After they had disappeared, the mute queen came to the spot where the entrance to the underground passage was hidden. She peered closely, examining the place, and tried to open the passage, but she could not. When Ravidasan had opened it earlier, she had been standing at a distance, so she had not been able to observe how he managed it. She was certain in her heart that at least one of the two men would surely return there. Therefore, she resolved to wait at that very spot.

Her expectation was not in vain. After sending Ravidasan outside, Soman Sambavan returned there. In his hand was a lamp, but it burned more dimly than before. He had spoken to Ravidasan with great confidence, yet it was clear from the way he glanced about nervously that fear still lingered in his heart.

He came near the place where the passage opened and sat down, trembling. After a short while, the lamp went out. Then, he kept glancing up repeatedly at the beam at the top of the wall. Through it, a faint light had entered, but now that light was slowly fading away. When he saw that the light had faded completely and realized that the sun had set, he began to open the underground passage once more. At that moment, Mandakini came and stood nearby.

The passage opened; Soman Sambavan was about to descend into it.

Just then, in that moonlit chamber, very close to him, a long, drawn-out wailing sound—“Kreech!”—echoed. Soman Sambavan was a man who had seen many terrors in his life. Yet, he had never heard such an unnatural, unearthly sound. If ghosts truly existed and if they had a voice, surely it must sound like this, he thought. At the first cry, Sambavan hesitated and stood still, waiting until the echo died away.

When the wailing cry sounded a second time, the hair on his body stood on end. After the third, even closer cry, his resolve crumbled. In that pitch-dark, moonlit chamber, he began to run blindly, heedless of the path or direction.

Once he had vanished, the mute queen descended into the passage. After a few steps, the way became level. She walked quickly, almost darting forward. Even if Soman Sambavan had seen her entering and tried to follow, he could not have caught her—so swift was her pace. Like a path leading to the very depths of hell, that dark, narrow way stretched ahead... It appeared so. Yet, even that had its end. Where the sheer wall ended, a small gap could be seen above. Some steps could be felt by hand. As she climbed up those steps, her head suddenly struck something. Between the steps of the subterranean path and the place where her head hit above, there were small gaps. Through one of those, she slipped out.

All around, massive demonic forms could be seen. Having seen grand statues on the island of Eelam, this sight did not astonish her. She carefully noted where the path she had emerged from ended. The ten-headed Ravana was lifting Mount Kailasa with his twenty arms. Upon the mountain, Shiva and Parvati were seated in majesty. Where Ravana lifted the mountain, there was a hollow below. His twenty arms held the mountain aloft. Through the gap between two of those arms, she realized she had entered the sculpted mandapam.

No ordinary onlooker would ever know that such a path existed beneath Kailasa. Nor would anyone think to descend and explore it. It was indeed a perfect hiding place in times of need.

For several hours, Mandakini gazed in wonder at the marvels of that sculpted subterranean passage. Though the light was very dim, her sharp eyes, accustomed to seeing in the night, could discern everything clearly. In one place, there was a statue depicting King Shibi, one of the Chola ancestors, cutting flesh from his own body to save the life of a dove. Was it not because they were born in the lineage of Shibi that the Cholas earned the title ‘Sembiyan’? After closely observing that sculpture, the mute queen moved on.

A grand sculpture depicted the descent of the Ganga from the head of Lord Shiva. Nearby, Bhagiratha stood with folded hands. The river Bhagirathi, falling down, entered the mouth of a great rishi and exited through his ear. The small sage collecting water in his kamandalu from the flowing Ganga must be the famed Agastya, known as the dwarf sage. He poured the water from his kamandalu onto another small mountain. The river, swelling from the kamandalu, grew larger and larger as it flowed. In these sculpted representations of the Ganga and the Kaveri, arrangements must have been made for water to flow when they were created. But now, there was no water in them.

The Kaveri wound its way through rocky hills and groves thick with trees. On either side stood many Shiva temples. At the place where the Kaveri was to merge with the sea, the wall of the sculpted mandapam stood. Something— Suspicious, the mute queen pressed her hand against the wall of the fortification at that spot. A small door opened. Through it, she emerged into the palace garden. Beyond that, the lofty terraces of the palace could be seen, not far away.

She looked all around; in the dim, wavering light of twilight, it was clear that no one was in the garden. Just as in the Pazhuvettaraiyar’s garden, here too trees had fallen and lay scattered, as if struck down. Therefore, even if someone were in the garden, they could not have seen her emerge from the sculpture pavilion. She decided to wait, pressed close to the pavilion, until it grew properly dark. Perhaps that spear-wielding Yama’s messenger might come this way. So, she kept glancing inside the sculpture pavilion from time to time.

One by one, the palace lamps began to blaze. In a short while, the entire palace shone with a dazzling brilliance. The