Abridged from Hymns of the Tamil Saivite Saints, by F. Kingsbury and G.P. Phillips, [1921]
MANIKKA VASAHAR AND HIS HYMNS
In the days when the powerful Pandyan Kings flourished in Madura, there
was once a prime minister who became convinced of the transitoriness of
this world's life and its riches. When on a visit to Perundurai, now
Avudaiyarkoil in the Tanjore District, he suddenly and completely came
under the influence of a Brahman religious teacher, who for him was the
manifestation of the very God Himself. Then and there he began to sing
the "Sacred Utterance" (Tiruvasaham), and was named by his preceptor
"Utterer of Jewels" (Manikka Vasahar). Returning to Madura, he forsook
his high office with all its rewards, to become a religious poet
wandering without earthly attachments from shrine to shrine.
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The stories clustering around his religious experience can be read by
English readers in Dr. Pope's great edition of his work. We find him
practising austerities at Chidambaram, or miraculously giving the gift
of speech to the dumb daughter of the Chola king, or defeating in
disputation a band of Buddhists from Ceylon, but of certain historical
information about him we have practically none. Even the question of the
century in which he lived is a battleground of the antiquarians.
Tradition places him in the fifth century, earlier than the writers of
the Devaram; but the opinion of scholars seems to be converging on the
view that he lived in the latter half of the ninth, or the first half of
the tenth century of our era. Another of his works is the
Tirukkovaiyar, an erotic poem of four hundred stanzas. Among Tamil
Saivite writers none makes a stronger devotional appeal than Manikka
Vasahar. There is a common Tamil saying that nothing can melt the heart
of the man who is not melted by the Tiruvasaham.
Stanzas 80-92 are samples from an opening poem of one hundred stanzas,
each ten of which has its own metre and is fairly complete in itself.
They fairly reflect the saint's varying moods. Notice the importance he
attaches to emotion; his worst self-reproach is for feeling no frenzy.
As to his conception of God, see how the word 'grace' recurs in nearly
every stanza. And yet that God of grace is called (in No. 84) both being
and non-existence.
THE HUNDRED VERSES
80. Thrills and trembles my frame;
Hands are lifted on high;
Here at Thy fragrant feet,
Sobbing and weeping I cry;
Falsehood forsaking, I shout,
"Victory, victory, praise!
Lord of my life, these clasped hands
Worship shall bring Thee always.
81. Indra or Vishnu or Brahma,
Their divine bliss crave not I;
I seek the love of Thy saints,
Though my house perish thereby.
To the worst hell I will go,
So but Thy grace be with me.
Best of all, how could my heart
Think of a god beside Thee?
82. Though like Thy saints I seem, 'tis but the acting
of a part.
Yet wondrous swift I run to reach the heaven
where Thou art.
O hill of gold and precious gems, grant in Thy
grace to me
A heart to melt, lord of my life, in ceaseless
ove to Thee.
83. I have no fear of births, but quake at thought that
I must die.
E'en heav'n to me were naught; for earth's whole
empire what care I?
O Siva wreathed with honeyed blossoms, "When
shall come the morn
When Thou wilt grant Thy grace to me?" I cry
with anguish torn.
84. The sky, earth, wind, the light, our very flesh and
life art Thou,
Being art Thou, non-being too, Thou king, who
see'st how
Men dance like puppets with their foolish thoughts
of 'I' and 'Mine,'
While Thou the cords dost pull. What words can
tell Thy praise divine?
85. At sound of cries like this, "O Bull-rider whose
spreading hair
The falling stream receives! "Heaven's Lord," true
devotees there were,
Whose love-thrilled heart broke forth, like stopped-
up rivers rushing down.
Yet Thou didst choose no one of them, but me to
be Thine own.
And yet my body will not turn from heel to head
one heart
To melt in love for Thee, one eye to shed the tears
that smart
In swelling floods. Ah! wretched that I am, who
only moan!
My two eyes are unfeeling wood, my heart a great
dead stone!
86. Amid the fruits of deeds I lay. Thou didst thy-
self reveal
With words of comfort saying "Come, I will de-
struction deal
To evil fruit of deeds," and thus thou mad'st me
all Thy slave.
And yet I stand as if a statue made of steel, nor
rave,
Nor sing, nor cry, nor wail - woe's me - nor in my
spirit faint
With deep desire, so dull am I. O being ancient,
Thou art beginning, Thou art end: tell me, how
can I be
So dead at heart? The end if this I do not dare
to see.
87. Him though men seek, none fully know; in Him
no evil is.
None are His kindred; knowledge perfect, effort-
less is His.
A cur am I, yet He hath giv'n to me in sight
of men
A place on earth, and shewed me things far beyond
mortal ken.
He told me what no ears can hear; from future
births He sav'd.
Such magic wrought my Lord who me hath lovingly
enslaved.
