In the copper plates of Thiruvalangadu, where the lineage of the Chola dynasty is chronicled, it is written: “Desiring to behold the heavens, Adithan met his setting. The world was shrouded in the dark clouds of Kali!” Thus is inscribed the untimely death of the crown prince of the Chola Empire, the bravest of the brave, Aditya Karikalan, who fell by the hand of Veera Pandiyan.

At that moment, in the chamber of the Kadambur palace where Aditya Karikalan’s lifeless body lay, true darkness reigned.

Within the heart of Vallavarayan, who had been thrown to the floor with a thud by the man with the fearsome Kalamukha visage, a similar darkness had settled for a while. As light slowly began to dawn in his mind, as memory returned, his eyes fluttered open. Yet, because of the enveloping darkness around him, nothing came into focus. He could not discern where he was, nor in what state he lay.

The first sensation that struck him was the throbbing pain in his head. There was also pain at the spot on his neck where he had been gripped. He realized he was struggling to breathe. How had this pain in his head come about? What had caused the ache in his neck? Why was it so difficult to draw breath? Ah! That Kalamukhan! Had he truly seen him? Had the man truly tried to strangle him? Why had he tried to choke him? Was it to prevent him from making a sound? To stop him from moving further? Why? Why? Where had he been trying to go, breaking free from that iron grip? Ah! Now he remembered! To reach Aditya Karikalan! Alas! What had become of him? What had happened to Nandini? What did Ravidasan do? What could the Kalamukhan, who had thrown him to the ground to restrain him, have done next?… Where was he now? In an underground dungeon? In a secret tunnel? Vandiyathevan’s eyes darted wildly, trying to pierce the darkness all around. Nothing was visible! O God, could such utter darkness exist?… He remembered now—the place where he had fallen was Nandini’s inner chamber, near the hall of musical instruments. Was he still lying there? Or had they carried him elsewhere and left him? How was he to find out? He stretched out both hands and groped about. His fingers struck against an object. What was it? Did it not feel like a knife? Yes, it was a knife! A curved-bladed knife! Far more powerful than ordinary knives! If it were to strike anyone, that person would surely die! Where had he seen such a strange knife before? Where? In whose hand had he seen it?… One by one, all the events of that previous night returned to his memory! How had this knife come here? Oh! The blade is damp! How did it become wet? Was it water? No! Oil? That too, no! It must be blood! Alas! Whose blood? Could it be his own blood?

Vandiyathevan touched the back of his head. He felt his neck. There was pain in those places, but no sign of bleeding. Nowhere else on his body did he feel the pain of a knife wound!… Then, whose blood had this curved-bladed knife tasted before lying here beside him? He had not wounded anyone with it. He had not even held it in his hand before! Then, who could have used it?

Could it have been Idumbankari? On whom would he have used it? Was it possible that Idumbankari had come in the guise of that fearsome-looking Kalamukan? No! No! That could not be! Idumbankari was not such a tall, imposing figure…

What was that? The sound of footsteps? Was someone approaching? Should he remain silent? Should he call out? Would the newcomers not be carrying a lamp? At least then he could find out where he was. Otherwise, in the darkness, they might step on him without realizing it…

As this thought occurred, Vandiyathevan suddenly sat up. Holding the small knife ready in his hand, he called out, “Who is there?”

The sound of his own voice filled him with immense astonishment. He could not recognize it as his own. It did not sound like his voice at all. That Kalamukan’s grip on his throat must have caused this damage. Even producing a sound was difficult.

He tried once more, raising his voice, “Who is there?” But even that came out as a hoarse, growling noise, not as a clear voice.

Again, the sound of footsteps was heard, but then it stopped abruptly. Perhaps the person, hearing his strange voice, had been frightened, thinking it was a ghost or demon, and had turned back the way they came.

Thinking this, Vandiyathevan tried to laugh. But even his laughter came out as a strange, shapeless sound.

Alright; there is no use in sitting or waiting any longer. I must get up, walk, and find out where I am. He rose to his feet; his legs trembled. Yet, steadying himself, he began to walk. No matter how far he stretched out his hands, nothing met his touch. In the distance, something faintly glimmered. Ah! Was that not like a mirror? A very faint ray of light, coming from somewhere, had struck it and made it gleam. The image of Ravidasan entering with the tiger skin in his hand, reflected in that mirror, flashed across Vandiyathevan’s memory. Yes, yes! He was still inside Nandini’s private chamber. But why was it so shrouded in darkness here? Why had silence settled so heavily? What had become of all those who had been in this room just a short while ago?

Thinking thus, Vandiyathevan stumbled through the darkness. Perhaps there would be some light near the entrance—if not, he could at least step outside and ask someone what had happened, and learn the truth. With this thought, he made his way forward. Suddenly, something caught his foot and he fell once more with a thud. But this