Shilappadikaram

by Ilango Adigal

  Fourteen days thus passed. Then heaven’s king, with all his angels, thought the time had come to proclaim the saintliness of this woman, whose name men shall ever recall. He showered down a rain of never-fading flowers, then appeared and bowed at her feet. On a divine chariot, seated beside Kovalan, who had been put to death in the royal city, Kannaki, with her hair profuse as a forest, ascended, happy, into heaven.

  CODA

  Even the gods pay honour to the wife

  who worships no one save her husband.

  Kannaki, pearl among all women of the earth,

  is now a goddess, and is highly honoured

  by all the gods who dwell in Paradise.

  EPILOGUE

  Thus ends the book of Madurai, which has depicted the virtues, the victories, and the great deeds of the Pandya monarch, whose lance won the greatest fame among the three kings who rule the three kingdoms.

  This book has described an ancient and famous city the splendour of its feasts, the genii of the town, the happiness and prosperity of village folk, the fertility produced by the river Vaigai and the rains faithfully brought by heavy clouds in the proper season.

  This book has shown the two kinds of drama (virutti), the human tragedy (arapati) and the mythological play (shattuvadi), accompanied by songs and dances. It also contains a eulogy of the virtuous Pandya monarch, the noble Nedunjeliyan, who defeated the northern Aryans and established peace among the Tamils at the southernmost end of the peninsula, and who died, seated on his throne, as if asleep, beside his queen of never-questioned virtue.

  Book Three

  THE BOOK OF VANJI

  CANTO TWENTY-FOUR

  THE DANCE OF THE MOUNTAIN GIRLS

  Kunrakkuravai

  The mountain girls sang:

  ‘We came to the mountain’s green groves,

  running after swift birds, chasing green parrots.

  We came to bathe in the cool streams and springs.

  Mirthful, we wished to play.

  ‘We met a lady and asked her:

  ‘“Lovely lady, standing under the fragrant vengai tree of our mountain, whence have you come? How did you lose one breast? Looking at you, we shudder as if from fear.”

  ‘She calmly answered:

  ‘“I am a pitiable woman. A merciless fate took away my husband on that ill-fated day when gay Madurai and its noble king perished in a great fire.”’

  The mountain girls were stunned with awe. Folding their hands, under the bright tinkling bangles of their wrists, they bowed down before the poor woman. Flowers rained from the sky.

  ‘We stood astounded beside our men while the gods took her away with her husband. Never before had a goddess come to our village. Hunters, dwelling in huts in the forest! Today we shall proclaim her our tutelar deity. Village hunters! Let us build an altar in the cool shade of the fragrant vengai, on the hillside where the waterfalls sing. Forest folk! We shall accept her as our goddess! Sound the great drums! Strike tambourines and blow the conch! Ring bells, while we sing our mountain songs. We shall offer her incense and spices, bring her flowers, and erect a wall with a door. We shall chant prayers and throw flower petals for the lady who lost her breast, that peace and prosperity may come to our great mountain forever.’

  PRELUDE

  Kolucchol

  Beloved and bejewelled lady, look at us

  and you will see the shimmering

  of waterfalls and singing brooks

  brighter than heaven’s bow. The clear

  waters appear as black as collyrium,

  yellow as orpiment, redder

  than pure vermilion. And we

  shall bathe and swim in every stream.

  The mountain prince jeered at our innocence.

  He told us, ‘Do not fear’, and went away.

  But we shall bathe now in the stream

  that springs forth from the hill

  far hidden in the forest’s depths.

  Be careful! For a stream in spate

  may be already pregnant

  from the lustful rocks’ embraces.

  We shall play in the cool river

  that cruel mountain rocks

  have raped before it reached us.

  We feel no jealousy when other girls

  bathe in cool streams that have

  caressed our mountain prince. We are

  not envious of ebullient cascades

  that bring the precious gold dust down.

  But we feel jealous when strange girls

  court them and long for their caress.

  Why should we deem it an offence

  when an unconscious rivulet

  brings us the flowers of the hills?

  We play with the innocent stream

  that yields us up its garlands.

  We want no other lover.

  VERSE INTERLUDE

  Pattumadai

  O charming babbling girl!

  We bathed and played in holy streams

  till our collyrium-painted eyes grew red.

  Now let us pray to handsome Murugan,

  who bears a vigorous never-straying staff.

  For him we dance the dance of love.

  Come, let us sing for him, my lovely friends!

  We worship the unfailing lance

  of that divinity who forever dwells

  in shrines at Chendil, Chengodu, and Erakam,

  and in the temple on the high white hill.

  His leaf-shaped lance once pierced

  a demon masquerading as a mango tree.

  He followed after, even to the depths

  of the great world-englobing sea.

  In his twelve hands this six-faced god

  carries his lance, and riding a peacock

  he brandishes the proud weapon

  that could check the demons’ conquests.

  Even the king of the heavenly hosts

  sings his prowess when he fights the genii,

  defeating their strong armies.

