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THE Cauvery is a majestic river at the village of Alavanti. On the right bank, not far away from the residential quarters, nestled the beautiful little cocoanut garden of Ramachandran. Therein lay the ancestral cottage of Murugan in peace and security. for over seven generations. The garden was the most coveted thing in the village and Murugan was the most valued of the hereditary tillers of the soil of Alavanti. It was an early morning in June and the tropical sun had already begun to pour liberally from a cloudless sky. Murugan regretting that he had overslept the night was hastily yoking the bulls to cart manure for the fields. At the same time he virtuously catalogued to himself in murmurs the details of the work for the day. Ere he could turn round to verify the familiar footsteps he had heard, his master's voice surprised him from a little distance behind.

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