Vidya Shankar's Blog, page 3
December 22, 2020
Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 7 of Margazhi: 22 December 2020
THE HORSE WHISPERER
Wake up, O Thozhi, on this seventh day of Margazhi,
Wake up to listen to my story.
A stable horse was I, running the races
In a materialistic world,
My tracks defined, the hurdles glorified,
Speed was the indicator, and the judgment of my performance
The whip to spur me on. Obviously,
For, there was much at stake, the purses had to get bigger.
My polished coat and sleek body
Spoke volumes of skillful grooming and careful feeding,
And though my long kesh was devoid of dreadlocks,
Deep down, my life was governed by dread—
I was just a tired mount, finding solace in sleep.
But one day, awakened I was
By the soothing music from a divine flute,My Lord Parthasarathy!
Majestic in Form He was, but not dominating,
Yet the demon in me cringed at His delicate touch.
Keshi that I was, I screamed and took to a frenetic flight,
But Krishna only smiled and silenced my mind.In my surrender, He became the Sarathi of my life!
So, wake up, O Thozhi, on this seventh day of Margazhi,Open the door of your heart and sing with me,
Just as Kothai and her pengal once did sing,
The glories of Keshava,
That potent Name which delivers us
From the exasperating loops of karma,Frees us from the make-believe postulationsOf a fanciful world,
And bestows upon us instead
The freedom of everlasting Happiness,
For, when Krishna is your Sarathi,Will life ever take a disillusioned turn?
Footnotes:kesh: hairpengal: girls
Please note: This is NOT a translation of the divine verses sung by the revered poet-saint Andal. I have not the qualifications for that undertaking, my greatest limitation being my inability to read and write Tamil. Nor can I claim to be as devoted and as passionate as Andal was to Her Rangamannar. But I do love Krishna in my own way and these verses are just my attempt at writing a poem a day, as Kothai did over the thirty days of Margazhi, centuries ago. The muse for each of these thirty verses are the thirty songs that form the thirty paasurams of Thiruppavai. As I can't read or write Tamil, I have had to look up the Internet for translations and transliterations of Thiruppavai. I have provided the links below. Also for the same reason is why my poetry is in English.
I offer this humble work at the Lotus Feet of my Lord Parthasarathy, my Krishna, my Flautist of Brindaranyam.
Click here for Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 6 of Margazhi: 21 December 2020THE AWAKENING
Bibliography:1. THIRUPPAVAI IN ENGLISH http://www.asayana.com/religion/18-2/2. Thiruppavai http://www.hindupedia.com/en/Thiruppavai3. thiruppAvai http://divyaprabandham.koyil.org/index.php/2014/11/thiruppavai-english/4. Sri Andal's Thiruppavai: https://www.sadagopan.org/pdfuploads/Thiruppavai%20-%20VS.pdf
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December 21, 2020
Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 6 of Margazhi: 21 December 2020
THE AWAKENING
“Wake up, dear girl, on this Sixth day of Margazhi, For, the birds are already up!”
“But woke up I did, Kothai, When the early rays of a rising sun
Were just filtering in through the atmosphere.
The birds too wake up then, I am told.”
“Wake up, dear girl, on this
Sixth day of Margazhi, The conch has been sounded In the temple yonder.” “But stay I at a distance, Kothai, Where the sound of the conch
From the temple yonder reaches me not.”
“Wake up, dear girl, on this
Sixth day of Margazhi, To chant seven times the name of Hari.” “But done I have for today, Kothai, My japamala of eight and hundred That I do everyday.”
“Woke up you did, pillaai, with the birds,
When the first solar rays touched
The cold, awaiting brown earth,
But did you pause a-while to listen to the birdsong,
Sway your head from side to side, hum a pleasant tune,
And offer gratitude to my dear Lord Parthasarathy
For natural mellow music to begin your day with?”
