decked in jewels,
refusing to be placated.
The farmers,
with their families,
disperse
in the field
like satiated fish.
Bounded by banks
tall as mountains,
carrying foam
that froths into peaks,
the Vaiyai flows,
adorned with flowers
as it streams into gardens.
As women in crafted garlands
bathe in the stream,
the river places
behind their ears
flower buds that flow by—
Lines 61–84
remnants of the garlands
on other men’s heads.
Bangles, rings, head ornaments, chains worn on hips and
waists, armbands:
the river snatches
all these things,
like the exalted one
capturing enemy lands,
laying other armies to waste.
This is the beauty of the Vaiyai!
In this river of the Pāṇṭiyaṉ king,
girls splash in the water,
their eyes gleaming like flowers.
One covers her eyes with her hands:
she has lost the water game,
her opponent is delighted.
Using the jewelled chain around her waist,
the victor proudly captures the defeated one,
taking hold of her shoulders, soft as pillows,
encircling her like a golden creeper.
Lines 85–103
An onlooker,
taking pity on the captured one,
dives into the river to rescue her.
She darkens the new waters
with her striking eyes,
lined with collyrium,
resembling a mango cut by an iron knife.
This is the abundant beauty of the Vaiyai!
Out of the water,
she dries her wet clothes and body,
this object of desire.
She holds up a cup of liquor,
so hot and pungent
that the bees
buzz around it.
Her eyes were dark
like the neytal flowers,
but now, after a sip,
they are red
like the naravam flowers
kindling happiness
in those who behold it.
Lines 104–25
These beautiful eyes
make the broad-chested man
want to sing,
so he does.
But, alas, another woman thinks he is singing to her.
This man trembles, thinking,
‘What will happen to me?’
The eyes of his beloved,
red from the liquor,
become redder still, with anger.
Enraged,
in the bathing women’s presence,
she tears her garland to shreds.
Her lover,
who admired her body,
prostrates himself,
his body smeared
with sandalwood paste:
at this, she treads on his head,
but her anger does not diminish.
This happens when the townspeople bathe in the waters.
Lines 126–46
The yal,
its strings tuned
to the seven pālai notes,
produces sweet music.
The flute joins in harmony,
while the mulavu drums
add their percussion.
Men and women
begin to dance,
while the cascading waters
loud as furious thunder
crash against the banks.
In Tirumarutamunturai,
the river washes over
the garlands and the heads
of people seeing and enjoying the waters.
Treacherous Vaiyai!
May we always be as happy,
as we are today,
bathing in your waters,
singing your praise,
casting away our sorrows
and dwelling in our joy.
Lines 147–69
Paripāṭal X
‘They Offer the River Liquor’
At night, the rains are abundant in the mountains;
by morning, they merge with the boundless sea,
covering the wide, sandy banks
with intricate blankets of flowers.
The river mixes banana leaves with the tender shoots
of the mango tree
whose branches blossom with buds
circled by bees humming melodiously.
The river takes in the sounds—
too many to measure,
too difficult to discern,
accompanied by the throbbing of parai drums.
The Vaiyai comes!
People crowd the shallow waters, wishing to bathe.
Some wear soft pads to soothe their feet
and tight jewelled girdles to adorn their waists.
Lines 1–17
They carry squirts filled with vermilion water
and boxes filled with sandalwood and rose water—
concoctions that glisten like pearls.
Galloping horses, swift as birds, manes flying;
female elephants, slow but pleasant to ride;
chariots of horses,
oxen and mules that respond when summoned;
palanquins held by poles;
the crowds surround these well-crafted vehicles,
mounting them in haste.
Old and young,
both walk onward:
girls like buds not yet in bloom
and girls whose mouths open like fresh fragrant flowers;
women whose hair is specked with grey
and women whose hair is white;
those devoted to their husbands
and those who delight many men;
all walk slowly to the Vaiyai.
Like the gentle cadence of instruments,
set to many rhythms by expert musicians,
Lines 18–38
the people walk
arriving at the broad banks.
Some take in the sight of the river.
