“TIRUVEMBAVAI”
MANIKKAVACHAKAR
Translated by
Prof. P. S. SUNDARAM
[For religious ecstasy clothed in exquisite verse few poems in the world can rival, still fewer excel, the works in Tamil of the Nayanmars and Alwars, worshippers of Siva and Vishnu. Their dates may have been anything between 600 and 900 A. D.
It
is to the glory of a British Christian missionary, G. U. Pope,
that he undertook in his ’Seventies to translate into English Manikkavachakar’s Tiruvachakam
and completed it in his eightieth year. He was so haunted by the poetry of
this God-intoxicated saint that even in far away
His translation, like all translations, has dated. It is also, in parts, defective. What follows is an attempt to render in a more modern idiom one of the most famous of its fifty-one sections. It deals with the ritual bath in a river or pool and the singing of hymns in praise of Siva before the break of dawn in the Tamil month of Marhazhi, December-January.]
O Girl, with eyes so bright and large,
You surely heard us sing the praise
Of Him who has no beginning or end–
The Blazing Splendour, rare, sublime–
And yet sleep on!
Are you stone-deaf?
There was another, the moment she heard
From the street the Great One’s anklets praised.
She sobbed and sobbed, forgot herself,
Rolled out of her flower-decked bed,
And lay as if she was dead to the world!
How amazing!
And you, our friend,
How strange your nature, pretty doll!
“Jewelled maiden, night and day
You would say your love was all for God:
And now it is all for your bed alone?”
“Fie, friends, no time this for jokes!
He whose flower-foot the very gods
Are shy to approach the Blazing Splendour,
Now in Chidambaram, from His own land–
Are we fit to worship Him?”
“With a smile as bright as pearls,
You would come forward, mouth oozing honey,
And, babble ‘My Father, my Nectar, my Joy–
Come now, open your door.’
“But you are His, partakers of old,
If you take us novices, poor sinners,
Won’t you lose caste?”
“Is all your love a pretence then?
Don’t we know? May one love Siva
But must not be allowed to sing His praise?
We are all one in this, my dear.”
“You with your bright and pearly smile.
Isn’t it dawn for you yet?”
“Have all of you parrot-hued assembled
With your parrot twitter?”
“We will count and tell you the tale,
But don’t sleep on and waste your time.
The Balm of Heaven, Veda’s Supreme,
Sweet to the sight! Sing Him and melt
In your inmost heart.
We will not count.
Come out and do the counting yourself.
If the tally is short, go back and sleep.”
The hill which Vishnu did not know
And four-faced Brahma couldn’t discern,
You with your mouthful of milk and honey
Claim to expound with mere words!
Open your door!
Earth, heaven and all the rest
Do not know Him.
By His grace inspired, our sins forgiven,
We cry “Siva Siva”. But you
Take no notice, take no notice
Your hair all nicely scented!
Our gazelle, you told us but yesterday
That you yourself would wake us up!
Tell us, shameless! where are those words?
Isn’t it dawn for you yet?
Open your lips to us who have come
Singing His anklets supernal
Whom heaven and earth and the rest don’t know,
But who of Himself came down
To make us His own, His loving care.
Melt in all limbs, which will beseem
You, us and all – the right behaviour.
My dear, this too is you? You who would
Open your mouth and shout “Siva”
The moment you heard the trumpets sound
That Great One’s coming whom many immortals
Can’t grasp at all? Ere one could hail Him
As the dear God of this our South
You would melt like wax in a flame.
And now when we variously sing,
“Ours”, “Our King”, “Sweet as Nectar”,
You sleep still, like stone-hearted fools!
How strange the nature of that sleep!
The rooster crows, birds chirp all over,
White conches take up their music and blow.
The peerless Brightness, peerless Grace,
Peerless Heavenly Being – we sang.
Didn’t you hear us? What sleep is this?
Bless you, can’t you open your mouth?
Is this the way we show our love
To Him who is the
The Primal Being who stood alone
When all else perished?
Parvati’s partner (and of the poor)
Let us sing!
Older than oldest, newer, than most new,
Those to whom you are Lord and Chief
Are those at whose feet we will bow.