“Woke up you did, pillaai, early enough,
Alas, the sound of the conch you are unable to hear
Because of your un-nearness to the temple,
But if the words that pass through your throat
Were sounds of kindness,
Not a tirade of complaints and condemnations,Then in your heart will my Lord Parthasarathy
Make His abode
And every breath you take will be
The purified cosmic energy within the shanka.”
“Woke up you did, pillaai, and performed
Your meticulous daily routine with your japamala,
But do you rise, as you chant,
From the illusory comforts of tamas and rajas
To the discipline of sattva?
And share with your fellow beings
The bliss of uttering His Name?”
“Awake now, pillaai, from the egoistic sleep
You live your days in,
Hold on to the benign arm of faith in fervent prayer,
Be immersed in the joy of singing His Name,
And with His Grace you will rise
From the mooladhara, seven steps upwards
To the Sahasrara…
Hari! Hari! Hari! Hari! Hari! Hari! Hari!”
Footnotes:
pillaai: a young girl with childish attributes
Please note: This is NOT a translation of the divine verses sung by the revered poet-saint Andal. I have not the qualifications for that undertaking, my greatest limitation being my inability to read and write Tamil. Nor can I claim to be as devoted and as passionate as Andal was to Her Rangamannar. But I do love Krishna in my own way and these verses are just my attempt at writing a poem a day, as Kothai did over the thirty days of Margazhi, centuries ago. The muse for each of these thirty verses are the thirty songs that form the thirty paasurams of Thiruppavai. As I can't read or write Tamil, I have had to look up the Internet for translations and transliterations of Thiruppavai. I have provided the links below. Also for the same reason is why my poetry is in English.
I offer this humble work at the Lotus Feet of my Lord Parthasarathy, my Krishna, my Flautist of Brindaranyam.
Click here for Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 5 of Margazhi: 20 December 2020THE GIVER
Click here for Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 7 of Margazhi: 22 December 2020THE HORSE WHISPERER
Bibliography:1. THIRUPPAVAI IN ENGLISH http://www.asayana.com/religion/18-2/2. Thiruppavai http://www.hindupedia.com/en/Thiruppavai3. thiruppAvai http://divyaprabandham.koyil.org/index.php/2014/11/thiruppavai-english/4. Sri Andal's Thiruppavai: https://www.sadagopan.org/pdfuploads/Thiruppavai%20-%20VS.pdfwww.facebook.com
December 20, 2020
Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 5 of Margazhi: 20 December 2020
THE GIVER
O Krishna! You who were born to parentsLanguishing in a darkened jail in Mathura,Found freedom, moments after Your birth,To grow up as the lustrous benefaction of AyppAdi.O Krishna, You who frolicked on the banks of the Yamuna,As with the other cowherd boys,Also relieved the sweet river of a serpentine venom,Dancing on its numerous hoods a victory dance.O Krishna! You who blessed YashodaThe vision of the entire universe within You,Also allowed her, a mortal mother,Exasperated with the mischief of her son, To bind You, quite hurtfully, with the dama.
“Maayan,” You are addressed by Your devoteesEnamored and awed by Your enchanting illusions, And cleansed in body, and with mudras of prayerful poise,You are offered vibrantly coloured, fragrant flowers in worship,Your Name upon their fervent lips—Your Name which burns karma like cotton is by fire.
O Krishna, my Lord Parthasarathy,I know not such rituals,And I see not any illusions in Your stories…No Maayan You are, but, Love, unconditional Love!Why else would You light up the lives of simple cowherds?Struggle with a poisonous snake, Your life at risk, for a river?Or make an illiterate woman feel worthy of her womb?
In that Love I live my minutes with unabashed ecstasy,As thoughts of You drench me completely. Jasmine, rose, or marigold I have not to offer YouBut I am a flower myself, my worship of You Is the spreading of my fragrance unasked.Your Name I chant not, with fervour, on my lipsFor fearful I am not of the insidious clutches of karma,But I write my poetry for You, as Kothai did,And offer it to the one who needs it,For, poets there are plenty,But only she who gives is Andal.