88. Our God of gods, whom e'en the devas' king knows
but in part,
Ruleth the three who in the fair world-gardens life
impart,
And life maintain, and life destroy; our First,
Reality,
Father of old, whose consort Uma is, our sovereign,
He
Came down in grace and made e'en me to be His
very own.
Henceforth before no man I bow; I fear but Him
alone.
Now of His servants' servants I have joined the
sacred throng,
And ever more and more I'll bathe in bliss. with
dance and song.
89. The meanest cur am I; I know not how to do the
right;
'Twere but what I deserve, should'st Thou my
wickedness requite
With the dread fate of those who never saw Thy
flowery feet;
For though mine eyes have seen, my ears have
heard saints guileless, meet,
Who reached Thy fragrant presence, yet I stay, for
false am I,
Fit for naught save to eat and dress, Lion of victory.
90. None but myself has sunk myself. Thy name be
ever praised!
No blame lay I on Thee, lauds to my Master be
upraised!
Yet to forgive is aye a mark of greatness. Praise
to Thee!
Lord of the land celestial, Praise! O end this life
for me.
91. The fawn-eyed maid is part of Thee! From
holy writ Thou'rt hid!
Thou'rt honey, yea ambrosia, by man's mind not
compassed.
O king who bearest with my faults, some harsh
words did I say.
Thy saints have entered heaven. Without, false-
hood and I still stay.
92. Since I am false, and false my heart, and false my
very love,
Howe'er I weep, still held by deed can I reach
Thee above?
O honey, nectar, O essential sweetness, great as
sweet,
Grant grace to me to find the path that leads unto
Thy feet.
93. Heav'n, earth, and all that therein is, thou makest
without seed.
Thou dost preserve and Thou destroy. 'Tis Thou
who hast decreed
That I though treacherous, mean, should be a man
who frenzied faints
Before Thy temple gates, one with the band of
Thy true saints.
What men themselves have planted, e'en a poison-
ous mango tree,
They root not up. O Lord of mine, as such a
tree keep me.
Our next five stanzas, taken from a hymn of fifty, are full of the
pathos expressed in the title, which is a refrain recurring in every
verse. Only flashes of the light of the presence of God pierce the
prevailing gloom. The saint cannot free himself from sensuality, even
while he hates it. He wonders whether even the God who drank poison for
others' sake will leave him alone.
WILT THOU LEAVE ME?
94. Mingling in grace with me, O rider of the bull,
Thou mad'st me Thine.
But wilt Thou leave me? Thou whose form in
the fierce tiger's skin is clad,
Uttarakosamangai old has Thee for king. O lord
of mine
With matted hair, hold Thou me up; for I am
weary grown and sad.
95. Set in the marge of flowing stream that eats its
banks away, the tree
Shakes to its fall; and thus am I, my sense
bewitch'd by maids' dark eyes.
Uttarakosamangai's king, spouse of gem-vested
Parvati,
Who dwell'st in Arur holy, O protector, for my
help arise.
96. In ignorance I spurned thy grace. Dost Thou,
my gem, now me despise,
And wilt thou leave me? O destroy my sum of
deeds and make me thine.
Uttarakosamangai's king, 'tis surely true, the
great and wise,
When only little curs play false,
to mercy ever will incline.
97. With none to cheer me from my fear, far have I
wandered wearily,
O Lightning-like, and wilt Thou leave me? If I
truly thee compare,
Uttarakosamamgai's king, I find naught else resem-
bling Thee;
But a true father, mother dear art Thou to me,
my treasure rare.
98. Whether I praise or curse Thee, still I'm stained
with sin and sorrowing.
Yet, wilt Thou leave me? Splendour shining
like the red-hued coral mount,
Master, thou drankest poison black, the humbler
beings pitying,
That I, Thy meanest one, might find no poison,
but a nectar fount.
Our poet made songs which maidens might sing in their rhythmical games,
or as they sat at the grinding-stone. In India the boatman sings as he
rows, the ryot sings as he draws from the well, the sepoy sings on his
march. A feature of such songs is the refrain, which is usually a mere
collection of euphonic syllables, though it may have a meaning. Here are
specimens of a few songs intended for women. The refrain of the first,
"Elorembavay" probably means "Receive and ponder what I say, O lady."
The Grinding song, strangely enough, is used at funerals, as also is the
'Antiphony.' The song of 'The Three Castles' Destruction' is supposed
to accompany play with a ball or a kind of shuttle called 'undī.' 'The
Shoulder-Play' is for some ancient game in which women grasped each
other's shoulders.
SONG OF THE MAIDEN
99. Older are Thou than the oldest of all,
Newest of all that is new.
At Thy saints' feet we in service will fall,
We are Thy handmaidens true.
None but Thy bondsmen shall call us their own;
Lord, we would none others wed;
We would be slaves at their bidding alone:
So be our bliss perfected.
Elorembavay.
100. "Sure for Thy child there is refuge with Thee,"
Trembling we take up the cry.
Hear, O our Lord, while we bring Thee one plea,
Grant but one boon for our joy.
May only Thy lovers rest on our breast,
Let our hands' labour be theirs.
