In the direction Aditya Karikalan had pointed, there stood a mandapam on the riverbank. It was a pavilion built of stonework. Some righteous soul must have constructed it long ago for travelers to rest in, sheltering them from sun and rain. That mandapam had endured many years of scorching heat and pounding rain, now bearing the marks of age and decay. At the corners of the mandapam, there were sculpted figures carved in stone. What those figures represented, the elder Malayaman could not tell.

“Did you see, Grandfather?” asked Aditya Karikalan.

“My child! You mean that mandapam, don’t you? I see nothing else there. The pavilion stands empty; I see no one inside,” he replied.

“Grandfather! Only now do I truly realize that you have grown old. Your eyesight has grown dim with age. Look there! A great royal eagle! How enormous it is! How wide its wingspan! What cruelty! What cruelty! It has caught a tiny dove in its talons; can’t you see? The eagle’s sharp claws have torn the dove, and its blood is spilling—don’t you see? Oh, what a marvel! Now look at that other dove, Grandfather! It is circling near that fearsome eagle! How it pleads with the eagle! The dove caught in the eagle’s claws must be its mate! It is begging for its beloved’s life! Grandfather! Is that dove pleading, or is it preparing to fight the eagle? From the way it beats its wings, it seems ready for battle. By the gods! What courage that female dove has! She is going to fight the monstrous fiend to save her lover’s life! Grandfather! Do you think the eagle’s heart will be moved? Never! Never! Not once will it show mercy! It has grown fat and strong by killing and devouring countless doves like these! Wicked eagle! Here, I shall put an end to you!”

So saying, Aditya Karikalan picked up a clod of earth lying nearby and hurled it at the mandapam. The clod struck one corner of the pavilion and fell to the ground.

“Monster! May you get what you deserve!” cried Aditya Karikalan, and then laughed thunderously, the sound echoing like rolling thunder. The elder already harbored some doubts about his grandson’s independent spirit. Now, those doubts grew even stronger.

“Grandfather! Why are you staring at me like that? Go and take a look near the mandapam,” said Karikalan.

As he was told, Malayaman walked closer to the mandapam and examined the spot where Karikalan’s stone had fallen. There, a sculpture was revealed. In that sculpture, a royal eagle was depicted clutching a dove in its talons, as if pecking at it and lifting it up, while another dove seemed poised to leap at the eagle—so lifelike was the artistry.

Malayaman returned and said, “Child! It’s true that I’ve grown old! My eyesight is not as sharp as it once was. Only after going near and looking closely did I realize what fine sculpture it is!”

“Fine sculpture? Call it a marvel, Grandfather! Some sculptor from the age of Mahendravarman or Mamallar—the emperors of sculpture—must have created this. When I first saw it, it seemed so real, as if it were actually happening before my eyes!” exclaimed Karikalan.

“Adithya! The marvel is not only in that stone! It is in your eyes as well; it is within your mind, too. So many travelers pass this way every day. Three-fourths of them probably never even notice this sculptural wonder. Many others, even if they see it, pass by as if they have not. Only a few, like you, are so astonished by a single sculpture!...”

“I am not astonished, Grandfather! I am angry. I feel such rage that I want to smash that sculpture to pieces right now. I cannot even stand to hear people praise and admire such a cruel work!”

“Karikala! What is this strange talk? When did your diamond heart become so tender? It is the nature of the royal eagle to kill and eat the dove. If the lion king starts to pity the goat, it is no longer a lion; it becomes a goat itself. Those who wish to sit upon the throne and rule must destroy their enemies and traitors. Those born to rule the world under a single umbrella must vanquish their rival kings. If the royal eagle does not kill the dove, can it remain a royal eagle? Why does this trouble you so much?” asked Malayaman.

“Grandfather! All that you say is true, but after seeing that dove’s desperate struggle, should not Rajaraja have felt compassion? Should he not have been moved by pity for the girl and granted her request for release? Sir, tell me yourself—if, at the moment you were about to kill an enemy, his beloved came and pleaded for his life, what would you do? Would your heart not be moved then?” asked Karikalan.

“If such a woman were to come between me and my enemy, I would kick her aside with my left foot and slay my foe. Karikala, there is no doubt about that. The poet Valluvar has said that enemies may hide weapons even in their folded hands, and that even in their tears, weapons may be concealed. The tears of women are more dangerous than those of men, for women’s tears have a greater power to soften the heart. One who allows his heart to be softened thus can never accomplish great deeds in this world—he will become the most wretched among women themselves!”

“Grandfather! What is this? Why do you speak so disparagingly of women? Does not speaking ill of women also diminish my own mother?”

“My child, listen! There is nothing in this world to equal the love I bore your mother. Six children were born to me. They grew up to be warriors like Bhima and Arjuna. I sacrificed them all on the field of battle. When news came of their deaths, I did not grieve. But when I gave your mother away