Please note: This is NOT a translation of the divine verses sung by the revered poet-saint Andal. I have not the qualifications for that undertaking, my greatest limitation being my inability to read and write Tamil. Nor can I claim to be as devoted and as passionate as Andal was to Her Rangamannar. But I do love Krishna in my own way and these verses are just my attempt at writing a poem a day, as Kothai did over the thirty days of Margazhi, centuries ago. The muse for each of these thirty verses are the thirty songs that form the thirty paasurams of Thiruppavai. As I can't read or write Tamil, I have had to look up the Internet for translations and transliterations of Thiruppavai. I have provided the links below. Also for the same reason is why my poetry is in English.
I offer this humble work at the Lotus Feet of my Lord Parthasarathy, my Krishna, my Flautist of Brindaranyam.
Click here for Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 4 of Margazhi: 19 December 2020GRATITUDE
Bibliography:1. THIRUPPAVAI IN ENGLISH http://www.asayana.com/religion/18-2/2. Thiruppavai http://www.hindupedia.com/en/Thiruppavai3. thiruppAvai http://divyaprabandham.koyil.org/inde...4. Sri Andal's Thiruppavai: https://www.sadagopan.org/pdfuploads/...
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December 18, 2020
Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 4 of Margazhi: 19 December 2020
GRATITUDE
I am woken up early this morning
On the fourth day of my Margazhi worship
By a soft patter upon the leaves of our mango tree,
And I thank my Krishna, for the blessing
Of cool, melodious rain.
But even as I offer my gratitude,
Reminded am I of rains from a different time,
Not light and rhythmic as this morning's is
But dark, blinding, and stormy.
It was as if the force had plunged
Into the cold and numbing depths of my womb
To scoop out all the tarnished waters
Of anger and pain within
To make it rise and pour out in an unrestrained, unceasing torrent
Till all was cleansed.
The darkness that prevailed then
Was not something to be feared—
It was the heavenly blackness of my Meghashyama
Who clouded over me in protection;
The tears that fell then were the copious streams of arrows
That my Lord Rama rained from His Saranga
To destroy the demons of delusion;
The whirlpool of the spate—
The circular motions of the eight and hundred
Serrated edges of my Krishna's Chakra
That cut out the egoistic conditioning
Of a past time
And made me rise as a phoenix from a fire—
A lotus from the Manipura of my Lord Padmanabha!
And having risen thus, He, my Lord Parthasarathy,
Made me, like Kothai, proclaim to the world,
As He does with His Panchajanya,
The poetry that abounds this universe.
Twice blessed am I for the rising, my Lord Parthasarathy,
Once before, and once today,
And in that blessing lies my Happiness!
Please note: This is NOT a translation of the divine verses sung by the revered poet-saint Andal. I have not the qualifications for that undertaking, my greatest limitation being my inability to read and write Tamil. Nor can I claim to be as devoted and as passionate as Andal was to Her Rangamannar. But I do love Krishna in my own way and these verses are just my attempt at writing a poem a day, as Kothai did over the thirty days of Margazhi, centuries ago. The muse for each of these thirty verses are the thirty songs that form the thirty paasurams of Thiruppavai. As I can't read or write Tamil, I have had to look up the Internet for translations and transliterations of Thiruppavai. I have provided the links below. Also for the same reason is why my poetry is in English.
I offer this humble work at the Lotus Feet of my Lord Parthasarathy, my Krishna, my Flautist of Brindaranyam.Click here for Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 3 of Margazhi: 18 December 2020JOY OF ABUNDANCE
Bibliography:1. THIRUPPAVAI IN ENGLISH http://www.asayana.com/religion/18-2/2. Thiruppavai http://www.hindupedia.com/en/Thiruppavai3. thiruppAvai http://divyaprabandham.koyil.org/inde...4. Sri Andal's Thiruppavai: https://www.sadagopan.org/pdfuploads/...
