Aandaal, ஆண்டாள், an 8th century Tamil mystic poet followed the poetic conventions of her time by requesting monsoon clouds to act as messenger to her love, the God of the Universe. Besides the literal meaning, each verse embeds parallel and inset meanings that are left to the reader to discover. Simultaneous shifts in meaning dynamize each verse into a literary trompe l’oeil. The following are translations from Naachiar Tirumozhi, a poem of 143 verses that belongs to an erotic genre of spiritual verse, not favoured by conservative Tamil Vaishnavites.
from The Sacred Songs of the Lady
Song 8: Dark Rain Clouds Be My Messengers
1
Dark cloud roof unfurling beneath
the roof of the covering sky
Do you herald the coming of my lord Tirumal from high
Venkata hill where the bright waterfall plunge?
My tears, luminous, stream between the full
hills of my breasts
I am not to weep; yet he makes me break my vow,
how does this honour him?
Vast curly vault veiling
the sky’s star drizzled dome
Does your darkness hide
his gleaming darkness from which shimmer
cascades
into my body’s wet valleys?
I weep, forsaking secrecy.
How could my coursing silver illumine his glory?
My love
vast star-filled
overcast
in separation.
Still I flow
a stream lightening –struck
leaping
to lustrate
you
see my glory
5
Monsoon clouds you spread across
the sky, slash
it raining torrents, you shake the honey-heavy blossoms
of Vengadam and scatter scented petals.
Go tell the dark lord who killed the demon Hiranya
ripping him with paws of fury
that he has robbed me of my bangles.
He must return them to me now!
Dark clouds you enlarge in anger, growl and roll
across the skies rending it open
with rain, lightning bolts; you tear
flowers, spill honey, petals clot like blood on earth.
Go to the fiercest lord who plunged his claws in Hiranya roaring,
mane tossing as his bloody paws ripped insides out
tell him: I’ve grown thin with longing, bangles slip from wrists!’
He must heal me with his touch
engorged with anger
nails extending you kill
plunging wrists in
these very hands I seek
to caress me
gather my swollen ripeness in
as
spilling nectar
my body’s blood flower bursts
7
In his avatar as Kurma, submerged tortoise, he supported
the churning of the star –milk ocean awash
with gems; cosmic treasures bubbled out. Descend
clouds, down to the lotus feet of Vengadam’s lord and lay
there my surrender. Fragrant saffron paste covers
my breasts — that must be wipe
on him; he must embrace
me if only for a day or I waste away.
Splendid the Milky Way spreads
spinning constellations plucked from its depths shimmer
as the great churning begins — before
Time begins. Lotus eyed Nayarana, the Eternal
One caused this to be. Dive deep clouds and lay
me at his crimsoned feet. Tell him of my
surrender; tell him to wash my body’s scarlet longing
for just today else I die.
Churn
churn
Time’s great ocean, each second, each eternity
churn away my adornments
churn my body’s milk
churn me red
from my ocean
churn out my truest self.
Let me rise to you my love
or let me die
Priya Sarukkai Chabria is a poet, writer and translator. Her publications include Dialogues and Other Poems (2005) reprint (2006) and Not Springtime Yet (2008)
Sarukkai-Chabria edits the website Talking Poetry and edited the anthology 50 Poets 50 Poems. Recipient of Senior Fellowship to Outstanding Artists from the Indian government, she has worked with the Rasa Theory of Aesthetics, co-founded a film society Friends of the Archive and collaborated with classical dancer Malavika Sarukkai. She has been invited to The Writer’s Center, UK; ‘Alphabet City’, Canada; Frankfurt Book Fair etc. and many literary festivals in India. Her work is published in numerous international journals and websites, and anthologized. She is translating works of eighth century Tamil mystic poet Aandaal; writing a travelogue and a story collection; all three books are to be published in 2011.