Chapter 2-1: Small Act of Kindness

வான்நின்று உலகம் வழங்கி வருதலால் தான்அமிழ்தம் என்றுணரற் பாற்று

By the continuance of rain, the world is preserved in existence; it is therefore worthy to be called ambrosia.

1. How does something small, like a raindrop or a kind act, create massive impact?
2. Can wisdom truly be universal, bridging generations, cultures, and even anime universes?

The cramped yet orderly chamber lay in eerie stillness, the usual hum of the engines absent, leaving only the silent booths and the bolted-down table pressing against the walls.

“Dearest Lata Kutty, this may be the last letter I write to you,” Rajamani put the pen down, wondering if it was indeed his last hour. His hands trembled slightly as he stared at the rest of the page, the words refusing to come. Creaking noises all around him, a metallic groan that echoed through the narrow corridors. He glanced at the flickering light above, its dim glow casting long shadows on the walls. Outside the thick porthole, the dark abyss of the ocean loomed, a reminder of how far they were from the surface.

Thirty-six hours earlier…

“It will be a day or maximum two before I come back home,” said Rajamani to his tearful daughter, Lata. Her pink skirt billowed in the persistent wind that swept through the bustling port where they were all gathered. She hugged her grandfather, Sahasranamam, tight, her small fingers clutching his weathered hand. The old man stood tall, his face a mask of calm, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of worry.

“Look, kutty, I am carrying these books with me—Thirukkural and One Piece. I will try to call you once in a while to discuss Thirukkural and Lappy,” said Rajamani, holding up the worn copies.

Lata looked at him, her sad expression changing to one of mock anger. She broke into a smile, shaking her head at her goofy dad.

“Even I know that it is Luffy,” said the 70-year-old retired baker, Sahasranamam, playfully. “I am proud of you. I’ll take care of her.”

Rajamani bid them farewell from the bottom of the slanted stairs leading to the submarine. He took one last look at the shore and the skies, the horizon a blur of gray clouds and choppy waves. A raindrop fell from above onto his lips, cool and fleeting. He licked it absentmindedly, the taste of salt and freshness mingling on his tongue.

வான்நின்று உலகம் வழங்கி வருதலால் தான்அமிழ்தம் என்றுணரற் பாற்று

By the continuance of rain, the world is preserved in existence; it is therefore worthy to be called ambrosia.

“Ambrosia—the food of the gods indeed,” thought Rajamani as he entered the hatch of the submarine. The heavy metal door clanged shut behind him, sealing him inside the belly of the beast. The air was thick with the scent of oil and steel, a far cry from the open skies and fresh rain he had left behind.

Rajamani went straight to the kitchen, his tools slung over his shoulder. He found the person he was looking for. Mali, the submarine’s chef, stood by the counter, his rotund frame clad in a spotless white uniform. He took off his chef’s hat and shook Rajamani’s hand, his grip firm and welcoming.

“Here I am. All because I helped you lift your luggage at the airport,” said Rajamani, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

“Welcome to the tube. It all starts with a simple act of kindness,” Mali replied, his hearty laughter filling the small space. His belly jiggled with each chuckle, a comforting sight in the otherwise sterile environment.

வான்நின்று உலகம் வழங்கி வருதலால் தான்அமிழ்தம் என்றுணரற் பாற்று

By the continuance of rain, the world is preserved in existence; it is therefore worthy to be called ambrosia.

“Of course, Maan, you jump through ten hoops before they take you as supplier. Brutal…,” Mali added, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

He led Rajamani to his bunk bed, a cramped space with dim, flickering lights that made the room feel even smaller. Rajamani wondered if he would ever get used to the jigsaw-puzzle-like arrangement, the claustrophobic confines of life underwater. Thankfully, he had to stay only for the night.

As if reading Rajamani’s thoughts, Mali said “Don’t worry, we never go under da water with civvies.”

“That’s a relief!”

“You have me for company, Maan,” said Mali and flicked his chef hat sideways.

“Just as Luffy relies on Sanji’s cooking to keep him strong and energized, I too will be a constant presence in the kitchen, working with you,” Rajamani said, trying to lighten the mood.