  A lance looks beautiful if brandished deftly

  in the hands of him six mothers fed

  upon a lotus bed among the reeds—

  a lance that clove the heron rock and split

  the broad chest of a demon

  who had sought refuge there.

  ANOTHER INTERLUDE

  Good girls with rich bracelets!

  My mother makes me laugh.

  She thinks I am possessed

  by the handsome god Murugan.

  She called an exorcist, not noticing

  what all the village talks about.

  My illness sprang from love alone,

  and from a prince, and a cool hill

  where pepper grows.

  Good girls with bright bangles!

  I had a good laugh when the exorcist

  said he could heal the curious malady

  a mountain prince has caused.

  This man is hopelessly obtuse.

  And if the god who clove

  the sacred heron rock

  obeys an exorcist like him,

  he must be rather dull himself.

  Good girls with heavy bracelets!

  I laughed aloud when the exorcist

  tried words to cure my malady—

  gift of a prince and of a fragrant hill.

  This man has lost his wits.

  And if the son of Shiva,

  who sits beneath a holy tree,

  obeys him and appears before us,

  he is not too clever himself.

  Graceful girls, preciously adorned!

  Really one has to laugh

  when an exorcist attempts

  to cure the lovely malady

  caused by embraces of a mountain prince.

  He seems to be a bit naive.

  And if the god who’s garlanded

  in rice shoots and in winter blooms

  appears before us, he’s as foolish

  as the exorcist who tries to cure me thus.

  AN
OTHER INTERLUDE

  The son of the god Shiva lives under a banyan tree

  with a goddess all bedecked in jewellery.

  He will come, riding on his peacock,

  to our country when the family magician

  performs his rites of exorcism.

  When he arrives, we shall ask him to bless

  our lovemaking with the handsome mountain prince.

  Son of the god who lives on Mount Kailasa!

  We worship the feet of your wife,

  fair as an ashoka in bloom.

  Like us, she is a daughter of the hills.

  Her forehead, blue as the peacock,

  is like a young and crescent moon.

  We pray that she may intercede,

  obtain for us, in lieu of marriage,

  abduction in a hero’s arms.

  We worship your beautiful feet,

  son of the daughter of the hills

  who wears valli flowers

  over her moon-crescent brow.

  She is a daughter of the Kaurava

  who dwell on our massive mountain.

  God, give me as husband a man whose fame

  will spread across the world.

  Your wife is a Kaurava girl,

  a daughter of our tribe.

  We worship your feet, O six-faced god!

  May he who promised marriage to me,

  his hand upon the feet of your image,

  be willing that a legal bond

  replace our furtive pleasures.

  ANOTHER INTERLUDE

  While we sang hymns to honour Murugan,

  the mountain prince, bedecked in wreaths

  of choicest flowers, was hiding not far off

  and listening to us cunningly.

  When songs were over, I went straight to him;

  I touched his feet and stood before him.

  Friend, blessed by all the gods, do you know

  what I said? I told him honestly:

  ‘You came one day to our village

  with your lance and your garland of kadamba flowers

  in search of some attractive girl.

  You imagined we should take you for Murugan?

  But you do not have six faces,

  and you don’t come riding on a peacock.

  You don’t have the god’s broad shoulders,

  and Valli, the Kauravas’ daughter,

  stands not at your side.

  The simple villagers are not so innocent

  as to mistake you for the god

  to whom kadamba flowers are dear.’

  He listened, mute, to everything I said

  about the village gossip and our furtive love;

  and went away, leaving my heart heavy with pain.

  Will the mountain prince marry me?

  ANOTHER INTERLUDE

  Let’s sing the praises of the virtuous girl

  whose torn-off breast could burn Madurai down.

  Heaven and Earth are shaken by her will.

  The gods themselves came down to seek her man.

  Sing! Dance! Lucky friend, sing!

  Sing! Dance! Lucky friend, sing!

  We sing the glory of a girl

  who burned that great city and its palaces

  whose banners rose high in the sky

  the day the wheel of justice crashed.

  And while we sing the praises of the girl

  who brought Madurai low, we’ll ask a favour:

  ‘Grant us as a lawful husband

  the prince of our mountains.’

  Virtuous women, come to worship

  the lovely Kannaki, with pubis like

  a cobra’s hood—she who once stood

  smiling amid our fertile fields.

  When they restored her dear husband

  to this loveliest of women,

  the gods all praised her greatly.

  All heaven’s gods did honour

  to this lady in the forest where she stood

  under the shadow of the kinos.

  They lifted her to heaven’s great city

  from which no one returns.

  And if we sing the praises of this girl

  who’ll not return, we may obtain

  that all our village folk may share her fate.

  Our hamlet is particularly blessed,

  for it will see the marriage

  of the handsome hill prince

  and a girl adorned with golden bangles.

  While we were singing our songs and dancing the dance of love, our lover, attracted by the sound, appeared.

  May the prince of the western hills, who carved the bow, his proud emblem, on the Himalayas, and who rules over our mountains, drink the cup of heroes and live for many days in constant happiness.

