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 hundred years ago came to his mind.

Yes; it was here that Varaguna Pandiyan and Aparajita Pallavan fought a fierce battle for three days. The Ganga king Prithiveepathi came to aid the Pallava. Like the hundreds of thousands of warriors who perished in that war, that mighty hero too fell and died. The temple built in his memory had now become the meeting place for conspirators.

After the Ganga king’s death, the Pallava forces began to scatter and flee. The victory of the Pandya army seemed certain. At that moment, the Chola forces came to the aid of the Pallavas. Leading that army, bearing ninety-six wounds on his body, came Vijayalaya Cholan. That heroic old man, who had already lost both his legs, was carried by four men. Wielding two long swords in his hands, he plunged into the Pandya ranks. Spinning both swords like wheels, he advanced. Wherever he went, the lifeless bodies of Pandya warriors piled up like mountains on either side.

The scattered Pallava soldiers began to return. Jan jan jan janar!—ten thousand swords flashed in the golden rays of the setting sun! Tan tan tan tanar!—ten thousand spears darted from the other side, gleaming as they flew! Swords and spears clashed! Thousands upon thousands of heads rolled in all directions. Thousands upon thousands of lifeless bodies fell! Ee ee ee ee!—horses neighed as they fell dead! Plee lee lee lee!—elephants trumpeted as they collapsed and died! In the flood of blood, the corpses of men and beasts floated. Twenty thousand vultures circled above, darkening and obscuring the sky!

Thirty thousand jackals howled and came running, encircling the battlefield! “Aiyo! O, O, O!”—fifty thousand wailing voices rose up as one! “Don’t let them escape! Catch them! Pursue! Strike! Stab!”—a hundred thousand voices thundered thus. Ten thousand victory drums boomed, “Adham! Adham! Adham!...” Twenty thousand conch shells of triumph resounded, “Boom! Boom! Boom!” Sixty thousand demons laughed, “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

Vandiyathevan started awake in fright. He opened his eyes wide and looked all around. Leaning against the wall of the barracks, he realized he had dozed off for a short while. He tried to recall the terrifying dream he had seen in that half-sleep. Was it truly a dream? No! Surely, the description of the battlefield that Devaralan had sung, in rhythm with the beat of the drum, must have conjured such visions before his mind’s eye.

At that moment, Devaralan was singing about how the Pallavas and Gangas had been defeated and driven away by the Pandya army. The laughter of those listening, filled with mirth, must have sounded like the laughter of thousands of fiends, startling Vandiyathevan awake. Suddenly, the drumbeat ceased. Devaralan too stopped his song at once.

A little distance away, a torchlight appeared. It came closer and closer. Following the torch, a palanquin approached. The bearers set it down. The curtains of the palanquin parted. From within, a woman stepped out. Yes; it was the Queen of Pazhuvur, Nandini. But whereas on