Vanathi, who was clinging tightly to the thatched roof of the astrologer’s house—and with it, to her very life—was drifting along, carried by the floodwaters that had broken from the Kaveri river. The current bore her ever eastward, sometimes gently, sometimes pulling her along with great force. At other times, the roof was caught in large whirlpools, spinning and staggering as it went.

In places where the flood was not so deep, the roof floated over mounds and rises in the land. From the way the water had climbed up the trunks of trees, and from how far the mandapams along the riverbank had been submerged, Vanathi could guess the depth of the flood. Whenever she considered climbing down to higher ground, the swirling current would sweep her away into deeper waters before she could act.

Nor did Vanathi’s heart truly wish to descend. For, in her mind, a conviction had taken root: this flood of the Ponni river was carrying her towards the very place where the Prince of Ponni himself was. The ominous prophecy uttered by the Kodumbalur astrologer about the danger threatening the prince lingered in her heart. She believed that the Kaveri was taking her along so that she might protect him from that peril.

Ah! How much pride that Puṅkuzhali possesses! With what authority she claims the prince as her own! Yet, she has reason for such pride. Was it not Puṅkuzhali who saved the prince’s life today?—No, not just today! Vanathi had heard what the Kudanthai astrologer had said: the prince’s birth itself was marked by such dangers! Many more such perils might yet come his way. But nothing—neither sea nor storm nor river flood—could truly endanger the life of one born to rule the world! For such miraculous escapes, someone must always play a role. Puṅkuzhali had been granted that fortune! But does that entitle her to such pride?—Still, a longing had long dwelled in the secret depths of Vanathi’s heart: might not such a fortune come to her, just once?

At times, as the roof spun about, Vanathi saw, far behind her, a boat approaching. She could make out a woman and a man aboard, though she could not clearly see who they were. Watching the woman row the boat, Vanathi wondered if it might be Puṅkuzhali herself. Surely, she must be coming to rescue her from the flood… Is she coming? Has the Younger Princess sent her? Enough, enough! It is enough that the Prince is indebted to her. He himself need not be burdened with gratitude! She must not come along! She must not be the one to save him from this flood.

At times, it seemed as though the boat had drawn near to her; at times, the roof sped swiftly ahead, leaving the boat far behind. In this manner, when the boat had vanished from sight, the roof of the house appeared to turn and head southward. Thus, it traveled a great distance. It crossed the southern bank