That year, the monsoon did not begin at its usual time. Twice, it seemed as though the rains would start, but each time, after a brief drizzle, they ceased abruptly. The flow of water in the Kaveri river and its tributaries gradually dwindled. The newly planted paddy fields began to wither for lack of irrigation. “It’s all a calamity brought on by the malefic star!” the people began to murmur among themselves.

“It seems as though misfortune is visiting the land in every way,” “Confusion in the affairs of the kingdom,” “No news of the prince,” “And now, even the skies seem poised to betray us”—such were the words that Senthan Amudhan and Poonguzhali heard all along their journey.

The absence of rain, however, was something of a convenience for their travels. That day, the sun had blazed fiercely since morning. By afternoon, the heat was almost unbearable. Even as they walked beneath the cool shade of trees lining the royal road, sweat poured from their bodies.

“Does this feel like the month of Aippasi at all? Isn’t it more like the scorching month of Vaikasi?” they said to each other as they went along.

A short while after the palanquin from the palace of the Pazhuvettaraiyars had passed them by, a sudden cool breeze began to blow. The leaves of the roadside trees rustled and whispered in the wind. To the northeast, the sky darkened. At the horizon, dense, dark clouds began to gather. In a matter of moments, those masses of cloud, like a herd of maddened elephants, collided and surged upward in the sky.

The gentle breeze turned into a strong wind; in that wind, small drops of rain came hissing down. Soon, a light drizzle began, and within half an hour, with a roaring sound, a heavy downpour commenced. The trees along the roadside suffered terribly in the wind and rain. Branches snapped and fell with a crackling sound. The birds that had sought shelter in those trees now shrieked and scattered in all directions. The travelers on the road, too, fled helter-skelter.

Some ran to escape the rain and wind. Others ran, fearing that tree branches might fall upon their heads and bring death. Still others, frightened by the thunder that roared like the bursting of the heavens, fled in panic. In the grip of the rain, within a short while, daylight faded and night drew near. The thought of entering the Thanjavur fort that very night was abandoned by both Sendhan Amudhan and Poonguzhali.

They decided that it would suffice if they could reach Sendhan Amudhan’s garden hut that night. In the monsoon darkness, they encouraged each other and walked on cautiously.

“Poonguzhali! You have witnessed so many storms and heavy rains in the midst of the open sea! You are one who has sailed a boat amidst waves as tall as mountains! Why are you so afraid of this rain?” asked Sendhan Amudhan.

“No matter how fierce the storm or how heavy the