‘Faithful woman! I have orders to destroy this city on the very day you suffered such great wrong. Is there someone that should be spared?’
Kannaki bade him:
‘Spare Brahmins, good men, cows, truthful women, cripples, old men, children. Destroy evildoers.’
And the city of Madurai, capital of the Pandyas, whose chariots are invincible, was immediately hidden in flames and smoke.
CODA
When the glorious Pandya, his dancers and his palace,
his soldiers holding shining bows, even
his elephants, were all burnt down to ashes,
destroyed by the flames of virtue,
the wretched town’s immortals went away,
for they are blameless.
CANTO TWENTY-TWO
THE CONFLAGRATION
Alarpatukadai
The swift messenger of the gods exhaled his fiery breath over the city—which its guardian genii were deserting, slamming the gates. Tennavan, the princely knight, to convince his mother, the Earth, that his reign had been one of honour, had, together with his queen of stainless repute, given up his life. He thus repaid the debt of shame that had bent his sceptre and smeared his throne with blood.
Not understanding that the king and queen were dead on the steps of the throne, the palace priests and astrologers, the judges and treasurer, the learned ministers, together with the maids of honour and the servants, waited motionless like the painted figures of a fresco. Suddenly elephants and their drivers, horsemen, charioteers, and brutal sword-wielding soldiers, terrified by the flames, all ran from the palace and attempted to control the fire. It was then that the four genii who protect the four castes prepared to abandon the town.
The first genie, of the priestly order, had the colour of the moon and of pearls. He wore a rich necklace and other ornaments. Around his hair-tuft, white lotuses were tied with blades of arukai, the holy grass, and with copper-coloured nandi leaves. He wore a silk garment still damp after his ritual bath. His chest was painted with fretworks of sandal paste scented with kottam. Normally he loved the acrid smell of smoke rising from the honey, milk, and sugar burned in a ritual fire. Usually till midday he moved between the steps to the river and the shrines of the gods and the temples where the Vedas are read. He went home after noon, his parasol open, carrying his staff, his water jar, his dry fire-sticks, and leaves of kusha, the sacred grass. He constantly muttered verses from the Vedas. A sacred thread could be seen across his chest. He performed all the rituals, never transgressing any rule set down in the holy books. He knew how to kindle the sacred fire in the way that Brahma himself had established.
The second genie belonged to the order of knights. He always dressed smartly. Loaded with ornaments of faultless stones, he wore a royal crown. His tuft was tied with chains of champak, karuvilai, and red convolvulus, fresh and fragrant water lilies, rattan, and other plants. His garland was composed of rare flowers linked by strings of jewels. Brilliant rings sparkled on his fingers. His broad chest had the sheen of kumkuma flowers. His loins were wrapped in a vivid garment of thick red silk. Among many delicacies brought on gold platters for him to eat was strongly spiced shali rice. His whole body was coral red. He ruled over the sea-encircled world, and held in his hands a war drum, a white parasol, feather fans, a waving pennant, an elephant hook, a spear, and metal chains. He had repulsed attacks by countless kings renowned for their bravery. Having conquered the world, he ruled it with justice, punished evildoers, and protected the world like a new Vishnu. His fame spread further every day.
The good genie of the illustrious merchant order had the sheen of pure gold. He wore most of the attributes of an invincible monarch except the crown. He cared for the comforts of the citizens, as becomes a merchant. His symbols were a pair of scales and a plough. His dress, admired by all, was made of fine brocade. His tuft was tied with a garland of red ixora, talai, honey-laden lotus, night jasmine, white lilies, red cotton, and myrobalan. His torso, resembling a thunderbolt, was painted with a sandal paste that glowed like burnished gold. He often gave, or attended, elaborate dinners consisting of chickpeas, green peas, black peas, lentils, and several kinds of beans. He took his meal before midday, holding water in the cup of his hand. Then he visited all the granaries where the rice stocks are stored, the fields full of birds, and the shops, before resting in the fragrant shade of the river portias. He carried in his hands shining cymbals and a melodious harp. He seemed to exude wealth and he honoured his guests. He sold to any who wanted them the rarest goods from the mountains or the sea. When he chose to, he could look like a peasant, dedicated to the innocent task of making the soil fructify; he resembled Shiva, the god who wears the crescent moon in his thick matted hair.
