As the boat continued along the canal, the prince noticed that the water level was rising higher with every passing moment. The boat was struggling against the current. Murugaiyan was exerting himself greatly to steer it. The fury of the storm was increasing by the second. On either side, trees were snapping and crashing down with a thunderous noise.

The boat drew near the Nandi Mandapam. The prince looked towards the pavilion. Water had risen above the head of the Nandi statue. From this, it was clear just how high the water level had climbed.

“Murugaiya! Stop the boat for a moment,” said the prince. Murugaiyan halted the boat, but he could not stop its rocking motion.

The prince leapt from the boat and landed in the Nandi Mandapam. Then, grasping a tree that had fallen nearby, he climbed up to the top of the pavilion’s roof. From there, he surveyed the surroundings. Downstream, the entire canal was a raging flood. In the coconut grove, half the trees had already been swallowed by the waters. Through the gaps, it seemed as if the sea itself had surged forward, reaching the very edge of the coconut grove.

To the north, Arulmozhi gazed in the direction of the Chudamani Viharam. The sea had swollen and spread up to the outer steps of the vihara.

At that moment, a thought arose in the mind of Ponniyin Selvan—a thought that sent a shiver through his entire body.

“Murugaiya! Turn the boat around! Head towards the vihara!” commanded the prince.

The son of Thyagavidangar, who was not accustomed to speaking much and who bore boundless devotion towards the prince, did not even ask why. He turned the boat and began to row towards the Chudamani Viharam.

The return journey took less time than their approach. Yet, for the prince, every second felt like an age. By the time the boat reached the vihara, the surging sea had almost encircled the entire monastery. The water level was still rising. In Eelam... At that time, the Nagai Pattinam Chudamani Viharam was not as grand or lofty as the other viharas. If the water were to rise just a little more, even the mandapa’s tower of the vihara would be submerged. The prince leapt from the boat and landed on the upper platform of a mandapa that had not yet been swallowed by the waters, without getting himself drenched. He ran here and there in haste. Instead of going to the lower levels of the vihara, he searched through every part of the upper stories. In some places on those upper floors, he had to wade through water that reached up to his chest.

With each step, his disappointment grew. At last, he reached the spot where the statue of Gautama Buddha stood. The water had risen up to the chest of the statue. There, the prince stood and looked all around. He bent down and peered into the water. From his lips burst a sound, a blend of joy and astonishment—“Aha!”—a sign that he had found what he was seeking.

Yes; beneath the Buddha statue, submerged in the water, the Acharya Bikshu was seated, clutching tightly to the lotus feet of the Blessed One. Ponniyin Selvan plunged into the water, forcefully pried the monk’s hands from the statue, and lifted him up. It was easy enough to lift the Bikshu while still in the water. Once out of the water, it was not so easy. The Bikshu, tall and well-built, was so heavy that the prince staggered under his weight.

“Murugayya! Murugayya!” he called out.

“I’m coming!” replied Murugaiyan, bringing the boat closer.

Ponniyin Selvan, carrying the Acharya Bikshu, hurried toward the boat. His steps faltered.