Others wait to mount the riverboats.
Others stand, prepared to begin the water fight.
Some ride the cavalry of horses,
others sit atop the mighty female elephants.
When they reach the river island,
full of fragrant flowers,
sullen women are reluctant
to give in to their lovers’ embrace.
They have been brooding
since the night before.
Still, they cannot help
but take pleasure
in the taste of honey-sweet love.
Overcome with desire,
some cast off their temper,
as well as their chastity,
to enter their lovers’ beds.
Escaping the clutches of their grandmothers—
with their watchful eyes and sauntering gaits—
Lines 39–60
young women preen suggestively,
like flowers attracting bees.
The people of Kutal go to the Vaiyai’s waters,
like merchants eagerly awaiting their returning ships.
And there,
the mighty male elephant
desires the bashful female
standing beside the building
with well-formed levels.
Despite the goading of his mahout
the male elephant refuses to move.
The docile female goes to the male,
jolting the swan-like ladies sitting on her back,
to return the affections of her mate.
Suddenly, the female ele
phant is afraid:
she sees a hand-drawn picture of an angry tiger
on the building wall.
This elephant, dark as a rain cloud,
convulses in fear and confusion,
striking fear in the women sitting on her.
Lines 61–80
The male, with his resounding trumpet,
goes to his terrified mate,
ignoring the sharp prods of his mahout.
But then, the expert elephant-keeper
controls the beast once more—
calming the trembling lady riders—
like a sailor who navigates well,
using a rudder to steer his crew to safety
on a ship whose sail, ropes and joints
are coming apart.
The yal with its long stem,
accompanying singers and dancers,
makes music that softens the hearts
of all who listen.
Some build fortresses around their hearts,
but the music breaks their defences,
though they are loathe to admit it
fearing other people’s words.
They are like two armies
facing each other,
ready for peace,
but unwilling to surrender,
for fear of disgrace.
Lines 81–103
Still, their growing desire
is visible in their intoxicated eyes.
Aware that hurtful gossip will spread,
they try to hide their feelings,
but their efforts reveal their desire,
just like those who drink copiously,
reveal their inebriation
trying to hide their drunkenness in their hearts.
And so, love and liquor mix
and flow freely in the rushing water.
Those tired after the water fight release their rafts.
Fragrant akil wood smoulders in the gardens—
its sweet smoke rising to the sky.
The sandalwood paste,
once smeared on round breasts,
trickles off.
The rich scent drifts everywhere.
Women take out their liquor cups:
removing the outer casing,
revealing the glimmering metal beneath,
like the moon peeking through the clouds.
Lines 104–24
They hold the hot liquor in their hands
like the Snake that clutches the moon
during the eclipse.
Their headdresses,
glittering with gems,
in the shape of
open-mouthed sharks.
As they sip, their lips are red
like the ampal flower.
They look like the celestial women who eat the moon.
They wrap their bodies in white fabrics,
and wring their hair with towels
embroidered with flowers.
On smooth grinding stones,
women crush vermilion,
the colour of altar flames,
with fragrant akil wood and camphor.
Into the water, people cast gold figurines
of snails, crabs, fish and salamanders,
saying, ‘Prosper!’ ‘Grow!’
Lines 125–44
Desiring to be virtuous,
they offer alms to the poor,
showing them compassion
before their need is made audible.
They pour lotions on their curled locks
that resemble blue gems
with bees swarming around them,
then plunge into the water.
Others grind fine powders
to remove the oils from their hair.
They feed the river
garlands, pastes, musks and ornaments,
making the waters beautiful.
They offer the river liquor,
which it refuses to drink.
The women, adorned with brilliant bangles,
have luminous faces
and red swollen nipples.
Tired, after the water games,
their eyes still seek the water;
Lines 145–64
their eyes, like the tips of
the love god’s arrows
made of five flowers,
sharpened by a blade,
their eyes that look like flowers
seek
seek
seek
the water.
Even after the water fight,
some young men still feel strong:
they leap on to the trunks of banana trees,
releasing pollen into the waves and foam below.
