That day, the great city of Thanjavur was in utter tumult and commotion. The people had completely forgotten the storm, the rain, and the destruction they had caused. Rumors swept through the air: “The peerless hero who conquered Eezham, the prince who has won the hearts of the Chola people, Ponniyin Selvan, emerged safely from Nagapattinam on the day the storm struck; now he is on his way to Thanjavur. Vast crowds are following him, intent on placing him upon the throne and crowning him emperor.” Such news and more spread like wildfire. Soon, those who had seen the prince in Nagapattinam with their own eyes returned and confirmed the tidings. Because of this, just as the storm had raged outside two days earlier, a tempest of excitement now swept through the hearts of Thanjavur’s citizens. The people resolved that Thanjavur must give the prince a reception the likes of which the city had never seen before. They began to decorate the streets of the outer town beyond the fort. Crowds gathered in the thoroughfares, talking eagerly. Drums, cymbals, and all manner of musical instruments were assembled. Dancers and singers, skilled in their arts, prepared themselves to display their talents on this special occasion. Men and children alike pondered how best to adorn themselves. Many, eager to be the first to welcome the prince, left Thanjavur early and waited along the roads leading in from all directions, some distance from the city. Others, seeing these early birds, mocked them for their impatience.

If the outer city was thus astir, signs soon appeared that something important was expected within the fort as well. In the morning, as usual, the gates of the fort were opened. Vegetable sellers, curd and buttermilk vendors, and those going to their duties in the palaces entered the fort as on any other day. Only a few came today to complain about the damages caused by the storm and rain. They too entered the fort. As usual, the Velakkara guards entered the fort.

Then, suddenly, all the gates of the fort were shut with a resounding clang. The noise of massive iron bars being drawn across the doors, and the clatter of bolts being fastened, echoed through the air. Those who arrived later were stopped by the guards. They were stopped. In the forenoon, when the fortress gates were locked and bolted in such a manner, the townspeople began to murmur among themselves, wondering at the reason for this unusual act. At that very moment, another strange event occurred. The bridge that spanned the moat surrounding the fort was raised. After that, no one could even approach the entrance to the fortress.

Those who were near the main gate—the northern gate—began to inquire about the western and southern gates as well. When they learned that those gates too had been locked and bolted just like the northern gate, and that their bridges had also been raised, their astonishment grew.

“What is this? There is no war going on, is there? There is no sign of enemy armies marching upon us, is there? Are there any powerful enemies in the neighboring regions to the north, south, east, or west, who might suddenly attack? Even if, by some chance, enemies from the northern double provinces were to launch a sudden assault, how could they possibly cross the Kollidam, the Kaveri, and the other rivers at this time? Aren’t those great rivers now flowing in full flood?” Thus did the people living in the outer city of Thanjai converse among themselves.

Some began to wonder if all these arrangements were being made to prevent Ponniyin Selvan from entering the fortress. “That must be it,” others replied, answering their own questions. As this rumor spread, the excitement among the townsfolk grew ever more intense. “Who are these Pazhuvettarayar chieftains to prevent a prince descended in unbroken line from Vijayalaya Chola from entering the fortress? If the Pazhuvettarayars truly attempt such a thing, then the very walls of the fort must be torn down and destroyed!” Some spoke in this spirit.

Rumor is a mysterious phantom—no one can ever discover how it arises or how it travels so swiftly. Suddenly, another dreadful rumor began to spread among the people: that the long-anticipated death of Emperor Sundara Chola had finally occurred. “Has the Emperor passed away? Is it true?” people began to ask. Some who had seen a shooting star blaze for a moment in the early dawn, shining with a radiant light before falling to earth and vanishing, pointed to this as proof that Sundara Chola had died.

“If this is true, what is going to happen next?”—was it not natural that people should discuss this with anxiety? Would disputes arise over the right to the throne? Would the minor kings split into two factions and fight each other? Such were the concerns being debated. Will the Chola Empire, which has flourished and grown strong for a hundred years, now be shattered into pieces because of internal strife? Will the armies of enemies once again penetrate the empire that has stood tall and proud for a century?

While the people were still speaking in such anxious tones, suddenly a loud cry arose: “Look, the army is coming!” Many rushed here and there to see for themselves. Some climbed atop tall buildings, others scaled lofty trees. The sight that met their eyes filled them with both wonder and astonishment.

In those days, three great roads led westward and southwestward from Thanjavur. One road passed through Kodumbalur towards Rameswaram; another led through Madurai to the southern Pandya country; the third, a long and broad road, ran through Uraiyur to Karur and the Chera land.

That afternoon, armies were marching in formation along all three of these roads. The leading ranks were visible to the eye, but where the columns ended, no one could tell. The lines of soldiers seemed endless, stretching on and on without break.

Fortunately, at the head of these armies, great