Mali raised an eyebrow. “Luffy? Sanji?”

Rajamani chuckled. “Long story, Mali. My daughter got me into this manga, anime thing, and now I am addicted. Luffy and Sanji are characters in that anime. Luffy is the captain who loves food, and Sanji is the best chefs in their pirate world.”

Before Mali could respond, a siren blared through the submarine, its shrill sound cutting through the air like a knife. Rajamani froze, his heart pounding in his chest.

“What does that mean?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Wait for it. It could be drill,” replied Mali, craning his neck in different directions, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a tense alertness.

The announcement came moments later, cold and clinical. “This is not a drill. All personnel, man your posts. I repeat, All personnel, man your posts. This is not a drill.”

Mali turned to Rajamani, his expression grim. “Sorry, Raja. We are going under da water…”

Chapter 2-2: Process and Result

துப்பார்க்குத் துப்பாய துப்பாக்கித் துப்பார்க்குத்

துப்பாய தூஉ மழை.

Rain produces good food, and is itself food.

1. How does transformation occur in nature and human potential?
2. Can something be both a process and a result simultaneously?

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. Rajamani felt a chill run down his spine as the submarine began its descent, the walls groaning under the pressure of the ocean. He thought of Lata, of Sahasranamam, of the rain that had kissed his lips just moments ago. And he wondered if he would ever see them again.

“But wh.. why? We were supposed to stay at port for 2 days. Captain Caspian promised me so” wondered Rajamani.

“They never tell me. I am the damn chef. I keep thinking me Steven Seagal of Under Siege, but look at me, Maan…” pointing at his pot belly.

Rajamani shook his head vigorously, “I didn’t sign up for this. Captain should have said something. I would have sent someone else.”

“Chill… These things don’t last long. One, maybe, two months, we back to your daughter.”

“What? 1-2 months? I have to speak to the captain.”

“Hoola… Hoola.. I was joking…”

The submarine descended steadily, the pressure of the ocean pressing against its hull like a giant hand.

“Fuhget ‘bout dat t’ing, jus focus on de process an’ hand.”

Rajamani reluctantly sat in the cramped kitchen, his tools spread out on the bolted-down table, the faint hum of the engines vibrating through the floor.

Mali bustled around him, preparing a simple meal of rice and lentils, the aroma filling the small space and offering a fleeting sense of comfort.

The noise from Mali’s cooking preparations reminded Rajamani of the rhythmic patter of droplets against the earth. He could almost smell the petrichor rising from the ground. Rain was life. It nourished the soil, filled the rivers, and brought forth the crops that fed millions. It was both the giver and the gift, a cycle of sustenance that sustained the world.

“துப்பார்க்குத் துப்பாய துப்பாக்கித் துப்பார்க்குத் துப்பாய தூஉ மழை,” he sung under his breath.

Mali glanced at him, a curious smile playing on his lips. “Yuh a goin singin somethin yah, wha’ song yuh sing?”

Rajamani gave a bleak smile, “It is an Indian tune set in Amrutavarshini. The words are Thiruvalluvar’s.”

“Wah gwaan, yuh hear tell ‘bout a train station in India wit dat same name??”

“No, that is Thiruvallur, he was Thiruvalluvar.”

Rajamani looked up, his hands pausing over the oven’s wiring. “It’s an old Tamil saying. It means rain is both the source of food and food itself. Without rain, there is no life. It’s like… the ocean outside. It’s vast, mysterious, and sometimes terrifying, but it’s also what connects us all.”

Mali nodded thoughtfully, stirring the pot of lentils. “Yah know wah gwaan? Dat’s like cookin’, mon. Deh ingrediants deh aain’t nothin’ oh demselves, but wen yuh bring dem together, dem become somethin’ yute, ya hear? Somethin’ dat nourish not just yuh body, but yuh soul, too.”

Rajamani smiled, thinking of the real reason he was there on this metallic tube. “What accent is that? Barbarossa?"

“Dat’s Barbossa. Nuh, I a-yam Jamaican.”

“Each one to themselves. That’s why I love working with ovens. They’re like… alchemists. They transform flour, water, and yeast into bread—something warm, comforting, and full of life.”

