Kannaki answered:
‘In my husband’s absence, I could not distribute presents to good men, honour Brahmins, welcome saintly monks, or receive friends, as is done in all noble homes. After your desertion I tried to hide my tears from your respected mother and your renowned and proud father, whom the king holds in high esteem. Yet they understood my sorrow, showed me their affection, and spoke to me kindly. In spite of my efforts to smile, the feebleness of my body betrayed to them the anguish of my heart. You may have gone astray from the path of virtue, but I wished to do my duty, and so I followed you.’
Kovalan said:
‘You left your old parents, your friends, your attendants, your nurse, and all your retinue, and kept at your service only your modesty, your faith, your virtue, and your loyalty. You came with me and relieved me of remorse. Precious as a golden liana, girl with the fragrant plaits! You are the incarnation of faithfulness, the beacon of the world, the tender bud of chastity, the store of all virtues. I must now go to the town, taking with me one of the gold circlets that grace your charming ankles. Having exchanged it for money, I shall soon return. Till then do not let your courage fail.’
After kissing the long black hair he loved, heartbroken to leave her all alone, and holding back the tears that filled his eyes, he walked heavily away. As a stranger to those parts, he could not know that the humped bull that stood before him as he passed the meeting place of the cowherds was a fearful omen.
Passing through the street of the courtesans, he reached the bazaar. There he saw a goldsmith in court dress, who was walking along, tweezers in hand, followed by a hundred jewellers all famous for their craftsmanship. Kovalan thought this must be the goldsmith of the Pandya monarch. So he approached him and inquired:
‘Could you estimate the value of an ankle bracelet worthy of the consort of the great king who protects us?’
The goldsmith had the face of Death’s dread messenger. He answered with obsequious politeness:
‘I am a novice in this great art. I know only how to make diadems and a few royal ornaments.’ Kovalan opened the packet containing the precious anklet. The perfidious goldsmith examined the fine workmanship of the chiselling in pure gold and the rare rubies and diamonds. After a pause he said: ‘This circlet can be purchased only by the great queen herself. I am going to the palace, and shall speak to the victorious king. You may wait with the anklet near my humble home till I return.’
Kovalan sat down in a small shrine that stood near the villain’s cottage. When he saw him waiting in the narrow temple, the hard-hearted thief thought: ‘Before anyone discovers that it was I who stole the (queen’s) anklet, I shall accuse this foreigner before the king.’ He then walked on.
The great queen, resentful of the king’s interest in Madurai’s pretty dancers, who sing songs of all sorts and show in their movements their understanding of music, was disguising her jealousy under the mask of a friendly quarrel. Pretending a sudden headache, she left the royal presence. Later, when ministers and counsellors had gone, the king entered the inner apartment where the great queen lay surrounded by maids with long alluring eyes.
The goldsmith met the king near the innermost door, where guards had been posted. He bowed low, praising the monarch in a hundred ways. Then he said:
‘The man who stole an anklet from this palace has been found. He apparently did not use heavy tools or crowbars, but just the power of magic words, with which he put to sleep the soldiers who were guarding the doors. He then quietly took away the handsomest ankle bracelet in the palace. He is now hiding near my humble house, fearing the guards that patrol the city.’
Now it befell that this was the moment when the actions of Kovalan’s past lives had become ripe like a mature crop in the fields. The king, who wears the garland of margosa leaves, did not call for any enquiry. He simply summoned some town guards and ordered:
‘Should you find, in the hands of a most clever thief, an ankle ornament resembling a wreath of flowers, which belongs to my consort, put the man to death and bring me the bracelet.’
When he heard the royal order, the infamous goldsmith, with mirth in his heart, thought: ‘I’ve brought it off!’ He led the guards to Kovalan, whom a merciless fate had thrown into his net, and told him:
‘On orders from the king, whose army has won all battles, these officers have come with me to look at your piece of jewellery.’ He pointed out to them the details of the ankle bracelet’s design. But they protested:
‘The appearance of this good man is surely not that of a thief. We cannot put him to death.’
The astute goldsmith smiled contemptuously. He explained to these simple men that the people whose shameful trade is theft have invented eight ways to deceive their innocent victims—these are spells, bewitching, drugs, omens, and magic, as well as place, time, and devices.
‘If you let yourselves become intoxicated by the drugs this man dares use, you expose yourselves to the anger of our great king.
‘The thief who utters magic spells becomes invisible, like a child of the gods. When he calls for the help of celestial genii, he can carry away his stolen objects unseen. Stupefying his victims with his drugs, he renders them incapable of the slightest movement. Unless omens are good, a real thief abstains from any activity even when he sees before him objects of great value ready to fall into his hands. When he makes use of enchantments, he can despoil the king of the gods himself of the wreath that adorns his chest. If he has chosen in advance the place of his rapine, no one can see him there. When he has set the time, the gods themselves could not stop him from seizing the object he wants. If he uses his implements to steal things of great value, no one can find him out. If you should read in the thieves’ sacred book, you would see that their art requires arduous study, and that it has almost no limits.