Then appeared the guardian genie of the craftsmen, worshipped with great honours in the industrious city of Madurai. His complexion was that of the karuvilai flower. He wore ornaments of silver and a brightly coloured loincloth. His broad chest had been rubbed with dry paste of fragrant ahil. He wore a crown made of flowers taken from trees, creepers, ponds, and wild shrubs. His hoe had been wrought by the best ironsmith. He was esteemed by all the citizens. His body resembled a well-polished sapphire. His garment was splendid. He knew the art of dance and the various modes of music.
The four genii now spoke to one another:
‘For ages we have known that this unfortunate city was doomed and would be burned the day its king should fail in rendering justice. The time has come when we must go.’ They had already left their respective districts before the brave Kannaki had torn away her breast.
The wide street of the grain merchants, the festooned street of the temple carts, and the four streets where the four castes lived were as filled with tumult as on the day when Arjuna, a monkey on his flag, started the fire that burned the forest of Kanda. The flames avoided the homes of virtuous men, but destroyed the abodes of dis-honest people and impostors. Cows and calves could escape unharmed into the broad street where pious cow herds lived. Fierce elephants with their females, and horses, ran swiftly beyond the city walls.
The flames awoke women asleep on their soft beds, drunk with wine and pleasure beside their men, their young breasts well massaged with creams, their eyes darkened with collyrium, their hair adorned with opening buds that made the air smell of honey. Pollen fell on nipples reddened with kumkuma and breasts adorned with strings of pearls. Children, lisping with rosy lips, awoke on their small beds. They ran out, faltering, holding their mothers’ hands, followed by old women with grey hair. Mothers who had not failed in their duty and had honoured their guests rejoiced and praised the god of fire who, with a thousand tongues, rose high into the sky. They said:
‘This woman lost her man who wore a rich neck lace, but she gained victory with her golden ankle brace let. The upheaval her breast has created is fully justified.’
Dancing girls ran away from blazing theatres. In the well-known street of the musicians, expert in the sixty-four arts, the din of drums, the soft sound of the flute, the poignant voice of the harp, could no longer be heard. All asked:
‘Where has this woman come from? Where was she born? By what magic could she—alone and mourning her husband, by the power alone of an ankle bracelet—burn our city and defeat an irresponsible monarch?’
The city was deprived of all evening ceremonies, of Vedic hymns, of sacrificial fires, of all worship, of the ritual where the lamps are lit. There was silence that night. No sound of drums was heard. Unable to bear the heat of the flames, the goddess of the town appeared near the heroic woman, oppressed by her boundless sorrow. Her heart bruised by the loss of her husband, Kannaki wandered, wailing, through the lanes and streets, faltering, stupefied, unconscious of events.
CODA
The goddess of Madurai came
before Kannaki, who had torn away
her lovely youthful breast,
but equalled in her power
the power of Lakshmi (fortune),
of Sar
aswati (knowledge), and of Kali (time),
who stands upon the body of the buffalo-king.
CANTO TWENTY-THREE
THE EXPLANATION
Katturaikadai
The great goddess of Madurai was the protector of the royal clan that rules over the cool port of Korkai, the Cape of the Virgin, and Mount Podiyil. Her power extends as far as the Himalayas.
The goddess wears the moon’s crescent in her thick, tangled hair. Her eyes resemble lotuses. Her face is luminous. Her coral lips cover gleaming teeth. Her body is blue on the left side and golden on the right. She carries a gold lotus in her left hand, and in her right hand a sparkling and fearsome sword. The victors’ circlet can be seen on her left ankle, another unrivalled anklet tinkles on her right ankle.
Not daring to come too near the beautiful woman whom adversity had so cruelly smitten and who in her despair had torn away her own breast, the wise goddess approached her from behind and gently said:
‘Blessed woman! Can you listen to my request?’