The submarine shuddered suddenly, a deep groan echoing through the hull. The lights flickered, and Rajamani’s heart skipped a beat. Mali steadied himself against the counter, his expression tense. “Wah gwaan, mi a-go deeper,” he said quietly. “Deh pressure yah… ees immense,” he clasped his hands around his neck and pretended to squeeze.

Rajamani glanced at the porthole, the inky blackness outside a stark reminder of their isolation. He thought of Lata, of her laughter, of the way her eyes lit up when she talked about Luffy and his adventures. He thought of Sahasranamam, his steady presence, his wisdom. And he thought of the rain, the way it had kissed his lips before he stepped into this metal beast.

“We’ll be okay,” Rajamani said, more to himself than to Mali. “We have to be.”

Hours passed, the submarine sinking further into the abyss. Rajamani worked tirelessly on the oven, his hands moving with practiced precision. The crew moved around him, their voices low and tense, their faces etched with worry. The pressure outside was relentless, a constant reminder of the fragile barrier between them and the crushing depths.

Mali approached him with a plate of food, steam rising from the warm rice and lentils. “Eat,” he said firmly. “Yuh cain’t wuk on a bweak up styomach.”

Rajamani hesitated, then accepted the plate with a grateful nod. The first bite was simple but comforting, the flavors a reminder of home. “This is good,” he said between mouthfuls and did a “Diable Jambe” move, mimicking Sanji.

“What was dat?” Mali asked.

“You remind me of Sanji from One Piece. That guy can turn the simplest ingredients into a feast fit for kings,” washing down the lentils with the soup that Mali had offered.

Mali went back to his cooking. He turned around and said, “Wah gwaan, an’ah a-wanna sing dat song agen. Mi lika dih.”

துப்பார்க்குத் துப்பாய துப்பாக்கித் துப்பார்க்குத்

துப்பாய தூஉ மழை.

Rain produces good food, and is itself food.

Rajamani’s thoughts drifting back to the rain. He imagined it falling on the fields, filling the rivers, feeding the crops. He imagined it falling on Lata’s face, her laughter ringing out as she danced in the downpour. Rain was life. It was hope. And even here, in the depths of the ocean, it reminded him of why he had come.

The submarine groaned again, louder this time, and the lights flickered ominously. Rajamani set his plate aside, his heart pounding. “What’s happening?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mali’s expression was grim. “We’re at the limit. If we go any deeper…”

Rajamani noticed a little trickle of water near his shoes.

துப்பார்க்குத் துப்பாய துப்பாக்கித் துப்பார்க்குத்

துப்பாய தூஉ மழை.

Rain produces good food, and is itself food.

Chapter 2-3: Failed Promise

விண்இன்று பொய்ப்பின் விரிநீர் வியனுலகத்து

உள்நின்று உடற்றும் பசி

When the clouds deceive, withholding the rain, famine stalks the earth.

Have you ever made a promise that you failed to keep? What was the impact of that on others, and on yourself? How does it feel when someone breaks a promise to you? The submarine groaned again, a deep, metallic sound that reverberated through the narrow corridors. The lights flickered many times, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Rajamani’s hands trembled as he tightened the last bolt on the oven, his fingers slick with sweat. The air felt heavier now, thicker, as if the weight of the ocean above was pressing down on them, squeezing the life out of the vessel.

He tried his best to keep his focus on the task at hand - installing the oven.

Mali stood by the counter, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a tense silence. He stirred a pot of soup, the aroma faint but comforting, though it did little to ease the growing tension. The crew moved about with hurried steps, their faces pale, their voices hushed. The submarine was at its limit, and everyone knew it.

Rajamani wiped his brow and glanced at the porthole. The darkness outside was absolute, a void that seemed to swallow all light and hope. He thought of the rain again, of the way it had promised life but now felt impossibly far away. The old Tamil verse echoed in his mind:

விண்இன்று பொய்ப்பின் விரிநீர் வியனுலகத்து

உள்நின்று உடற்றும் பசி

When the clouds deceive, withholding the rain, famine stalks the earth.