‘It happened once that a clever thief, disguised as an ambassador, had stood a whole day before the door of the palace. At night he changed himself into a young woman, and, entering unnoticed, hid in the shadow cast by a lamp. He seized the rare diamond necklace, bright as the sun that shone round the neck of the sleeping crown prince. Waking up, the prince felt that his necklace was not on his shoulders. He drew his sword, but the thief was able to grasp it and keep the prince from striking a blow. When he was tired of this, the prince tried fighting with his hands, but the thief, expert in his profession, ran away, leaving the prince alone and fighting against a stone pillar studded with precious gems. There is no thief on earth equal to this villain. If one of you has a better one, then he may bring him to me.’
A young hangman who had been listening to the criminal goldsmith’s words, spear in hand, said:
‘In the season of rains, during a dark night when my village was fast asleep, a thief came armed with a ploughshare like those used in the fields. Dressed in black, searching for jewels, he seemed fiercer than a tiger. I drew my sword but he tore it away from me and vanished, never to be found. The deeds of thieves are amazing. If we do not obey the king, we shall surely be in trouble. Brave soldiers, let’s do our duty.’
Thereupon one of these drunkards hurled his sword at Kovalan. It pierced his body. Blood gushing from the wound fell upon the Earth, mother of men, and she shuddered with grief. Defeated by his fate, Kovalan fell, and the virtuous sceptre of the Pandyas was bent.
CODA
And since the champion of justice
failed to safeguard Kannaki’s beloved spouse,
the upright sceptre of the Pandya kings
became forever bent.
All these events had been foreseen,
for actions, be they good or evil,
bear their inexorable fruits.
This is the reason that wise men
make all their actions
accord with the great moral laws.
CANTO SEVENTEEN
THE DANCE OF THE COWGIRLS
Acchiyarkuravai
‘Soon we shall hear the morning drums sounded in the palace of the Pa
ndya, whose immaculate parasol, embellished with festoons, is respected by the whole world. No king in India, land of rosewood, covered with deep forests, dares challenge his rule. The Chola and Chera kings of Cholamandala and Kerala, who carved their own emblems, the tiger and the bow, upon the Himalayan rocks, must acknowledge him paramount.
‘This morning it will be our turn to prepare the butter.’
Thus spoke old Madari, calling her daughter Aiyai, who came bringing the rope and the pestle.
INTERLUDE
Uraippattumadai
Aiyai exclaimed:
‘Alas! The milk did not curd in the jar.
The handsome eyes of the bulls
are full of tears. Tragedy is about.
The sweet-smelling butter does not melt in the pan.
The lambs are silent. Disaster is abroad.
The cows, their udders full,
are shivering; the bells fall from their necks.
Catastrophe is in the air.’
THE SIGNIFICANCE
Karuppam
Milk that will not curd in the jar, bulls’ eyes that become tender and tearful, butter that will not melt in the pan, lamps that burn with an unflickering flame, bells that fall to the ground—these are terrible omens. Madari looked at her daughter and said:
‘Don’t fear! To calm the frightened cattle, we shall perform the dance of love in the presence of Kannaki, precious jewel among the daughters of the earth.’ This love-dance shows one of the games young Krishna and Balarama, his elder brother, had played on the dance ground of the cowherds with the darling Pinnai, whose eyes looked like the points of lances.
THE ANNOUNCEMENT
Kolu
Madari, pointing at one of the girls, announced:
‘This charming woman with the flower wreath shall give her heart to him who rides the huge black bull.
‘The lovely shoulders of the girl with gold rings are for the fortunate suitor who can master the bull with red marks on its head.
‘The girl whose lovely hair is crowned with jasmine shall be the wife of anyone who can ride this strong and petulant young bull.
‘The shoulders of this liana-like girl shall be for him who can master the bull with white markings.
‘The tender breasts of this sinuous woman shall belong only to the boy who can conquer the bull with golden markings.
‘The maiden whose hair is adorned with laburnum flowers will be taken as bride by him who can ride this fierce bull.
‘This girl who resembles a flower bud shall belong to the man who can control the bull as white as milk.’
DESIGNATIONS
Eduttukkattu
When the seven maidens had each taken from the herd the bull that she had brought up, Madari placed the girls in line and gave each a role to play. Going from west to east, she called them Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, and Si—such were the odd names bestowed by the fragrant-haired Madari. The girl who was Do played the part of Krishna (Mayavan). Sol was the valiant Balarama, high-pitched Si was Pinnai, the divine cowherdess. The others were given their names in order. Pinnai, the Si, stood near Mayavan; Fa and La joined the white Balarama; Mi came next to Re, and the honest La stood to the right of Si. All those who came to place a garland of tulsi around Mayavan’s neck had to dance, without one mistake, the dance of love.
‘Is Pinnai, her arms loaded with bracelets, so charming that he who crossed the world in three great strides forgets to look at his consort Lakshmi (fortune), curled up against his chest?’