Kannaki, whose face was shrivelled with pain, turned towards her and said:
‘Who are you? Why do you follow me? Can you fathom the depth of my sorrow?’
The goddess of Madurai replied:
‘I know the immensity of your pain. Faultless woman! I am the tutelar deity of this vast city. Anxious for your husband’s future, I wish to speak to you. Listen to what I say, woman with the golden bracelets. Noble woman! As a friend, I ask your attention to the great tragedy that is breaking my heart. Dear one! Listen to the sad tale of the misdeeds committed by our kings in their pre-vious incarnations. Listen to your husband’s past life, cause of all the evils that have overwhelmed us.
‘Until this day my ears have heard only the chant of the Vedas, never the tolling of the bell of justice. We have seen the people mock at monarchs come to pay tribute and bow down before our king, whose edicts were never questioned by his subjects. It is true that young girls with timid looks inspire in him, on occasion, pas-sions that he cannot control, like a young elephant that escapes from his mahout. But there can be no wrong in this for a young prince who is the scion of a noble and virtuous clan.
‘Do you know the story of the Pandya monarch who with his own hands broke the diadem and glowing bracelets of heaven’s king, though he was armed with thun derbolts? One day this Pandya was walking near the cottage of a man named Kirandai, whose life had no value for anyone. He heard the wife of this poor man say: “You want to go away, leaving me in this open yard, and you say that no door can protect us better than the royal justice. Is our door rotten, then?” The king closed both his ears as if a red-hot iron had pierced him through and through. He shuddered with fear; his heart was afire. He cut off his own hand so that his sceptre might be strengthened. Since then the name of the whole dynasty has remained untarnished.
‘Another king, who handled his polished spear with great art, and fed his soldiers generously after bringing peace and order to the land, one day assembled his subjects in the audience hall. A most learned Brahmin named Parashar had heard of the magnificence of this Chera, who, it was said, had with his saber opened the gateway of heaven before a great Tamil poet of Brahmin blood. Parashar thought: ‘I must go to meet this Chera, renowned for his valour and the power of his lance.’ This Brahmin was born in the peace-loving and fertile country of Puhar, whose kings bear a virtuous sceptre and a victorious sword. You know that one of them gave his own flesh to save a humble dove, and that another avenged a cow that had been wronged. Parashar set out on his journey. He passed through the hills of Malaya, deep jungles, countless villages and cities. He was a great master of dialec tics, an art greatly appreciated by the twice-born, who, seeking unity with infinite good, light the three sacred fires ordained by the four Vedas, perform the five rituals of sacrifice, and never fail in the six duties of a priest.
‘Parashar defeated all opponents in philosophical debates and thus won from the king the title of Parpanavahai, Sublime Scholar. As he was returning homeward, laden with gifts, he reached the village of Tangal, in the Pandya kingdom, where noble Brahmins lived. In this village there was a green bodhi tree. Tired, the traveller, with his staff, his bowl, his white parasol, his five sticks, his bundle, and his shoes, rested awhile. He said: “Long live the conqueror whose immaculate parasol so well protects his subjects and whose realm is secure! Long live the protector of men who dragged the kadamba tree from the sea! Long live the king who carved his name on the proud brow of the Himalayas! Long live the royal Poraiyan who rules over the plains where the cool and lovely Porunai flows. Long live the great King Mandaran Cheral!”
‘Laughing children crowded about him. Some had long curls, others already had their hair in tufts. Several could still hardly speak with their coral lips. They all came to play on the road. Parashar said to them, “Young Brahmins! If you can faultlessly repeat after me the Vedic hymns I shall chant, you may take my bundle, which contains a treasure.” Then Alamar Shelvan, young son of the renowned priest Varttikan, stood forth. His red lips still tasted of his mother’s milk. Lisping, before all his playmates, he proudly repeated the sacred words without an error. Charmed by this child of the south, the old Brahmin gave him a string of pearls, brilliant gems, gold bracelets and earrings. Then he continued his journey.
