Chapter 20 Under the Moon That Asks No Questions
The journey to the Nilathirai temple began without any fanfare.
There were no trappings of authority.
No banners of announcement.
There was only the quiet understanding that I was going to a place of importance not because the world demanded it, but because I wished to go.
As we traveled, Maruthini did not speak much. She wanted me to see everything with my own eyes. And so I did.
The land between the dark river and the mountain ranges was neither forest nor plain. It was a living balance, shaped by tribes whose aim was not dominance, but survival. These were small tribes, mostly unnoticed, yet deeply interwoven into the fabric of the continent.
The Ezhunilai tribe lived closest to the windswept mountain peaks. Their people were lean, swift, and watchful; they carried messages and trade between the regions. They believed that speed was a kind of wisdom.
Further inland, the Velliyan tribe guarded the salt flats and stone paths. Their elders memorized treaties and histories instead of carving them. "Words fade," they believed, "but memories bind."
Near the rivers, the Thiraiyan tribe thrived. Fishermen and scouts, they read the water as others read faces. To them, a ripple was a sentence.
Beyond them, scattered amidst the gentle forest edges, were the Mullaiyar the quiet healers and gatherers. They rarely left their groves, but when they did, people listened. Near the mountains stood the Kurinji people, their homes carved into the rocks. They moved slowly, spoke little, and endured much. Their strength was patience.
In the fertile lowlands settled the farmers, who fed much of the continent. They avoided conflict not out of weakness, but because they believed that hunger was a more powerful weapon than swords.
Finally, the Karunilai clan small, shadowy, and ancient. Keepers of old rituals and forgotten warnings. They did not travel with us, but their influence lingered in the way people lowered their voices when speaking of balance.
Out of seven Five of these clans quietly supported one another. Not as a declaration. But as a necessity.
As we approached the temple complex, there was a shift in the air.
It was subtle, yet unmistakable.
The Earth Temple did not rise above the land. It was embedded within it. The stone structures followed the contours of the earth, blending seamlessly with riverbeds and rock formations. No sharp edges. No towering gateways.
Only balance.
"This temple governs balance," Maruthini said softly. "Not judgment."
I nodded.
I felt it too.
Nearby, other divine presences were spoken of but they were not seen.
Far to the center of the continent stood the Agni Temple, the temple of the fire deity. Luminous, majestic, and inseparable from the power of the empire.
To the south, within the lands of the Sea Clan, lay the Neerannai Thirukkadal, the temple of the water deity. It was ancient, beyond memory. It did not issue commands. It listened.
Only two clans, the Sea Clan and the Dark River Clan, had been touched by the sea. Even they approached it with reverence. No one flew over it. No one walked upon it. Only those blessed by the water, guided by the currents that chose to cooperate, could navigate its waters.
That one blessing alone had kept this continent unconquered.
That evening, the full moon rose slowly.
Its light softened both stone and water.
I stood in the temple's outer courtyard, my hands, my feet, my attention restless, unsure where to settle. I had faced danger without hesitation, but this
This was unfamiliar.
"She will come," a temple attendant said kindly. "There is no need to rush."
I nodded, yet my heart betrayed me, beating faster than necessary.
Then I saw her.
Azhagiyal did not enter dramatically. She walked quietly, her steps measured, her presence light. Her eyes reflected the moon more than the lamplight, and when she looked at me, there was no judgment only curiosity.
She stopped at a respectful distance.
"Athiravan," she said softly.
"Azhagiyal," I replied, realizing we were the same age, before feeling foolish for noticing.
I bowed my head in sorrow.
She smiled a small, but genuine smile.
"You don't need to bow," she said. "We are… meeting, that's all."
The word echoed sweetly.
"Yes," I said. "Meeting."
We walked slowly along the temple path, the moonlight guiding us. No one followed us. The temple understood the importance of private space.
"I've heard about you," she said finally. "I've heard very little about myself," I admitted.
She smiled softly. "That's honest."
At first, we talked about simple things. About rivers and stones. About how the moon changes the way the water moves. About how silence can be comforting without being empty.
"I like the full moon," she said. "Nothing is hidden on these nights."
And then I realized
There was no gray world.
No decay.
Everything was clear.
I didn't say anything about it. I simply enjoyed it.
As we walked, we encountered others.
A young healer from the Mullaiyar clan, respectfully carrying herbs.
A messenger from the Ezhunilai clan, resting his feet after many days of travel.
A quiet Kurinji boy, watching the stars instead of the people.
They greeted us without awe. Without fear.
Only recognition.
As we stood near a stone pillar..
On the terrace overlooking the river, voices drifted from nearby conversations.
"Did you hear?" Someone whispered.
"A fire ascetic has married the temple priestess."
Another voice replied cautiously.
"This is being monitored."
Fire and balance rarely combine without consequences.
She looked at me with beauty.
"Does that worry you?" she asked.
I thought for a moment. "Not immediately."
She nodded. "Good. It doesn't worry me either."
Then we stood in silence, the moonlight between us.
"I don't know what this talk of marriage will amount to," I finally said. "But I wanted to see you... not for that."
She looked at me with steady eyes.
"I came for the same reason," she replied.
That was enough.
No promises.
No vows.
Only a moment that felt right.
As the moon reached its zenith, the temple bells chimed softly once.
Time to return.
When we parted, there was no awkwardness. Only a quiet understanding that this was neither an end nor a beginning.
It was just a step.
For the first time in a long time, I felt that the world despite the tension, despite the fire, despite the control still allowed for such steps to be taken.
Under a moon that asked no questions.