The words felt hauntingly relevant. The submarine was like the clouds that had promised safety, but now, trapped in the depths, it felt like a betrayal. The crew’s hope was dwindling, and with it, their strength. Rajamani could see it in their eyes—the fear, the exhaustion, the gnawing hunger that went beyond the physical. It was a hunger for hope, for a way out, for the promise of life above.

Mali broke the silence, his voice low but steady. “Di soup a ready. Yuh know, ees not much, but ees somethin’.” He ladled the thin broth into bowls and handed one to Rajamani. “Tek eat yuh, ya’ve bie workin’ non-stop.”

Rajamani took the bowl, the warmth seeping into his hands. He sipped the soup, the flavor simple but nourishing. It reminded him of Sanji’s philosophy—that food was more than sustenance; it was a way to keep the spirit alive, even in the darkest times. “This is good,” he said quietly. “It’s like… a small piece of home. Sanji from One Piece would have said the same—no matter how bad things get, you don’t give up on feeding your crew.”

“Yuh had fi squeeze in a One Piece irrefren, " said Mali.

“Perils of being around an 8-year old obsessed with anime, besides the Luminous Literary Minds at Pune Writers Group asked me not to lecture them.”

Bowl in hand, Rajamani flicked the switch of the oven to make sure it was in working order, after all, that was part of his contract with the Captain.

The submarine shuddered violently, and the lights flickered again, this time staying dim for longer. An alarm blared, sharp and insistent, cutting through the silence. Rajamani set his bowl down, his heart racing. “What’s happening now?”

Mali’s face turned grim. “Wah gwaan? Wah happenin’ fi lose power yah? Yuh gotta come up pon de surface ‘fore t’ing get worsa.…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the implication was clear. The submarine was running out of time.

The red hot heating elements of the oven overheated and turned yellow hot.

விண்இன்று பொய்ப்பின் விரிநீர் வியனுலகத்து

உள்நின்று உடற்றும் பசி

When the clouds deceive, withholding the rain, famine stalks the earth.

Chapter 2-4: Stopped Funding

‘ஏரின் உழாஅர் உழவர் புயல்என்னும்

வாரி வளங்குன்றிக் கால்.’

If the rain doesn’t come, the farmer’s plough has to stop.”

What is the ‘rain’ in your life that keeps everything running smoothly? Is it a habit, a person, or an opportunity?

Have you ever faced a situation where something essential was missing, and everything started falling apart The kitchen lights flickered, then went out completely, plunging the room into darkness. For a moment, there was only silence, heavy and suffocating. Then, with a faint hum, the oven’s display lit up, casting a soft glow across the kitchen. But even that soon faded, leaving them in utter blackness. The sub shook violently, tilting forward as if the ground beneath them had shifted. Rajamani stumbled, his hands flailing for something to hold onto. The loud noises subsided, leaving an eerie silence.

“Mali… Are you there?” Rajamani called, his voice trembling. All he heard was faint mumbling. He began to move cautiously, hands outstretched, feeling his way through the darkness. His foot touched something soft and squishy. He knelt, his hands brushing against fabric, then something warm and damp. It was Mali. “Mali… Mali…” he called again, his voice echoing. There was no response, only labored breathing.

“Mi a… good… Mi get… some… wheeze… Pressure… low… Yah, mi a… keep… talkin’… fi yuh…”

“I’ll go call for help…” said Rajamani, ready to leap out.

“No… stay…”

He got hold of Mali’s hands and held it.

Rajamani’s mind raced. He thought of the Thirukkural:

‘ஏரின் உழாஅர் உழவர் புயல்என்னும்

வாரி வளங்குன்றிக் கால்.’

If the rain doesn’t come, the farmer’s plough has to stop.”

The words echoed in his mind, a reminder of how even the most skilled are at the mercy of forces beyond their control. Just as a farmer cannot sow or reap without rain, Rajamani realized he, too, was powerless in this moment. He had no control over the power drain, the shaking sub, or the darkness enveloping them.

