Chapter III — The Rise of Alavandar

Such was the advent of the great Alavandar, foreseen by his predecessors — an advent destined to inaugurate a system of thought that would grow, amplify, and enliven the awakening religious sense in humanity. The name Alavandar literally means: "He who has come to reign" — to reign in a system of religious thought that was to glow in the human heart, lifting it to God in love.

As the boy grew, the sacred rites of anna-prasana (first feeding), chaula (tonsure), and upanayana (sacred thread ceremony) were duly performed, and the life of a student began in earnest. But Alavandar would attend school one day and stay home the next. When his fellow students asked why, he would say, "You are learning the same things over and over again." When his parents asked, he would say, "They keep reading the same passages; I have already learned it all."

A remarkably clever boy, Alavandar was therefore excused from regular school attendance. He finished the student's course quickly and entered the next stage of life — marriage — in due course. By this time Isvaramuni's own end drew near, and he took his leave of all with the consoling reflection that he had left a model son for the service of the world. The noble son strictly observed all the sacraments for his departed parent, and then set out to fulfill his own calling.

Grammar, logic, philosophy, and related subjects were taken up, and Alavandar studied them assiduously under Maha Bhashya Bhatta.

At this time there lived in the court of the monarch a certain Akkiyazhvan, who served as royal pundit and chaplain. He considered himself the head of all the literary men of the country and collected tribute from them as recognition of his supremacy.

The tribute was called dasabandham — one-tenth of the income of each learned man. A demand for this tribute was sent to Maha Bhashya Bhatta, who was deeply troubled when he received it. When Alavandar inquired and was told the whole story, he took the demand-notice and tore it to pieces in the very presence of the royal messengers.

They returned and reported this to Akkiyazhvan, who sent men back to discover whether it was a new poet or a man of letters who had dared affront him. Alavandar again intervened between his teacher and the messengers and sent them back with the appropriate retort on Maha Bhashya Bhatta's behalf.

Akkiyazhvan's pride was already piqued, and this second message set him ablaze with rage. "Is there a scholar who dares oppose me?" he cried, and appealed to the king for protection and redress. The report he gave was that it was not Maha Bhashya Bhatta himself but an insolent boy of Bhatta's party who had insulted him.

The king sent messengers with a written command for the boy to come before him. But the proud boy destroyed the royal mandate and sent the messengers away without ceremony. When the king heard of this indignity, he reflected for a moment and concluded that it must be no ordinary person who had the courage to slight even royalty. He therefore sent envoys with a proper escort and a formal, honorable invitation for the extraordinary boy to grace the court.

This was fitting, and so the boy accepted and came to the royal hall of audience with all due honors. The whole assembly gathered to see him. Akkiyazhvan was present of course, feverishly waiting to see what would happen next. His fears were well founded: it was like a bomb bursting before him when the distinguished visitor threw a scrap of paper before the royal pundit. The scrap contained this famous verse:

On reading this, Akkiyazhvan's wrath boiled over. Turning to the king he implored, "My royal patron! Permit me to argue this boy out of his intolerable vanity and crush him before you all." The king gently asked the boy whether he was capable of standing up in combat to his pundit. "Most certainly, Your Majesty! Give me leave," he answered, "but you yourself will not be capable of judging between us and deciding who has won or lost; nor can either of us openly concede victory or defeat to the other. Please appoint judges who are versed in the matters of our contention."

"Well said," the king agreed, and selected fit umpires to judge the coming intellectual contest.

It was an unparalleled and exciting scene. The king and queen both took their seats to watch the proceedings.

With her keen insight, the queen saw the boy and decided for herself that he would be the victor. "My Lord," she said to the king, "if this boy does not win, throw me to the dogs." "If he wins," exclaimed the king in turn, "I will part with half my kingdom for him."

Akkiyazhvan spoke: "Vain stripling! No drawn-out contest is needed. A mere trick will put you down before this assembly. Witness, all of you!" he said to the gathering. Turning to Alavandar he added: "If you, proud boy, should say 'yes' in any matter, I will prove its 'no'; and vice versa, 'yes' to your 'no' — and the winner shall touch the head of the loser with his foot."

"Agreed," Alavandar promptly retorted. Without further ado, he made three short statements and challenged Akkiyazhvan to disprove them if he could:

Akkiyazhvan was simply stupefied. He could not dare to disprove these plain facts, and sat helplessly silent.

They then entered the arena of literary debate, and here too Akkiyazhvan was defeated. Alavandar addressed his opponent:

On hearing this, the learned assembly applauded Alavandar's attainments and noble demeanor, and worshipped him with the honors of a Brahmaratha — a triumphal procession.

The queen was overjoyed to find that her insight had not misled her. She drew the conqueror — Yamunacharya — to her breast and exclaimed:

And so Alavandar came to mean "He who came to fulfill":

With the king and queen, Alavandar entered the inner apartments, the queen's joy knowing no bounds.

The monarch, true to his promise, invested Alavandar with half his kingdom. In royal bliss, Alavandar and his holy wife — who had by now joined him — remained.