And Madari laughed.
THE DANCE
Kuttulpadutal
They stood in a circle, holding each other’s hands with the crab’s grip, and all began to dance. First the girl who was Do looked at her neighbour Re, and said:
‘Let’s sing the mode of the jasmine (mullai) for him who uprooted the (demon disguised as a) citrus tree that stood in the middle of the great meadow.’
Do first gave out her low note, next Sol her median sound, and then Si her high pitch. Lastly the girl who was La sounded her note, less high-pitched than that of her neighbour Si.
SONGS
Friends! Mayavan swung a calf like a slung stone,
and knocked down all the orchard’s fruit.
If he came down to see our herd
then we could hear the lovely sound
of his most wondrous flute.
Friends! Mayavan churned the ocean,
using a snake for rope.
If he came down to tend our herd,
then we could enjoy the sound
of his long bamboo flute.
Friends! Mayavan tore up the wild citrus tree
that stood in our vast pasture land.
Should he appear amidst our herd,
then we should have a chance to hear
his sweet shepherd’s flute.
Let’s sing now the bewitching loveliness
of Pinnai, who is dancing near the river
with the boy she loves so tenderly.
How can we describe his magic
when he hid the garments of the girls
whose waists appeared so fragile
that, bending, they might have broken?
How can we describe the face
of the lovely girl distressed by the remorse
of him who stole her dress?
How can we describe the loveliness
of her who stole the heart of him
who loved her but fooled her like the other women
while they were playing in the stream?
How can our words express the charm
of him who took the favours and the rings
of her who stole his heart?
How can we picture the sweet face
she hid behind her lovely hands
when he had stolen her garments and her jewels?
And how can we describe the grace
of his repentance when he saw
with what distress
she hid the fairness of her face
within the darkness of her hands?
SONGS ON A ONE-STROKE RHYTHM
Onran pakuti
Now to the left of Pinnai, whose dark hair
is bright with flower blossoms, stands
the god whose colour is the sea’s, and hides
the sun behind the discus that he holds
in his divine hand of lotus.
And to the right of Pinnai stands
—his body whiter than the Moon—
the pale elder brother.
Among the famed musicians
who accompanied young Pinnai’s dance
is Narada, singer of the Vedas,
he who marked the rhythm
on the harp’s longest string.
Pinnai, with her head bent, stands to right
of Mayavan, dark as the peacock’s neck,
while to her left the elder brother
stands, whiter than a lotus stem.
And he who plucks the harp’s first string
and beats the time for her
is the well-known precentor, Narada.
IN HONOUR OF THE DANCERS
Adunarppukaldal
The dance of love made famous by Yashoda
was splendidly performed around the meeting ground
by Mayavan and by his elder brother,
with Pinnai wearing striped armlets.
The flower garlands in disorder fell
out of the cowgirls’ dark and curly hair,
while they were marking time by clapping
hands loaded with gold bangles. ‘Listen,
my friends!’ cried Madari. ‘Let’s all sing
the masks’ song honouring the god
who rides upon the bird, Garuda.
Hail to him! Hail to him! Hail to him!’
BLESSINGS OF THE HILL DANCERS
Ulvarivalttu
Upon the chest of the Pandya king is seen
a fretwork, drawn with white sandal paste
broug
ht from Mount Podiyil.
He also wears a string of pearls
and a precious necklace, gift of heaven’s king.
They say that he who wears the necklace
of heaven’s king is the famed hero who
once tended herds at the gokula,
the cow-school near Dvaraka,
and who dared uproot the citrus tree.
Valavan, the king who rules
Puhar, that mighty city, had
his emblem, a swift tiger, carved
upon the Himalayas’ golden peak,
and thus became the master of the world.
They say that the great Valavan,
king of Puhar, that mighty city, has
a golden discus for his weapon.
The Chera, king of kings, who rules
the prosperous Vanji, crossed
over the seas, and put to death
the never-aging kadamba tree.
They say too that the king of kings
who rules the prosperous Vanji, is
Vishnu himself, who shakes
his mountainlike shoulders
while he churns the sea.
HYMN OF GLORY
Munnilaipparaval
God, blue as the ocean!
When you churned the womb of the sea,
the churn’s pestle was the polar mountain,
the rope the coiled snake of the ages.
God! A lotus springs forth from your navel,
your hands, that once churned the ocean,
were tied by Yashoda with a churning rope.
Is that an example of your magic?
Your designs are ever mysterious.
God! The hosts of gods and angels
worship you and sing your glory,
you who, in three strides of your lotus feet,
encompassed all the worlds, and banished night.
Man-lion, destroyer of all enemies,
the blessed feet that strode across the worlds
became the heralds of the five Pandavas.
Is this an example of your magic?
Your designs are ever mysterious.
INDIRECT PRAISE
Patarkkaipparaval
Vain are the ears that are not filled
Shilappadikaram Page 10