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 the gods and a void of forgetfulness, his consciousness wavering between the two. On the morning of the fourth day, he awoke as if rising from a deep sleep, his mind fully restored. His body was weak, but his mind was clear. He realized that the figures before him on the wall were only painted images. Those devas, yakshas, and kinnaras were not standing there to welcome him; they were painted to greet Lord Buddha on his visit to the celestial realms. On another wall, he saw a painting of Lord Buddha ascending through the cloud-filled sky. He understood that he was lying in a Buddhist vihara. As he pondered which vihara and where, the events that had unfolded since he began his journey from Lanka returned to him one by one. He remembered, up to the point where he and Vandiyathevan had been tossed about in the surging sea, their arms growing weary. After that, all was confusion.

At that moment, a Buddhist monk entered the room, as usual, carrying a bowl of nectar in his hand. As the prince approached, the monk gazed intently at him. The prince reached out, took the bowl, and examined its contents. He confirmed that it was not the nectar of the gods. He realized it was medicine, or perhaps milk mixed with medicine. Looking at the monk, he asked, “Swami! What is this place? Who are you? How many days have I been lying here like this?”

The monk gave no reply, but turned and left the room. In the next room, the prince heard him say, “Acharyar! The fever has cleared well. His memory has fully returned!”

After a short while, an elderly monk entered the room where Ponniyin Selvan lay. Coming to the bedside, he too gazed intently at the prince. Then, with a gentle smile, he said, “Ponniyin Selva! The place where you are now is Nagai Pattinam…” Chudamani Viharam. You arrived here three days ago, suffering from a severe bout of typhoid fever. We have been given the privilege of serving you. We are indeed fortunate!” he said.

“I too am fortunate. I have long desired to visit this Chudamani Viharam. Once, long ago, when I was passing by this city’s harbor, I saw it from the outside. By divine will, it has now come to pass that I have come and stayed here. Swami, do you know how I came to be here? Can you tell me?” asked Arulmozhi Varman.

“Prince! First, please take the medicine in your hand. I will tell you all that I know,” said the Bhikshu.

The prince took the medicine and said, “Sir! This is not medicine; it is nectar. You have taken such care and arranged for my treatment. But I am not going to thank you for it.”

The Acharya Bhikshu smiled and said, “Prince, there is no need for you to thank me. Lord Buddha has declared that treating the sick is the highest dharma. The Buddha’s dharma commands