  CANTO TWENTY-FIVE

  THE CHOICE OF A STONE

  Katchikkadai

  In the illustrious lineage of the Cheras a mighty hero named Shenguttuvan was born. To the wonderment of the gods, his sword captured the Kadambu kingdom entrenched behind the sea. Later, unchallenged, he led his army to carve the bow, proud symbol of his dynasty, upon the brow of the Himalayas.

  One day Shenguttuvan was resting near a fountain in his silver palace, with his queen, Ilango Venmal, at his side, when he suddenly felt a desire to visit the mountains, to see the tall forest crested with clouds, and to hear the waterfalls roaring like beaten drums.

  He left Vanji, followed by a crowd of women and retainers who trailed along the road for many leagues. On his tall elephant, he looked like heaven’s king, accompanied by celestial nymphs, setting off for a picnic in the gardens of Paradise filled with magic flowers. The royal party passed through country where trees were covered with flowers of gold. The rivers had broad sandy banks. In midstream there were islands with groves of tender trees and murmuring springs of fresh water. It seemed as if the city of Indra, with its dancing girls and its assemblies, were following the royal progress.

  King Shenguttuvan reached the white sand dunes of the river Periyar, which rushed down from the hills in cascades that resembled a silver necklace on the chest of Vishnu. Its waters were strewn with flower petals fallen from cottonwood trees, kinos, laburnums, gamboges, and sweet-scented sandal. Swarms of bees and insects buzzed charmingly about. The royal party stopped near the stream to rest.

  Hill women approached, singing and dancing as is their custom, while their priests chanted hymns to the god who bears a red lance. The songs of harvesters, the rhythmic sound of flails, the shouts of field wardens, the cries of forest men searching for honeycombs, the noise of drums, the roar of waterfalls, the trumpeting of elephants attacking tigers, the piercing shrieks of bird-chasers hidden in their shelters, the cries of the mahouts driving wild elephants towards their traps—all these sounds blended with the clamour of the marching host.

  Tribal chiefs approached, resembling defeated kings come to pay homage, laden with rare presents for the court of Vanji. They brought ivory, sandalwood, whisks of stag hair, honey, precious woods, vermilion, eye-black, yellow orpiment, cardamom, pepper, and flour of arrowroot. They offered ripe millet, large coconuts, delicate mangoes, leaf-garlands, breadfruit, garlic, sugar cane, creepers in bloom, bunches of areca nuts, palm leaves, delicious bananas, small tigers, baby lions, young elephants, monkeys, bears, mountain hinds, timid deer with their fawns, musk deer, shy mongooses, brilliant peacocks, wildcats, chickens, and sweet-spoken parrots. They said to the king:

  ‘For six generations we have been your vassals. May your glory last forever. In the forest, under a striped kino, a woman, with a breast torn off, appeared to be suffering an unspeakable agony. Later, honoured by the gods, she rose into the sky. We do not know whence she came, whose daughter she was. Coming from some other land, she entered your kingdom. May your illustrious line be continued for centuries.’

  Shattan, the famous poet, who had watched this scene with keen interest, said to the king who bears a long spear and on whom the joy of the world rests:

  ‘
Noble and mighty ruler, hear me! I can tell you the strange story of that woman of the bright golden bangles, and of her dear husband. I can explain all the events that occurred and how a precious ankle bracelet brought ill luck. I can also relate how this splendid woman chose to plead her own case before a king, leader of great armies, and how the whole city of Madurai was destroyed by a fire born of the young breast of this goddess of faithfulness. Throwing her gold anklet at the feet of the queen, she cried in her fury: “Woman with the five plaits! You shall be blown away by the storm of my rage.”

  ‘The Pandya king, on whose broad chest the goddess of fortune often rested, was seated on his lion-throne. He staggered, fainted, and fell dead. The queen thought: ‘The king could not bear to hear of the ordeal suffered by this woman with the long, flower-entwined hair.’ She did not feel hurt by Kannaki’s words. She did not feel any illness. But she fell at the lotus feet of her lord. Unable to bear her sorrow, she died, saying: ‘I must follow my king.’

  ‘It may be that it was the intention of this woman to inform you, illustrious monarch, of the great injustice that the mighty Pandya had committed. Refusing to return to the land of her birth, she entered your kingdom. May your reign and glory last till the end of time.’

  When he heard of the cruel deed of the Pandya, the Chera king of kings was indignant. He said:

  ‘The noble Pandya king was indeed fortunate to have paid with his life for a most detestable action. For death alone has power to rehabilitate a once virtuous sceptre disgraced by merciless destiny. If the rains are late in coming, disaster is at hand. Injustice breeds fear among men. The power of a king is not to be envied. When his soul is noble and he seeks the welfare of his subjects, they complain of his tyranny and reward him by ingratitude.’

  The king graciously thanked the poet who had conveyed this sad story to him. Then he spoke to his queen:

  ‘A virtuous woman lost her life because her husband died. Another wandered in anger through our kingdom. Charming woman, tell me, in your judgment, which one should we admire?’

  Questioned by the monarch, the queen replied: