Dawn had broken. The beautiful, dark-skinned goddess called Night, though unwilling, was forced to part from her beloved Lord of the World. The arms that had been entwined around him slipped away gently. Like a woman bestowing her final kiss before leaving forever, Night hesitated still, lingering. “We shall meet again in the evening. Is this separation not but four watches long? Go forth in happiness!” said the World. Night, reluctant, turned back again and again to gaze upon the earth as she departed.

As Night, like a false lover without true affection, left, the world shivered in delight. “Ah, freedom!” sang a thousand thousand flocks of birds, rejoicing in chorus. Buds burst and blossomed upon trees and shrubs. From somewhere, swarms of bees arrived, encircling the newly opened flowers and singing their sweet music in joy. Beetles with wings of every hue danced in bliss in all directions.

A golden hue appeared in the lower sky. The stars, one by one, faded and vanished. The crescent moon, which had been parading across the sky till now, seemed to ask, “Shall I stay? Or shall I go?”

Upon the river, the boat glided gently onward. Along with the chorus of birds, the soft splash of the oar stirring the water reached Poonguzhali’s ears. She started and opened her eyes. Like two beautiful blue buds blooming together on a branch, her eyelids parted. Before her appeared the prince’s golden face. He was still asleep. Was it truly sleep? Or was he still insensible from the effects of the potion? She could not tell. Yet how radiant was his noble face!

Beyond him, Sendhan Amudhan was rowing the boat.

“Poonguzhali! Why have you woken so soon? Would it not be better to sleep a little longer?” he asked.

Poonguzhali smiled. Her smile was not confined to her lips alone. Her entire being blossomed with a gentle laughter. Poonguzhali was born, raised, and lived in the forest. Yet, never had the songs of birds or the melodies of bees sounded so sweet in her ears as they did now.

“Brother! Sing a song in the Udaya raga!” Poonguzhali said.

“In your presence, would I dare open my mouth? You must sing!” replied Sendhan Amudhan.

“But you sang last night in the dark forest, didn’t you?”

“I sang then for a purpose. Now, you must sing!”

“I too long to sing. But would it not be a disturbance to the prince?”

“It would not trouble me at all. Why don’t you both sing together?” said Arulmozhi Varman.

Poonguzhali, overcome with shyness, bowed her head.

“Where is the boat headed?” the prince asked.

“To the Chudamani Vihara at Nagapattinam,” replied Poonguzhali.

“Then, all that I saw and heard last night was not a dream? It was real?”

“Yes, my lord! Here is the one who brought you the message from your sister.”

“Amudha, tell me in detail all that the young princess said. Did my sister send word that I should join the Buddhist order?”

As Amudhan hesitated, unsure of how to answer, the sound of a horse’s hooves was heard. Poonguzhali and Sendhan Amudhan were startled.

There was no change in the prince’s expression.

“Where is my friend? The brave one of the Vanar clan?” the prince asked, and then closed his eyes.

In a short while, Vandiyathevan appeared on horseback. The boat came to a halt, and Vandiyathevan dismounted and approached.

“It is nothing special. I just came to see if you were safe. There is no more danger now,” said Vandiyathevan.

“The sorcerer?” Poonguzhali asked.

“There is no doubt in his mind that the prince is in this boat. He believed exactly what I told him!”

“Did you see him?”

“I did. But I pretended to be afraid, as though I had seen his ghost.”

“I have never seen anyone who can lie as easily as you.”

“Don’t call it a lie! Call it the power of imagination. How is the prince now?”

“Every now and then, he wakes and utters a couple of words; then he loses consciousness again.”

“This fever is like that.”

“How long will it last?”

“Sometimes, it can last even a month. Take him safely to the Choodamani Vihara. If the monks treat him, they will cure him within two weeks. Be careful, Poonguzhali! I am entrusting the prince to you only because I trust you. If your uncle happens to see a temple tower anywhere, he’ll start singing Thevaram hymns and go off for a darshan of the deity!”

Sendhan Amudhan said, “After being with you, I won’t do such things. Even my desire to serve Lord Shiva has diminished!”

“Is it because of me? Or because of this girl? Tell the truth!”

Sendhan Amudhan ignored that and asked, “Did you find the horse where I told you?”

“The horse found me. Isn’t this the same horse I left with you in Thanjavur?”

“Yes.”

“In the darkness, deep in the forest, it saw me and neighed. Amudha, I learned something when I was caught by the Arabs! It is a sin to make horses run barefoot. Iron shoes must be fitted to their hooves. The first thing I’ll do when I see a blacksmith’s workshop is have shoes put on its hooves. All right, all right! There’s no time to talk about all that now. Who knows if I’ll ever see you and the prince again?”

“If the prince wakes again, tell him that I have gone to Pazhaiyarai,” he said. “Also tell him that I will send news soon from there. Only then will he be at peace.”

Vandiyathevan turned his horse and rode away. Soon, he disappeared from their sight.

The boat glided along a canal flanked on both sides by dense thickets of screw pine. Golden-hued screw pine blossoms and ivory-white flowers crowded the banks, their fragrance intoxicating the senses. In some places, punna trees grew along the water’s edge; in others, kadamba trees stood tall. Pearly punna blossoms and saffron-colored kadamba flowers