Some launch rafts into the rapids,
others tire themselves as they resist the tide.
They accept the rice—so fluffy, it resembles white
flowers—
that the slender-waisted girls on the beach
playfully offer them,
then withdraw.
Lines 165–83
They steal the smooth stones and round beans—
the little girls’ makeshift toys—
then run to the cool banks
and plunge into the waters,
till they are out of reach.
The sweet waters are muddied,
resembling a battlefield
where elephants fight
and warriors slay enemies
with gleaming swords and spears.
In the evening’s darkness,
dispelled by a glowing moon,
the crowds prepare to return to
their town of Kutal.
Preparing to go home,
they cast off their swimming clothes,
replacing them with blossom garlands,
armbands, shining jewels and pearls.
People sing prayers and praise,
dancers sway to befitting rhythms,
bees, preparing fragrant honey, hum loudly.
Following these sounds,
another swarm of bees arrives,
circling the townspeople,
Lines 184–207
buzzing in their ears.
As they walk southward,
the breeze changes its scent,
mingling with rose water
from inside mansions.
Smoke rises to the sky
like evaporating dew
collected in flower vines
in thick mountain forests.
In the town of Kutal,
which receives the waters
that take away the sorrows of the land,
bards and dancers
sing in praise
of the Vaiyai.
O Vaiyai,
your waters are benevolent
like the Pāṇṭiyaṉ king
who lavishes gold
on poor poets
who sing his praise.
May you never cease
to bestow gold
on the fields of this land.
Lines 208–31
Paripāṭal XI
‘Check Your Strength and Flow on Gently’
In the wide sky
the star of the fire god
the star of the god with the fine locks
the star that bears the Ram
all meet the moon with its scattered rays;
three constellations
lingering in each of the three paths
for nine days.
The Lustrous One, shining like silver, meets the Bull,
the Ram meets the Earth’s Son.
The One that gives knowledge meets the Twins.
When dawn breaks,
the fire god’s star
is at its zenith.
The Sage
travels beyond the two houses
of the One Who Walks Slowly.
Lines 1–17
The brother of Yama, the Lord of Death,
travels beyond
the
Archer’s house.
The Snake hides the moon,
when it is full.
The Sage of Potikai,
past its zenith,
reaches the Twins.
This is the rule of the world:
after the summer of spreading sunshine,
rains come from the high mountain,
so that the waters of the Vaiyai
crash against the banks.
Punnakam trees in the mountains and on the banks,
bushes of canpakam where the bees hum,
cool manai trees and
valviram trees,
the venkai with its branches,
kanaviri and kantal
blood-red, blooming like fire,
blossoming water lilies,
scattering in the wind:
Lines 18–39
the mountain streams carry these things
heaping them in the bamboo groves.
The galloping waves of the rushing river
gather these things,
pushing them to Tirumarutamunturai,
with its beautiful shallow waters,
awash with flowers.
How to describe this place?
Is it
a treasury of flowers
gathered by burly farmers
with crafted rakes?
Or is it
the hem of a woman’s garment,
her chest adorned with pearls,
waves, foam, small bubbles
and fragrant sandal paste?
Or is it
the very throat of the earth
opening her mouth
to take in liquor?
Lines 40–60
Growing like the crescent moon as it waxes,
spreading like the moon’s light,
the waters begin
in dense mountain slopes,
spreading into the land,
to make the world prosper.
The river recedes
the way the moon wanes
on its eighth day
and is consumed as food
by the celestials.
Indeed, who has ever seen you wane
like the moon on a new moon day?
O Vaiyai,
you who have come from afar,
flowing over mountaintops,
for the world to receive
your wealth in both seasons.
Check your strength
and flow on gently.
Like those women, beautiful as peacocks,
once united with their lovers in secret,
Lines 61–82
now abandoning their clandestine love
to enter wedlock, that lowlier phase in life.
O Vaiyai,
leaving the mountains
with your plentiful waters
do not travel alone
seeking a home—
for that would be a disgrace.
She, whose eyes go on forever,
elopes with her hero, the bull,
with his weapons in tow.