Manimekalai, the cherished daughter of Sambuvaraiyar, was a girl brimming with exuberance. Her father, mother, and her brother Kandanmaran had, from her childhood, raised her with love and care. Within the palace of Sambuvaraiyar, she reigned as a queen of command. Whatever she decreed became law within those halls. Until a few months ago, Manimekalai’s life had been one of dance, song, and joyous play. But four or five months ago, for the first time, an obstacle arose in her path. The elders of the house began to insist that she must do something against her own wishes. No matter how much Manimekalai tried to teach them the lesson that “obstinacy is of no use,” it seemed to have no effect on the elders.

For the past two or three years, whenever Kandanmaran returned home from the battlefield, he would speak to her about his friend Vallavaraiyan Vandiyathevan. He would lavishly praise his friend’s valor and skill, his cleverness and wit. He would marvel, saying, “In beauty, he is Manmatha himself; in valor, Arjuna; in cunning, Lord Krishna.” “He is the right husband for you. He is the one who can curb your mischief and keep you in check,” he would say.

Manimekalai longed to hear these tales again and again. Yet, at the same time, she would openly quarrel with Kandanmaran, flaring up at him and picking fights.

“You keep saying all this for nothing! One day, bring him here yourself! I’ll see for myself what his prowess is,” she would say.

“Very well, very well!” Kandanmaran would reply, feigning annoyance.

In her own way, Manimekalai had seen Vallavaraiyan Vandiyathevan with the eyes of imagination, befriended him in her mind’s world, laughed and played with him, quarreled and made peace—thus passing her days in such sweet daydreams. At times, she would speak with delight to her closest companions about her brother’s friend, the valiant scion of the Vanar clan. But four months ago, an unexpected obstacle disrupted these pleasant dreams.

Kandanmaran began to speak in a different tone. “Forget that orphaned boy, who has neither home, nor gate, nor rank, nor status!” he said. He revealed his desire to see her seated upon the throne of Thanjavur. Then, one day... He stated the matter plainly. He said that, already, Madhurantakan—who had married the daughter of the younger Pazhuvettarayar—was to marry this girl as well. Madhurantakan, with great pride, declared that he would be the next emperor. If she married Madhurantakan, Manimekalai would shine as empress of the three worlds, he said, and the child born of her womb might one day inherit the empire. Her parents, too, agreed to all this.

But Manimekalai did not like any of this talk. Her heart, having heard so much about Vandiyathevan, had become attached to him. Not only that, she knew that Madhurantakan was a man without valor, one who had never even seen a battlefield, who until yesterday had smeared his body with sacred ash, worn rudraksha beads, and declared his intention to become a saint. As if that were not enough, he was already married. The women of the Thanjavur palace were extremely arrogant; thinking themselves the only ones with true refinement, they looked down upon women from other regions. Thinking of all this, Manimekalai was filled with irritation. Whether it was the throne of Thanjavur or even the throne of Indra in the heavens, she insisted that she could never marry Madhurantakan.

Later, when another piece of news came to light, her resolve only strengthened. When the elder Pazhuvettarayar came to Kadambur, it was said that the young queen Nandini had come with him. But she did not enter the women's quarters, nor did she meet the women of the Kadambur palace. At first, this caused surprise. The palace women spoke of it mockingly and with scorn. Slowly, the truth began to emerge. It was learned that the young queen had not come in the closed palanquin; it was Madhurantakan who had come. Manimekalai's disgust grew even greater. “Ugh! Am I to accept as my husband a man who, out of fear, comes disguised as a woman in a closed palanquin? Never, not for a single day!” Manimekalai resolved.

At the very time Madhurantakan came to the palace in the closed palanquin, Kandamaran’s friend Vandiyathevan also arrived. He was in the women’s quarters only for a short while. At that moment, an overwhelming shyness seized Manimekalai from somewhere. She stood behind the other women. She could not look directly, face to face, at Vandiyathevan. Yet, from behind the others, she caught a half-glimpse of his weary, smiling face, and it became etched in her heart. His voice, and a few words he spoke, remained fixed in her memory.

Thus, once again, Manimekalai began an endless debate with her brother Kandanmaran. Even if Lord Shiva himself, the three-eyed god, were to come and command her, she declared, she could never marry Madurantakan. Though she had only seen Vandiyathevan for a brief moment, she made it clear that her heart had already gone to him.

This roused an immeasurable anger in Kandanmaran. At first, he tried to persuade her with kind words, but it was of no use. Then he said, “Vandiyathevan is not my friend; he is my mortal enemy. He tried to stab me in the back and kill me. If you intend to marry him, I will kill both you and him together!” He showed her the knife wound on his back, and told her how he had survived only through the devoted care of the younger queen of Pazhuvoor.

“If you have even a grain of trust in me, forget Vandiyathevan!” he demanded.

After hearing this, Manimekalai’s mind truly changed. She was very fond of Kandanmaran. To marry the enemy who had tried to kill her own brother was indeed impossible. So she tried to forget Vandiyathevan. Yet, it was not an easy task. Again and again, at unexpected moments, his smiling face would appear before her