Vallee, after a short time, followed him in. ‘The rice is ready, father,’ she said. ‘Shall I serve it?’
‘No!’ replied her father sternly. ‘I will neither eat nor drink till I have seen to this matter. I shall go at once to Mánkúlam and see the múdliya.’
‘Father!’ said Vallee hesitatingly, ‘perhaps Iyan did not do this; perhaps’——
‘You’re a fool, child!’ returned the púsári sharply. ‘Who but he could have done it?’
‘Valan told me’—— began Vallee timidly.
Her father interrupted her with an angry exclamation. ‘Did I not order you never to speak to him? Have you dared to listen to the brother of my bitterest enemy?’ and he raised his hand threateningly. ‘Now listen, daughter! If you ever speak to Valan or listen to him or have aught to do with him again, I will beat you as I would a dog; I swear to you I will.—Now, hearken to my words and obey!’ And with a threatening look and a suggestive shake of his stick, the púsári stalked out. After another look in silence at the wounded buffalo, he left the village and strode off in the direction of Mánkúlam, leaving Vallee crouching in a corner of the hut with her hands over her face and sobbing aloud.
Valan Elúvan, of whom they had been speaking, was the younger brother of the púsári’s enemy, and was Vallee’s lover. He was a man of a very different nature from his brother, being open-hearted, generous, and good-natured. Nevertheless, the púsári hated him almost as much as he did his brother. The understanding between Valan and Vallee had only recently been come to. For a long time, Valan had watched and admired the graceful maiden; but owing to the bad feeling between the two families, had not ventured to speak to her. One day, however, seeing her in difficulties with a troublesome cow she was trying to milk, he went to her assistance. She thanked him shyly, but with such evident pleasure at his attention, that he was emboldened to speak to her again, when he met her one day going to a neighbouring village. After that, they frequently found occasion to meet alone, and gradually their acquaintance grew to intimacy, and finally ripened to love. Unfortunately, her father discovered accidentally what was going on, and sternly forbade Vallee ever to speak to her lover again. Since then, she had only had one opportunity of seeing Valan. This fresh outrage on the part of Iyan Elúvan, she knew but too well, finally extinguished all chance of her father ever accepting Valan as her lover; so, crouching in the dark hut, she gave vent to her grief.
Meanwhile, the púsári was striding along the jungle-path leading to Mánkúlam, his mouth full of curses, and his heart full of hatred and thoughts of vengeance. The path was narrow and winding, leading now along sandy torrent-beds, then through lofty forest or thorny jungle. The village was three miles distant, and it was now evening, so he walked as fast as he could, finding some vent for his feelings in the violent exercise. When he had walked two-thirds of the way, he arrived at a broad river. It was now nearly dry, it being the hot season, and was merely a wide reach of deep sand, with shallow pools here and there under the high banks. The púsári had crossed the river and had just entered the jungle on the other side, when he suddenly uttered a curse and stopped short. Coming along the path towards him, and alone, was a man. It was his enemy, Iyan Elúvan! He was a broad-shouldered, big-headed man, with a round face, out of which looked two little pig-like, cunning eyes. A slight contraction of one side of his face causing him to show his teeth, gave him a peculiar, sinister, sneering expression. He had been at work cutting fence-sticks, for he was carrying his katti or jungle-knife over his shoulder.
On catching sight of each other, the two men stopped and looked at one another. The púsári’s face worked with passion, his eyes glittered, and the veins stood out on his forehead. The other had a mocking, evil smile on his face, which seemed to irritate his enemy beyond endurance. Suddenly the púsári grasped his heavy iron-shod stick and made two steps forward. In an instant Iyan swung round his jungle-knife and stood on the defensive, while his sneering smile gave place to a look of concentrated hate. For a few moments they stood glaring at each other, and then the púsári slowly stepped to one side and motioned to the other to pass on, which he did, keeping an eye on his foe, however, and passing out of reach of him. As soon as he had gone by, the púsári resumed his journey, his rencontre with his enemy having added fresh fuel to the fire of evil passions blazing in his heart. Iyan watched him till he had gone some distance, and then, after a few moments’ hesitation, turned and followed, keeping him in sight, but remaining a long way behind.
A walk of a mile further brought the púsári to the village of Mánkúlam, with Iyan following in the distance. It was rather a large village, consisting of about a score of huts, scattered about a wide open spot in the jungle, with a tank on one side, and rice-fields stretching beyond it. On the outskirts of the village was a house larger and more pretentious than any of the others, and boasting a dense plantain grove, growing close to the hut, and a few cocoa-nut palms. This was the residence of the múdliya, or headman of the district. On entering the inclosure through the rude stile or gap in the fence, the púsári paused for a moment, for the place seemed deserted, no one being in sight. He heard, however, the sound of voices inside the hut, so, stepping forward, with a loud unceremonious ‘Salaam, múdliya!’ he entered the hut. Seeing his enemy enter the headman’s house, Iyan came cautiously forward, but paused irresolutely at the gate. A glance round showed him that the people of the house were all indoors, so, sneaking into the inclosure, he crept stealthily through the grove of plantain trees till he got close to the door of the hut, when he crouched down under the eaves. From his hiding-place he could hear all that was said in the hut.