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Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 3 of Margazhi: 18 December 2020
JOY OF ABUNDANCE
Here I am, on this third day of Margazhi,Risen to sing the praises of Your name,Oh, how I pine for a glimpse of You In Your temple of Brindaranyam,But mundane life has me bound.
I fret at the weariness of the choresAnd close my eyes in despair...But in that darkness, what do I see in my chidakasha?Your cosmic Form!In just strides two, You have taken overMy worlds three,Permeating them with the exhilaration of Love!
O Divine Love!Oh, what joy! My ecstatic heart flutters as a bee's wings,Exulting in the honeyed sweetness of Your gaze!My lips, like red paddy, quiver with blissAs the chants of Your Name caress them!My fish-like eyes dance a sprightly swayAs a smile swims friskily into themReflecting the scintillating aura of Your being!The hairs on my arms stand on endAs thoughts of You tickle my emotionsLike welcome showers that fall upon an upturned face!
O Utthama! O my Lord Parthasarathy!Humbled am I, as Kothai would have been,And as I go about my earthly tasks,I agonize no more,For I know I am a cow with an udder brimmingWith the milk of compassion,For, when You have assumed my entire being,Am I not living In the abundance of giving?
Footnotes:chidakasha: the dark, infinite space that we 'see' when we close our eyes; the space of consciousnessworlds three: referring to the three states of the physical, mental, and emotional
Please note: This is NOT a translation of the divine verses sung by the revered poet-saint Andal. I have not the qualifications for that undertaking, my greatest limitation being my inability to read and write Tamil. Nor can I claim to be as devoted and as passionate as Andal was to Her Rangamannar. But I do love Krishna in my own way and these verses are just my attempt at writing a poem a day, as Kothai did over the thirty days of Margazhi, centuries ago. The muse for each of these thirty verses are the thirty songs that form the thirty paasurams of Thiruppavai. As I can't read or write Tamil, I have had to look up the Internet for translations and transliterations of Thiruppavai. I have provided the links below. Also for the same reason is why my poetry is in English. I offer this humble work at the Lotus Feet of my Lord Parthasarathy, my Krishna, my Flautist of Brindaranyam.
Click here for Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 2 of Margazhi: 17 December 2020WORSHIP
Bibliography:1. THIRUPPAVAI IN ENGLISH http://www.asayana.com/religion/18-2/2. Thiruppavai http://www.hindupedia.com/en/Thiruppavai3. thiruppAvai http://divyaprabandham.koyil.org/inde...4. Sri Andal's Thiruppavai: https://www.sadagopan.org/pdfuploads/...www.facebook.com
December 16, 2020
Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 2 of Margazhi: 17 December 2020
WORSHIP
I have woken up on this second day of Margazhi,O my Lord Parthasarathy,As Kothai may have,With trepidation.Will I be able to write thirty verses in thirty days?Forget I did that it is not this "I" that will write themBut the synergism of dots radiating different energies.Forgive me, my Lord, for assuming That behind the closed doors of lockdownYou wouldn't know the goings-on of the world outside.Plans we may have a-plenty, but are they Your plans for us?Why, even the lockdown, isn't that not but Your plan for us?And so, seeing not the darkness, the gloom, I have sat down at Your Feet, In my house, to write this.O my Lord Parthasarathy, fast I may not, These thirty days, from the tasty ghee or the health-giving milk,But fast I will from hurtful thoughts and prejudice;My lustrous hair I will adorn with sweet-smelling jasmineNot to beautify, but as a sacred gift from Your Feet;And the collyrium I apply, the black of Your Form, Is not as eye make-up but the salve my sight needsTo see through the illusory and perceive Your majesty.This is my worship to you, my KrishnaSo You may keep the dots moving In harmonious solidarity, Wherein my karma does not hinder meThese thirty prayerful songs unto You.
