathevan led his horse outside. Guided by instinct through the darkness and the drizzle, he made his way towards the spot where the prince’s horse had entered the canal. He too descended into the canal, looking carefully all around, but saw nothing. From somewhere far off came indistinct cries: “Aa-aa-aa!” “Oo-oo-oo!” “Ee-ee-ee!” “Tatapata tatapata!” “Kadaka kadakada!”—strange, unrecognizable sounds.

He climbed up onto the bank of the canal and peered beyond the raised embankment.

All around, as far as the eye could see, there were paddy fields. It was impossible to ride a horse through the muddy slush or the green crops of the fields. He would have to keep to the edge of the bank and search for a way forward.

But even along the canal’s edge, thick shrubs and thorny bushes grew in tangled profusion. Threading his way through a narrow, single-file path between them, he led his horse onward. Above, the rain fell; below, the ground was slick with slippery mud; on one side, the canal; on the other, the paddy fields; all around, thorny thickets. The horse moved slowly, step by cautious step. Time itself seemed to crawl—each minute stretched into an age! The drizzle thickened into a steady rain. The darkness deepened, growing ever more impenetrable. Vandiyathevan’s mind sank into troubled thought.

Why had Prince Madurantaka come alone on horseback? Where was he headed? Who was the man who had come to meet him? Was there any connection between this and the men who had seized