“One… piece… daughter…”

He narrated an example from One Piece. In the Alabasta arc, the people suffered due to a lack of rain. Crocodile, the antagonist, had manipulated the environment to create a drought, leaving the farmers and citizens helpless. No matter how hard they worked, their efforts were futile without rain. It was a stark parallel to the Thirukkural’s wisdom—a reminder that some things are beyond human control, no matter how much we strive or plan.

Rajamani clenched his fists, frustration and helplessness washing over him. He had always prided himself on solving problems, fixing what was broken. But now, he was as powerless as the farmer waiting for rain. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Mali, hang on,” he whispered, more to himself than to his unconscious friend. “We’ll get through this.”

The darkness pressed in, but Rajamani refused to give in to despair. He knew that, just as the rain eventually comes to the farmer, light would return to them. Until then, he would do what he could, even if it meant waiting in the dark.

‘ஏரின் உழாஅர் உழவர் புயல்என்னும்

வாரி வளங்குன்றிக் கால்.’

If the rain doesn’t come, the farmer’s plough has to stop."

Chapter 2-5: Rain and Redemption

கெடுப்பதூஉம் கெட்டார்க்குச் சார்வாய்மற் றாங்கே

எடுப்பதூஉம் எல்லாம் மழை.

Rain by its absence ruins men; and by its existence restores them to fortune."

• Have you ever faced a situation where something vital was missing—money, time, or even motivation—and it made everything fall apart? How did you recover?
• In your life, who or what plays the role of ‘rain’—something that, when present, brings prosperity, and when absent, creates difficulty?

The darkness in the kitchen was suffocating, but Rajamani’s mind was racing. The Thirukkural he had recalled earlier now took on a deeper meaning:

கெடுப்பதூஉம் கெட்டார்க்குச் சார்வாய்மற் றாங்கே

எடுப்பதூஉம் எல்லாம் மழை.

Rain by its absence ruins men; and by its existence restores them to fortune."

It was a stark reminder of how nature—or fate—could both destroy and rebuild. The power drain had brought them to the brink of ruin, but perhaps there was still a way to turn things around.

The lights came back on.

Rajamani took off Mali’s chef hat to use it as a pillow.

I don’t think I can hang on any longer just waiting around.

As though Mali could read his thoughts, Mali pointed to a peculiar device mounted on the wall.

“Is that a communication device?”

Rajamani picked up the handset and said, “Hello.. hello.. I am Rajamani from the kitchen. Anybody… anybody… we need help.”

“Not now. We are busy.”

“Medical emergency, Chef Mali is not doing well.”

All he could hear was a crackle. He wondered if they heard him.

“Hello… Hello…”

No response.

The darkness in the kitchen was suffocating, but Rajamani’s mind raced. The Thirukkural he had recalled earlier echoed in his thoughts: “Rain by its absence ruins men; and by its existence restores them to fortune.” The power drain he caused had brought them to ruin, but perhaps, like rain, there was still a chance for redemption.

A loud hiss pierced the air, followed by the sound of rushing water.

The water level started rising. Rajamani’s immediate concern was Mali.

Rajamani attempted to support Mali, but the torund chef lay listless and unresponsive. He carefully positioned himself under Mali’s armpits and strained to lift him into a more upright position. However, Mali’s weight proved too great, leaving Rajamani struggling to budge him.

“We’ve got a leak!” someone shouted. Panic spread as water flooded in, the sub groaning under the pressure. Rajamani’s heart pounded. He had caused this.

No one heard him.

The water level kept rising, immersing Mali underwater. Rajamani struggled to keep him above water, so that he had a fighting chance.

“C’mon, Mali! Work with me. Up…”

“Wah gwaan?”

கெடுப்பதூஉம் கெட்டார்க்குச் சார்வாய்மற் றாங்கே

எடுப்பதூஉம் எல்லாம் மழை.

Rain by its absence ruins men; and by its existence restores them to fortune."

Chapter 2-6: Rain drops and change

விசும்பின் துளிவீழின் அல்லால்மற் றாங்கே

பசும்புல் தலைகாண்பு அரிது.

If even a single drop of rain doesn’t fall, not even grass will grow.