Please note: This is NOT a translation of the divine verses sung by the revered poet-saint Andal. I have not the qualifications for that undertaking, my greatest limitation being my inability to read and write Tamil. Nor can I claim to be as devoted and as passionate as Andal was to Her Rangamannar. But I do love Krishna in my own way and these verses are just my attempt at writing a poem a day, as Kothai did over the thirty days of Margazhi, centuries ago. The muse for each of these thirty verses are the thirty songs that form the thirty paasurams of Thiruppavai. As I can't read or write Tamil, I have had to look up the Internet for translations and transliterations of Thiruppavai. I have provided the links below. Also for the same reason is why my poetry is in English. I offer this humble work at the Lotus Feet of my Lord Parthasarathy, my Krishna, my Flautist of Brindaranyam.
Click here for Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 1 of Margazhi: 16 December 2020PRAYER
Click here for Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 3 of Margazhi: 18 December 2020JOY OF ABUNDANCE
Bibliography:1. THIRUPPAVAI IN ENGLISH http://www.asayana.com/religion/18-2/2. Thiruppavai http://www.hindupedia.com/en/Thiruppavai3. thiruppAvai http://divyaprabandham.koyil.org/inde...
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Day 2: 17 December 2020
I have woken up on this second day of Margazhi,O my Lord Parthasarathy,As Kothai may have,With trepidation.Will I be able to write thirty verses in thirty days?Forget I did that it is not this "I" that will write themBut the synergism of dots radiating different energies.Forgive me, my Lord, for assuming That behind the closed doors of lockdownYou wouldn't know the goings-on of the world outside.Plans we may have a-plenty, but are they Your plans for us?Why, even the lockdown, isn't that not but Your plan for us?And so, seeing not the darkness, the gloom, I have sat down at Your Feet, In my house, to write this.O my Lord Parthasarathy, fast I may not, These thirty days, from the tasty ghee or the health-giving milk,But fast I will from hurtful thoughts and prejudice;My lustrous hair I will adorn with sweet-smelling jasmineNot to beautify, but as a sacred gift from Your Feet;And the collyrium I apply, the black of Your Form, Is not as eye make-up but the salve my sight needsTo see through the illusory and perceive Your majesty.This is my worship to you, my KrishnaSo You may keep the dots moving In harmonious solidarity, Wherein my karma does not hinder meThese thirty prayerful songs unto You.
Please note: This is NOT a translation of the divine verses sung by the revered poet-saint Andal. I have not the qualifications for that undertaking, my greatest limitation being my inability to read and write Tamil. Nor can I claim to be as devoted and as passionate as Andal was to Her Rangamannar. But I do love Krishna in my own way and these verses are just my attempt at writing a poem a day, as Kothai did over the thirty days of Margazhi, centuries ago. The muse for each of these thirty verses are the thirty songs that form the thirty paasurams of Thiruppavai. As I can't read or write Tamil, I have had to look up the Internet for translations and transliterations of Thiruppavai. I have provided the links below. Also for the same reason is why my poetry is in English. I offer this humble work at the Lotus Feet of my Lord Parthasarathy, my Krishna.
Bibliography:1. THIRUPPAVAI IN ENGLISH http://www.asayana.com/religion/18-2/2. Thiruppavai http://www.hindupedia.com/en/Thiruppavai3. thiruppAvai http://divyaprabandham.koyil.org/inde...
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Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 1 of Margazhi: 16 December 2020
PRAYER
O my Lord Parthasarathy, Whom Kothai affectionately calls her Narayanan, I have come, this first day of Margazhi, Seeking to behold Your divine, dark Form!I have come, as have the others, To Your abode in Brindaranyam, So we may bathe in the luminous compassion of Your Grace.Look at us, O Son of Yashoda,With the radiance of Your eyes...May the light of that splendorous sunLift the darkness of our unpredictable days,And energize us with potency.
