We have already seen the ruined, overgrown temple of the Pallipadai, built a hundred years ago, now swallowed by the forest. It was here that Azhwarkkadiyan once hid himself and learned, to some extent, of the conspiracy plotted by Ravidasan and his companions. Now, Vandiyathevan and the others had arrived at that very same place.

They led Vandiyathevan and his horse to the side wall of the desolate Pallipadai.

“Sir! Remain here for a while. We will call you when the time comes. Do not dream of escaping! Except for those who know this place well, no one can enter or leave this forest. If you try to get out, you will surely lose your life!” said Ravidasan.

“If I try to find my way out, you’ll kill me with your sorcery, won’t you, magician?” Vandiyathevan replied with a laugh.

“Laugh, laugh! Yes, laugh as much as you want!” said Ravidasan, laughing as well.

At that moment, somewhere far away, a jackal began to howl. Hearing it, a wildcat nearby let out a low growl. Vandiyathevan shivered—not from the cold, but from something else. In the heart of that dense forest, even the wind seemed afraid to enter; why? It did not appear that much rain had fallen there. Only in a few places on the ground were there droplets of rain, making the earth damp. Because there was no breeze, the air felt stifling. By the time he had reached this place, Vandiyathevan’s half-dried garment had become dry again. Only the cloth bundle he had tied around himself was still damp; he untied it, spread it out, and laid it on a nearby rock to dry. Sitting on one corner of that rock, Vandiyathevan leaned against the wall of the Pallipadai. Only one man stood guard near him.

A little distance away, in a clearing at the center of the forest, the others sat in a circle. From inside the Pallipadai, someone brought out an old throne and placed it there. On it, they seated the boy whom they called ‘Chakravarthi’—the Emperor. Of the many oil lamps, only two were left burning; the rest were extinguished. As the lamps were put out, smoke rose and spread in all directions, shrouding the place. “The queen has not arrived yet?” asked one.

“Shouldn’t she come at the right time? I told her to come only at the second watch. Until then, someone sing the garland of glory of the Pandya clan!” said Soman Sambavan.

Idumbankari picked up a drum and tapped it lightly. Devaralan began to sing a song.

Vandiyathevan, from where he was seated, watched all this; he listened as well. He knew that the ‘Valudhi clan’ referred to the Pandya dynasty. The song echoed in his ears as a mournful lament. The sound of the drum and the sorrowful melody stirred a deep emotion within him. A few words from the song reached his ears. From those, the memory of the great war that had taken place there a