• What’s the ‘rain’ in your life? Something so essential that without it, everything stops working? Is it money, health, or something else?
• Can you think of a time when someone controlled an important resource in your life—maybe information, opportunities, or even your time?

Mali’s limp body suddenly rose above the water.

Rajamani looked up to see Captain Caspian himself.

“Skipper…” Rajamani sobbed hard.

“No worries, mate, am here,” said the Captain with a strong Australian accent. In spite of thin and tall frame, the Captain showed immense strength and moved Mali on top of the kitchen countertop.

“The kitchen sink will drain the water for a little while, but we don’t have a lot of time. Stop.. I am here now.”

“Sir, it is all my fault. I ran the oven to test if it was working, since you told me that there are no second chances for me, " Rajamani said in the middle of his sobbing.

“Ohhhhhh…”

Caspian pulled out a walkie-talkie from his back pocket. “XO, we’ve found the power surge source. Don’t start the power yet.”

“But Sir, how do we stop this water from rising?”

“Boy, when the power stops, everything stops,” said the Captain, while looking around to locate the oven.

விசும்பின் துளிவீழின் அல்லால்மற் றாங்கே

பசும்புல் தலைகாண்பு அரிது.

If even a single drop of rain doesn’t fall, not even grass will grow.

Rajamani pointed at a device at the corner of the kitchen.

“You hold him.”

Captain waded through the waist high water and reached behind the oven and yanked out the cable.

“XO, now try the power.”

The lights came back on.

Mali stirred from his stupor.

“One… Piece…”

“Is he asphyxiated? Why is he saying random things?”

“No, Sir, I have been telling him stories from the anime One Piece to keep him going.”

Caspian shrugged and said, “The pumps should start working now. Keep this walkie-talkie with you. The Medics are very busy, but I’ll tell them about Pudding.”

After Caspian left, Rajamani narrated an episode from One Piece when Orochi and Kaido poisoned the water and the Wano people couldn’t cultivate anything.

“Mali.. Mali… Are you awake?”

No response from Mali.

விசும்பின் துளிவீழின் அல்லால்மற் றாங்கே

பசும்புல் தலைகாண்பு அரிது.

If even a single drop of rain doesn’t fall, not even grass will grow.

Chapter 2-7: Power of giving back

நெடுங்கடலும் தன்நீர்மை குன்றும் தடிந்தெழிலி தான்நல்கா தாகி விடின்

Even the wealth of the wide sea will be diminished, if the cloud that has drawn (its waters) up gives them not back again (in rain).

• What’s something in your life that you keep taking but never give back? Is it time, knowledge, kindness?
• Have you ever seen a situation where someone kept using resources—like money, food, or even friendships—without ever returning the favor?
• And finally, what’s one small way you can ‘return the rain’—give back to the people or the world around you?”

“Captain.. cap… Mali is breathing, but not moving…” said Rajamani over the walkie-talkie.

“He’ll be fine. We have bigger problems. The water level is rising because some of the big pumps are submerged and only the small ones are working. The oxygen level is also at a dangerously low level. Hang in there, we are working on it.”

The walkie-talkie fell silent.

What am I to do? Mali is dying. The sub is dying. All because of me. Did I have to test that oven when the sub was underwater? All because of this metallic monster.

He took a hammer out of his tool belt, waded through the water and started pounding his oven, smashing it to smitherins.

He sobbed loudly.

“Lata, when will I ever see you again? Is this it? Is my number up too? Like Mali?”

He continued sobbing.

Rajamani found a piece of paper in the broken pieces of the oven. The warranty manual.

He pulled out his pen and started to write.

“Dearest Lata, this may be the last letter I write to you, " Rajamani put the pen down wondering if it was his last hour.

“No, it is not. Usopp, the self-proclaimed coward stepped up against all odds to build something ingeniously.”

“Yes, ingeniously…”

He took a large piece of metal from the broken fragments of the oven.

“Captain.. captain. I have an idea.”

Chapter 2-8: Forgotten celebrations

சிறப்பொடு பூசனை செல்லாது வானம்

வறக்குமேல் வானோர்க்கும் ஈண்டு

If the heaven dry up, neither yearly festivals, nor daily worship will be offered in this world, to the celestials.