The story behind my verse:Being the first day of Margazhi, I went to Sri Parthasarathy Swami temple with my husband, properly masked. It was only the second time I was going to the temple since its opening on 01 September, 2020, after the lockdown. The pagalpathu utsavam was going on, it was the second day and Parthasarathy Swami was in Venu Gopalan thirukolam. Though there were quite a few devotees present, and the mangala vadhyam of nadaswaram and thavil heralded the procession of the Lord within the temple premises, a certain gloom hung over the whole atmosphere, an unpleasant contrast to the vibrant mood that we have grown used to from the previous years of the festival.
Please note: This is NOT a translation of the divine verses sung by the revered poet-saint Andal. I have not the qualifications for that undertaking, my greatest limitation being my inability to read and write Tamil. Nor can I claim to be as devoted and as passionate as Andal was to Her Rangamannar. But I do love Krishna in my own way and these verses are just my attempt at writing a poem a day, as Kothai did over the thirty days of Margazhi, centuries ago. The muse for each of these thirty verses are the thirty songs that form the thirty paasurams of Thiruppavai. As I can't read or write Tamil, I have had to look up the Internet for translations and transliterations of Thiruppavai. I have provided the links below. Also for the same reason is why my poetry is in English. I offer this humble work at the Lotus Feet of my Lord Parthasarathy, my Krishna, my Flautist of Brindaranyam.
Click here for Thiruppavai series 2020, Day 2 of Margazhi: 17 December 2020WORSHIP
Bibliography:1. THIRUPPAVAI IN ENGLISH http://www.asayana.com/religion/18-2/2. Thiruppavai http://www.hindupedia.com/en/Thiruppavai3. thiruppAvai http://divyaprabandham.koyil.org/inde...www.facebook.com
Day 1: 16 December 2020
O my Lord Parthasarathy, Whom Kothai affectionately calls her Narayanan, I have come, this first day of Margazhi, Seeking to behold Your divine, dark Form!I have come, as have the others, To Your abode in Brindaranyam, So we may bathe in the luminous compassion of Your Grace.Look at us, O Son of Yashoda,With the radiance of Your eyes...May the light of that splendorous sunLift the darkness of our unpredictable days,And energize us with potency.
The story behind my verse:Being the first day of Margazhi, I went to Sri Parthasarathy Swami temple with my husband, properly masked. It was only the second time I was going to the temple since its opening on 01 September, 2020, after the lockdown. The pagalpathu utsavam was going on, it was the second day and Parthasarathy Swami was in Venu Gopalan thirukolam. Though there were quite a few devotees present, and the mangala vadhyam of nadaswaram and thavil heralded the procession of the Lord within the temple premises, a certain gloom hung over the whole atmosphere, an unpleasant contrast to the vibrant mood that we have grown used to from the previous years of the festival.
Please note: This is NOT a translation of the divine verses sung by the revered poet-saint Andal. I have not the qualifications for that undertaking, my greatest limitation being my inability to read and write Tamil. Nor can I claim to be as devoted and as passionate as Andal was to Her Rangamannar. But I do love Krishna in my own way and these verses are just my attempt at writing a poem a day, as Kothai did over the thirty days of Margazhi, centuries ago. The muse for each of these thirty verses are the thirty songs that form the thirty paasurams of Thiruppavai. As I can't read or write Tamil, I have had to look up the Internet for translations and transliterations of Thiruppavai. I have provided the links below. Also for the same reason is why my poetry is in English. I offer this humble work at the Lotus Feet of my Lord Parthasarathy, my Krishna.
Bibliography:1. THIRUPPAVAI IN ENGLISH http://www.asayana.com/religion/18-2/2. Thiruppavai http://www.hindupedia.com/en/Thiruppavai3. thiruppAvai http://divyaprabandham.koyil.org/inde...www.facebook.com
June 30, 2020
Puthanai
Barren she was, barren of child,
But not of compassion or care,
Empathy, emotions, love or laughter.
Her innocent soul so intuitive to others’ pain,
Did not seek to hear hers, nor heal hers.
