The wind grew fiercer, lifting the loose ends of women’s saris like boat sails. All the decorations hanging in the storefronts were ripped off and collapsed in heaps.

By now, no one could disregard the foul smell on the wind. It stank like all the fish in the sea had washed ashore to rot. The retinue of royal officials did all they could to bring the situation under control. Bonfires of incense sticks were burned. They lit a ritual fire and cast fragrant substances into it. Yet no matter what they did, the thousands of noses could smell nothing but that stench. Sthanunatha Iyer, the king’s private secretary, stepped down from his brass chariot and called the officials every colorful name in the book. But who had the power to order the wind to stop?

The king made a humongous effort to keep his poise. His plan was to keep smiling as if everything was fine. He tried to smile at everyone. But it was too cruel an ordeal, and he could not bear it any longer. Besides, he had a sensitive nose that had never experienced anything like this. When even ordinary people who were blessed with everyday experiences of bad smells could not bear this one, how could a king?

In seconds, his smile vanished and he grew dark with anger. His face contorted. Indeed, it was most unfortunate that his face began to look like it was the very source of the horrid smell. He had taken such care to set out at an auspicious hour, even making sure two Brahmins crossed his path for good luck. What else can we call it but the cruelty of fate that those two Brahmins had collected their fee and were now eating nice hot food in some dining hall that served free food to Brahmins, while here was the maharaja, only halfway through his journey and caught in such a predicament? The king had had enough.

“Drive on!” the maharaja shouted. The horses surged ahead, swift as the wind. According to the original plan, the maharaja was not expected to arrive at the Suchindram Palace until nine at night, but now he and his procession got there by five.