• What’s something you used to celebrate but stopped because life got busy?
• Have you ever felt disconnected from a tradition because the resources or the people behind it faded away?

“Captain, I can patch the hole with a large piece from my oven.”

“Move toward the direction I left you. Help the people who are trying to seal the leak.”

He put his walkie-talkie back in his pocket. He carried the flat metal piece up to the crew members. They were taken aback seeing someone in civvies.

“Here, I just spoke to Skipper. He asked me to help you. Take this and seal the hole.”

“It will not work,” said the crew member. He had a gash on the side of his forehead.

“No, it should work. I’ll help you.”

“Do you have an oxy-acetylene torch?”

“No, we don’t want to use up any oxygen. We only rivets, since power is also at a premium now.”

“Here, use this. I think we’ll need more pieces. I’ll get what I have.”

After several trips, the crew seemed to have slowed the leak.

“What about the oxygen pump?”

“We are trying to use those crystals to get oxygen now. We had to choose between the pump or the oxygen, so we are alternating.”

Thud. Crash.

“What was that?”

“That’s another pipeline which gave way. The leak is enormous.”

The Captain’s voice on the radio. “All hands, divert all remaining battery power to water pumps.”

The crew member started to grumble. “But Sir, the oxygen?”

“If we drown, you won’t need the oxygen. That’s an order, sailor. Divert now.”

சிறப்பொடு பூசனை செல்லாது வானம்

வறக்குமேல் வானோர்க்கும் ஈண்டு

If the heaven dry up, neither yearly festivals, nor daily worship will be offered in this world, to the celestials.

As the hours dragged on, the truth of their fate became undeniable. The pumps struggled, but the water continued to rise, relentless in its advance. Oxygen thinned, each breath a silent prayer. The crew, their faces lined with unspoken dread, knew they were running out of time.

Rajamani had worked very hard. He had pulled out every scrap metal there was in the kitchen and tried to seal every leak. But now he sat motionless, his thoughts heavy. He had sought redemption, but the sea was indifferent and relentless. Like the heavens withholding rain, it denied him the mercy he needed.

The submarine, which was supposed to his hotel for a day now faced the consequence of the dark oblivion. He was reminded of Kaido, the horrible monster, who had to kill Luffy to get his due.

The mighty and supreme submarine was nothing but a mere speck, lay in wait for the inveitable-become one with nature.

சிறப்பொடு பூசனை செல்லாது வானம்

வறக்குமேல் வானோர்க்கும் ஈண்டு

If the heaven dry up, neither yearly festivals, nor daily worship will be offered in this world, to the celestials.

Chapter 2-9: Survival

தானம் தவம்இரண்டும் தங்கா வியன்உலகம் வானம் வழங்கா தெனின்

If rain fall not, penance and alms-deeds will not dwell within this spacious world.

• Have you ever noticed how generosity decreases when resources become scarce?
• How do you think modern society should prepare for difficult times, so we don’t lose our compassion?

“He’s not even a crew member, why should he get the oxygen tank? Pudding should get it, " yelled one of the crew members. Others joined it amidst all the coughing, grunting and moaning.

Captain Caspian McCoy stood tall amidst all the chaos.

“This crew is one of the finest with sailors from all over the world. You have to be protected at all costs. Your lives are more important to me than anyone else in the world. Given the choice between my family and you guys, I choose you…”

Everyone listened to him in rapt silence.

“But, what is the motto of our boat?”

“Nemo Peribit. None will perish.”

Rajamani leaned against the wall, haunted by the thought of never seeing Lata, his 8-year old daughter, and Sahasranamam, his baker dad, again. Suddenly, a memory surfaced.

“Excuse me, Skipper. I might have a way.”

He pulled out a paper from his pocket.

“Here, look at the schematic of the oven.”

“A backup power source in the oven?”

“Do you think it will power the entire submarine?”

“No not the entire submarine, only the vital pumps which can pull us up to the surface.”

“If we reroute it, we might restart the systems,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence.

“XO, do you think it will work?”

“I am not sure how much power is stored in this thing now.”