Hers the pain that came from her barrenness
of a womb so dry that no seed ever could merge
its tiny wriggly form upon a fertile earth and spring
a sweet bundle to life.
‘Trust her not with your babies,
Her evil eye will be cast upon them!’
‘The fever that is draining your child
and making him whimper with unease…
How do you think it came about?’
‘All because that childless witch
passed by your house last week,
And in passing, she looked about
to catch a glimpse of your healthy boy.’
‘Shame on her to be so childless…
A creature she is, so unfortunate,
A pile-up of sins from previous births,
She is destined to carry that burden
instead of a baby blessing.’
‘Come here, Puthanai, you doleful woman,
Come and sit by this sweet lady
whose womb is filled with happiness, unlike yours.
Sit beside her and regard with green longing
how we pamper her blessed fertile soul.’
‘See how we rub her body with the sweet scent
of sandal, so that the little one she is carrying
will be pleasantly lulled to sleep
in the secured cool of its mother’s confines.’
‘Envy how we tie silver bells around expectant ankles,
That when she walks, tinkles to enthuse
the life in her to kick about in joy.’
‘Behold these colourful bangles of vibrant glass
and watch with spite how we slip them
upon her wrists to the swaying of passionate song
and the beat of lively dance,
So to impress upon the growing foetus
the promise of nurturing hands when born.’
‘You wretched woman, watch and feel jealous,
And let your hardened heart feel pain
for a blessing missed out on
of caring hands and compassionate heart,
But for possessing instead a soul devoid of the joy
that fosters a baby’s home.’
‘Hey you woman, and it embarrasses me to call you that,
You must be dry of spirit, how else can we explain
your indifference to cherubic bliss—
of tiny ankleted tinkling feet, soft little spongy palms,
The supple innocent rosiness of freshly bathed baby cheeks
that melt you not with the compassion
of maternal emotion!’
Oh! But melt she did,
Layers of shame, guilt, grief and self-reproach
that clung on to her being, an unhealthy body mass.
Build she did, a wall around her love,
An impregnable fortress of bloody hate.
Hers was a pain that came from anger, angst, and age.
Baby rosiness was fetid, anklet clinks clamorous,
And soft palms nothing but a tasty lump of delicacy.
Puthanai, the once coy, graceful, dainty damsel,
Was now a grotesque insult, reeking of insecurity.
Families feared her, children dreaded her approach;
Her vicious grin lend subject to terrifying tales.
Puthanai, an innocent soul so intuitive to others’ pain,
Now revelled in hurting, immune as she had become
to Pain.
So, when she held the blue baby in her arms,
Her instruction from the cruel Kamsa to strangle Him,
Qualms she had none to trust her huge breasts
into His tender mouth to suckle,
And while pretending to snuggle,
Stroked deceivingly to strangle.
But Krishna, the blue baby, nestled in her arms
comfortably, and drew at her breast.
The merciful warmth so emanated sent out a sensation
that tugged at her heartstrings.
She screamed in pain, not of the physical,
But of a searing emotional wound,
Its depth unreachable by any human perception.
The baby at her breast was no human,
And as He sucked out the stabbing pain,
The wretchedness afflicting her transmuted
into glorious beauty.
Puthanai, the once disgusting demoness,
So unfit for maternity,
She emerged from the ashes, a godmother,
And like a flower unasked, she spread to all around her
the fragrance of fertile fraternity!
(Puthanai, according to mythology, is a fearful demoness who, under the instructions of Krishna’s evil uncle Kamsa, breast-feeds the baby Krishna with the intention of killing Him. However, Krishna sucks the life out of her. But because her act was maternalistic, she is said to have attained liberation and at her death, the air is supposed to have been permeated with perfume.
In my poem Puthanai, I have portrayed her as a very docile woman who becomes wicked because of a mean and spiteful society.)www.facebook.com
But not of compassion or care,
Empathy, emotions, love or laughter.
