In the Chudamani Vihara of Nagapattinam, Ponniyin Selvan lay upon a wooden cot in the room adjacent to that of the venerable Acharya Bikshu. For three days, he had been gripped by a fierce fever; for the most part, he had been bereft of consciousness. During these days, the monks had watched over him with utmost care and vigilance. They administered medicine at regular intervals. Frequently, they poured water into his mouth and tended to him with great caution.

Now and then, whenever a flicker of awareness returned, he tried to contemplate his surroundings. His attention was drawn to a mural painted on the wall opposite him. In that painting, gods, gandharvas, and yakshas could be seen. Some among them held various musical instruments. Some bore white chowries and silver-tipped parasols. Others carried trays filled with flowers of many hues in their hands. The scene was rendered with such vividness that the forms of the gods seemed to possess life itself.

Often, after gazing at these images, Ponniyin Selvan fancied that he had indeed arrived in the realm of the celestials. He imagined that these divine yaksha and kinnara beings had come to welcome him. He wondered how he had come to reach the heavenly world. It seemed to him that he must have journeyed to the celestial realm along a stream bordered on both sides by dense thazhampu thickets, their golden blossoms in full bloom. When the memory of that stream arose, he fancied he could even smell the fragrance of the thazhampu flowers. He vaguely recalled being ferried along that stream in a boat, accompanied by a divine prince and princess. The prince seemed to be a devotee of Shiva, for he often sang sweet Thevaram hymns. What of the princess? She did not sing. She spoke only a few words now and then, but even those sounded like divine music. With eyes brimming with affection and longing, she often gazed at him. Where were those two now?

In the heavenly realm, it seemed, not only gods, yakshas, and kinnaras, but even Buddhist monks held a place of importance! Perhaps they were the guardians of the nectar vessel of the divine world! Frequently, a Buddhist monk would approach him, pour a little nectar into his mouth, and then depart. In the realm of the gods, among other... No matter how many comforts there are, thirst alone grows ever greater. Couldn’t this Buddhist monk pour just a little more nectar into my mouth before leaving? Why such poverty of spirit even in the celestial realms! Perhaps one should not drink too much nectar all at once! Is this truly nectar? Or could it be some kind of intoxicating liquor?—Nonsense, would monks even touch wine with their hands? Would they bring it to my lips and pour it themselves? If not, then why does this dizziness overtake me? Why does my memory fade so quickly after drinking this nectar?

For three days, thus, Ponniyin Selvan drifted between the world of