“I got it fully charged and…”

“And..?”

“That caused the power surge in your electrical systems. This is a different system than what I was asked to install, Captain.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Get cracking already,”

The crew sprang into action, their movements urgent. Rajamani worked feverishly, his hands trembling as he accessed the oven’s power source. Sparks flew, and the lights flickered, but the systems failed to fully restart. Tensions rose as the air grew thinner. “This isn’t working!” someone shouted.

Rajamani’s mind raced. He recalled the ancient Tamil kural: “If rain falls not, penance and alms-deeds will not dwell within this spacious world.” Just as rain sustains life, their survival hinged on this one chance. Then, he thought of One Piece—the Straw Hat crew’s relentless fight to save the Going Merry as it crumbled in Enies Lobby. Their refusal to give up inspired him.

With renewed determination, he adjusted the connections. The crew watched in tense silence as the systems roared back to life. Lights brightened, and the ballast pumps came to life. They were moving upwards. Cheers erupted, relief washing over them.

Rajamani slumped against the wall, exhausted. They had faced the abyss and emerged victorious.

தானம் தவம்இரண்டும் தங்கா வியன்உலகம் வானம் வழங்கா தெனின்

If rain fall not, penance and alms-deeds will not dwell within this spacious world.

Chapter 2-10: Water, water…

நீர்இன்று அமையாது உலகெனின் யார்யார்க்கும் வான்இன்று அமையாது ஒழுக்கு

If it be said that the duties of life cannot be discharged by any person without water, so without rain there cannot be the flowing of water.

• How often do we take water for granted in our daily lives?
• What steps can we take to ensure we don’t waste water, so future generations don’t suffer?

The submarine’s control room buzzed with tension as Rajamani rerouted the oven’s power, restoring the vessel’s critical systems. The dim lights flickered back, but the fix was temporary. Captain Caspian’s urgent Aussie voice cut through the chaos: “We’ve got to surface, mates. Now.”

As the submarine ascended, the damaged hull groaned under the crushing pressure. The crew braced themselves, fear etched on their faces. Rajamani turned to Mali, the Jamaican chef whose easygoing demeanor had been a comfort. “If this is it,” Rajamani said with a wry smile, “let’s go out with a bang. Or at least a loaf of bread.”

Mali chuckled. “You’re mad, man. But I like it.” Mali pulled out a big bottle of rum from the annuls of his submerged kitchen.

“Is bread Jamaican for rum?” asked Rajamani.

“How stereotypical? That’s the captain’s stash. Look…”

There was bread right behind the bottle neatly sliced. He handed a few slices to Rajamani.

Both of them held the slices as if they were bottles of champagne, a small comfort amidst the chaos. “This better be the best damn bread ever,” Mali joked, munching the baked product.

Miraculously, the submarine broke the surface. The crew erupted in cheers as sunlight streamed through the portholes. Rajamani slumped against the galley wall, clutching the warm loaf. Captain Caspian clapped his shoulder. “You’re a bloody legend, mate. Who knew an oven could save us all?”

Mali raised a slice of bread in mock salute. “To Rajamani, the one-piece hero of the deep! Luffy’s got nothing on you, man.” Laughter replaced tension as they celebrated survival.

The crew had time to fix the submarine. Rajamani fixed Mali’s old oven. Rajamani felt changed. The ocean, once a source of fear, now held an odd allure. As he helped Mali bake a loaf of bread, he called home with the satellite phone that Captain Caspian had loaned him. He recounted his adventure to Lata and Sahasranamam. Breaking off a piece of bread, he mused, “Like that old kural says

நீர்இன்று அமையாது உலகெனின் யார்யார்க்கும் வான்இன்று அமையாது ஒழுக்கு

If it be said that the duties of life cannot be discharged by any person without water, so without rain there cannot be the flowing of water.

—without rain, no water; without water, no life. And without a little madness, no story worth telling.”

He smiled, savoring the warm bread. The ocean had tested him but also gifted him newfound respect—for its depths and the unlikely heroes who sailed them.

“But, cap, where are we?” asked Mali.

The Skipper stroked his white beard and said, “Near the Forgotten Island.”