Her innocent soul so intuitive to others’ pain,
Did not seek to hear hers, nor heal hers.
Hers the pain that came from her barrenness
of a womb so dry that no seed ever could merge
its tiny wriggly form upon a fertile earth and spring
a sweet bundle to life.
‘Trust her not with your babies,
Her evil eye will be cast upon them!’
‘The fever that is draining your child
and making him whimper with unease…
How do you think it came about?’
‘All because that childless witch
passed by your house last week,
And in passing, she looked about
to catch a glimpse of your healthy boy.’
‘Shame on her to be so childless…
A creature she is, so unfortunate,
A pile-up of sins from previous births,
She is destined to carry that burden
instead of a baby blessing.’
‘Come here, Puthanai, you doleful woman,
Come and sit by this sweet lady
whose womb is filled with happiness, unlike yours.
Sit beside her and regard with green longing
how we pamper her blessed fertile soul.’
‘See how we rub her body with the sweet scent
of sandal, so that the little one she is carrying
will be pleasantly lulled to sleep
in the secured cool of its mother’s confines.’
‘Envy how we tie silver bells around expectant ankles,
That when she walks, tinkles to enthuse
the life in her to kick about in joy.’
‘Behold these colourful bangles of vibrant glass
and watch with spite how we slip them
upon her wrists to the swaying of passionate song
and the beat of lively dance,
So to impress upon the growing foetus
the promise of nurturing hands when born.’
‘You wretched woman, watch and feel jealous,
And let your hardened heart feel pain
for a blessing missed out on
of caring hands and compassionate heart,
But for possessing instead a soul devoid of the joy
that fosters a baby’s home.’
‘Hey you woman, and it embarrasses me to call you that,
You must be dry of spirit, how else can we explain
your indifference to cherubic bliss—
of tiny ankleted tinkling feet, soft little spongy palms,
The supple innocent rosiness of freshly bathed baby cheeks
that melt you not with the compassion
of maternal emotion!’
Oh! But melt she did,
Layers of shame, guilt, grief and self-reproach
that clung on to her being, an unhealthy body mass.
Build she did, a wall around her love,
An impregnable fortress of bloody hate.
Hers was a pain that came from anger, angst, and age.
Baby rosiness was fetid, anklet clinks clamorous,
And soft palms nothing but a tasty lump of delicacy.
Puthanai, the once coy, graceful, dainty damsel,
Was now a grotesque insult, reeking of insecurity.
Families feared her, children dreaded her approach;
Her vicious grin lend subject to terrifying tales.
Puthanai, an innocent soul so intuitive to others’ pain,
Now revelled in hurting, immune as she had become
to Pain.
So, when she held the blue baby in her arms,
Her instruction from the cruel Kamsa to strangle Him,
Qualms she had none to trust her huge breasts
into His tender mouth to suckle,
And while pretending to snuggle,
Stroked deceivingly to strangle.
But Krishna, the blue baby, nestled in her arms
comfortably, and drew at her breast.
The merciful warmth so emanated sent out a sensation
that tugged at her heartstrings.
She screamed in pain, not of the physical,
But of a searing emotional wound,
Its depth unreachable by any human perception.
The baby at her breast was no human,
And as He sucked out the stabbing pain,
The wretchedness afflicting her transmuted
into glorious beauty.
Puthanai, the once disgusting demoness,
So unfit for maternity,
She emerged from the ashes, a godmother,
And like a flower unasked, she spread to all around her
the fragrance of fertile fraternity!
(Puthanai, according to mythology, is a fearful demoness who, under the instructions of Krishna’s evil uncle Kamsa, breast-feeds the baby Krishna with the intention of killing Him. However, Krishna sucks the life out of her. But because her act was maternalistic, she is said to have attained liberation and at her death, the air is supposed to have been permeated with perfume.
In my poem Puthanai, I have portrayed her as a very docile woman who becomes wicked because of a mean and spiteful society.)www.facebook.com