Them we would partner, choose as mates,
Obey with love and reverence.
Should You be pleased to grant us this,
Lord, we shall lack nothing.
Deeper than the seven worlds below
His flower-foot poised is beyond reach of speech.
His head flower-crested outtops all crests.
Half woman His body, Himself unbodied.
The Vedas, gods and men may praise Him,
But never enough.
A bosom friend to His devotees
Is Hara the blameless.
O
Where does He come from? What is His name?
Who is His friend? Who is His foe?
How will you sing Him?
We plunge into the crowded pool,
Our hands plumbing it again and again–
Your devotees for generations,
Singing paeans to your feet.
You flame-red, white ashes smeared,
Mate of the wasp-waisted Maid,
With her wide-eyes tipped with collyrium–
All that the good ones caught in your sport
Will do to be saved, we too have done,
Save us unwearied and keep us so.
We dance in joy to shake away birth’s woes;
He, Lord of Streams, in Tillai dances with fire,
Creating, saving, wrecking heaven and earth
In sheer sport!
Mouthing His praise;
Bracelets a-tinkle, waistbands in tumult,
The hair on our heads humming with bees,
Plunge we into the flowery pool
Singing paeans to His golden feet!
Plunge into that pool of flowers,
Kuvalais blue and lotuses red,
Small birds atwitter, pool snakes atwist,
Devotees come to wash away sins!
Plunge and plunge we into that pool,
Androgynous image of our Lady and Lord,
Bangles tinkling, anklets aroar,
Breasts and pool both swelling alike!
Eardrops aquiver, gold trinkets adance,
Chaplets shaking, bees warms adrift,
Plunge we and sport in the cool stream!
And after that sing Chidambaram,
Veda’s Essence and the way to reach Him!
The Burning Brightness! The Flowered Crest!
The Primal Power! The Final Essence!
And shall sing too the wondrous Feet
Of Her who brought us into this world,
Took us up, fed and fostered us,
Eternal Energy, our Great Mother!
Once came one who would speak without end
Of our Great Lord, and shed in rapture
Tears unceasing, fall on the earth,
And refuse to bow to any other god.
Who else but He is the Magician
That thus could madden and enslave?
Lovely women, your breasts bursting
Through the brooches and cincture covering them,
Let us sing Him with all our hearts
And plunge into the flowery pool!
O Cloud! How you resemble our Lady!
You rise from the sea and take her hue,
Your lightning is Her slender waist,
Your thunder Her tinkling anklets;
Your rainbow is Her own bent brow.
By all means bless them first who love
Her Lord and Husband clinging to Her;
And thereafter, Cloud, on us too shower
The rain of Her grace!
O Girl, with tresses black and fragrant,
The bliss not found with the Lotus-eyed,
The Four-faced Brahma, or other gods,
Nowhere else obtained is ours.
Ridding us of our sins,
He comes into each house of ours,
The Lord vouchsafing His golden feet
As red as the lotus.
Our sweet-eyed King, our Nectar unsating!
That we may sing Him and get His grace
Plunge we into the lotus pool!
The dear sun is up, destroying the dark,
The moon has dimmed, the stars have scattered,
Like the crowns of the gods losing their lustre
Bent down adoring Annamalayan’s feet.
He who became Male, Female and Neuter,
Heaven and earth and all else besides
Stands ambrosial to feast our eyes.
Sing, Girl, His anklet, and plunge in the pool!
“The child you brought up must obey you”:
O Lord, in fear of this old saw,
We tell you this, be pleased to hear:
“Our bodies shall embrace none but Your friends;
Our hands shall do no work but Yours;
Our eyes, night and day, see none but You”
If You, our King, will grant us this wish,
What care we where the sun may arise?
Hail, Your flower feet, origin of all things,
Give us Your grace!
Hail! Shimmering sprigs, Your feet,
End of all quests,
Give us Your grace!
Hail, Your golden feet, source of all lives!
Hail, Your flowery feet, bliss of all beings!
Hail, the pair of feet where all things end!
Hail, the lotus unglimpsed by Vishnu and Brahma!
Hail, the petals of gold which enslave us to save us!
Hail, hail, hail
The morning bath in Marhazhi!