‘Some policemen of the town, jealous of Varttikan, whose son went decked in these ornaments, accused him: “This Brahmin appropriated some treasure that he found, which, by law, belongs to the king.” They threw him into prison. Varttikan’s wife Karttikai became mad with despair. In her sorrow, she wallowed in the dust, shrieking and cursing everybody. Seeing her, the goddess Durga, whose name is ever untarnished, refused to let the door of her temple be opened at prayer time. The king, whose sword is ever victorious, heard that the heavy door of the temple would not open. He was dismayed, and called his ministers: “Some injustice must have been done. Let me know if you have noticed some unconscious failure in the discharge of our duties towards the goddess who gives victory.”
‘His young messengers bowed before his feet and told him about Varttikan. “This is unfair!” cried the king in anger. Summoning Varttikan to him, he said: “Your duty is to forgive us. My virtuous rule has not yet ended, although, through the fault of my servants, I have been led astray from the path of justice.” And the king gave him the country of Tangal, with its rice fields watered by irrigation channels from the lakes. He also offered him the town of Vayalur and its immense income. Then he lay prostrate at the feet of Karttikai’s husband to pacify his anger.
‘And the door of the temple, abode of the goddess who rides a deer, opened with a crash that echoed through all the ancient city’s streets, lined by cliff-like mansions. Then the king sent a drummer on an elephant through the streets to proclaim his order: “All prisoners shall be reprieved, all unpaid taxes remitted. Those who discover a treasure may enjoy their fortune in peace.”
‘Now, I shall explain how our king could be led to such injustice. It was predicted long ago that great Madurai would be burned and its king would be made destitute during the month of Adi, the eighth day after the full moon appeared on a Friday, at a time when the Plei ades and Aries should be in the ascendant.
‘Listen, woman with the rich bracelets! Once the kings, Vasu and Kumara, who with their shining swords and strong armies had justly ruled the richly forested Kalinga country, became enemies. One ruled over Singapuram in the plain; the other over Kapilapuram in the bamboo forest. They belonged to a great dynasty whose fortune appeared everlasting. While they were fighting, no one dared to approach within six miles of the battlefield.
‘A young merchant named Sangaman, anxious to increase his wealth, came with his wife in the garb of a refugee. He carried a huge bale on his head and soon began to sell his precious wares in a bazaar in Singapuram.
‘Woman with gold bracelets! Your husband Kovalan, in a previous incarnation, was known as Bharata. He was in the service of valorous King Vasu. He had renounced
his vow of nonviolence and was hated by all. He believed Sangaman to be a spy of the enemy king. He had him caught, brought him before the king of the victorious lance, and caused him to be beheaded. Nili, the wife of the unhappy Sangaman, found herself left alone. She ran through the streets and squares, creating great uproar and shouting: “King, is that your justice? Merchants, is that justice? Workmen, do you call that justice?” For fourteen days she wandered, taking no rest, then, inspired by the thought that the day was auspi-cious, she climbed the high rocks to follow her husband in death. As she threw herself down into the valley, she shouted a curse: “He who inflicted a cruel death upon my husband shall share his fate.” So, today a destiny that no power could stop has brought you this ordeal.
‘Hearken to what I say! Actions committed in past lives always bear fruit. No amount of austerity or virtue can loose the bonds of our actions. Woman with lovely hair! After fourteen days you shall see the man you love in his celestial garb, for never more can you behold his human form.’
When she had thus explained to Kannaki—soon herself to become a goddess—all the strange events of the day, the goddess of Madurai was able to control the flames that were devouring the city.
Then Kannaki told her:
‘I wish neither to sit nor sleep nor stop, until I see the husband dear to my heart.’ She went and broke all her bracelets, as widows do, in the temple of Durga. She cried: ‘I entered this city through the eastern gate with a beloved husband. Today I leave it through the western portal, alone.’ Unaware of light or darkness, she wandered, desolate, near the Vaigai in flood. Sad and distracted, unheeding when she fell in a ditch or climbed a cliff, she ascended the sacred hill where the god Neduvel resides, he whose fiery lance once tore through the en trails of the sea. There, under the kinos in bloom, Kan naki wept and lamented: ‘Alas, I am guilty of a great crime.’
Shilappadikaram Page 12