Only on such our eyes night and day rest,
Then sun rise west, east, who cares?
Elorembavay.
THE GRINDING STONE
101. Grind we the powder gold, that He may bathe;
For He is Scripture, He is sacrifice;
He's being's truth, and being's falsehood too;
Light is He, yea, and He is darkness deep;
He is deep sorrow, and true bliss is He;
He is the half, and He again the whole;
Bondage is He, but He is true release;
He is the alpha, He the omega.
SIVA'S MYSTERIES (An Antiphony)
102. "His form is smeared with ashes white; the
snake His strange adornment is;
The secret scriptures utters He: what kind of
god, my friend, is this?
"Why talk of ash-smear, holy speech, adornment
strange? This only know,
This god, of every living thing is the true
nature. Chalalo."
103. "My father and my master, He of all men Lord
supreme, is clad
With but a hanging loin-cloth stitched; pray
tell me, friend, is He not mad?
"The Vedas four with meaning fraught, the
everlasting Sastras, know
That these are but the threads whereof is wove
His loin-cloth. Chalalo."
104. The burning-ground's His temple fine; the
tiger's skin His raiment is;
Father or mother hath He none; He's all alone;
my friend, see this.''
"Though He no parents hath, no kin, yet
should His anger kindle, lo,
The whole wide world would straightway turn
to dust and ashes. Chalalo."
105. "Though I am but a cur, yet when I turned to
Him who hath no end,
Into a sea of bliss He made me sink o'erwhelmed;
see this, my friend."
"Those holy feet that sank thee in the sea of
bliss o'erwhelmed, know,
E'en to the very gods in heav'n they're richest
treasure. Chalalo."
THE THREE CASTLES' DESTRUCTION
106. Bent was the bow, begun the fight,
The castles three were 'whelmed quite, (Fly, undī)
Three castles blazing with one light. (Fly, undī)
107. One bolt in Siva's hand saw we,
One single bolt for castles three, (Fly, undī)
And e'en that one scarce needed He. (Fly, undī)
108. Cleft lay the car at His foot's tread,
The axle was all shatterEd, (Fly, undī)
Three castles ruined lay and dead. (Fly, undī)
THE SHOULDER PLAY
109. Poor slave was I, how long I poured out all my
days for naught,
To Him the all-supreme no homage rendering!
Yet see,
How He, the jewel from eternal ages incorrupt,
Has come and drawn the prison-bolt of births,
and set me free.
Play we Tonokkam
In the poetry of all lands, lovers have appealed to birds to be their
messengers to the distant loved one. This is so common in Indian poetry
as to have become a recognised convention. Here the saint sends his
message of love and devotion, in one case by a humming bee, in the other
by the Indian cuckoo, to Siva who dwells in Tillai, i.e. Chidambaram.
THE BEE'S MESSAGE
110. Hard-hearted thief, stiff-necked was I, but no such
name He called me;
My stony heart He melted, and by mercy He
enthralled me.
The swans abound in Tillai's lovely hall of gold,
His dwelling.
Fly, king of bees, at His gold anklets hum, my
message telling.
111. Cur though I am, my lord has set me His great
glory singing;
To me, the mad, His patient grace is aye forgive-
ness bringing;
Scorning me not, He deigns to take the service
can do Him.
Mother and God. Go, king of bees, hum thou my
message to Him.
112. Far would my heart and mind have gone from
Him, but He compelled me,
The lord with tangled locks, and His fair spouse,
they saved and held me.
He is the sky, the mighty sea, east, west, north,
south, indwelling.
His feet with honey drop. There, king of bees,
my praise be telling.
113. In this world's treasure false immersed lay I, and
self-deceived,
Held it for treasure true, but for His own He me
received.
My precious life itself is He, in Tillai's hall
abiding.
Go, king of bees, at His red lotus feet my words
confiding.
THE CUCKOO'S ERRAND
114. Hear, little cuckoo in the honey'd orchard groves.
Heav'n did He spurn; to save us men, to earth
He came,
Boundless in giving, reeking naught of flesh of
mine,
Entered my mind, and there my very thought
became.
He, the alone, the spouse of her whose pure eye's
ray
Shames the gazelle in softness, call Him hither,
pray.
One of the rituals involved in idolatry is that every morning with
solemn ceremony the idol must be wakened from his sleep, bathed, and
dressed. Here is a song with which he is roused from slumber. But notice
how successfully our author has filled his poem with the fresh morning
feeling, and the sights and sounds of the sudden break of the Indian
dawn.
THE IDOL'S AWAKENING
115. Hail to Thee, treasure rare,
Source of all prosperity,
Dawn has come, at Thy feet,
Flowers themselves, fair flowers lay we.
Praising Thee, we await
Smiles that blossom fair and sweet
In Thy face, as we fall
Prone adoring at Thy feet.
Siva, Lord, dweller in
Perunduṛai, where expand
Lotus flowers, petalled white,
In the cool moist pasture land,
Thou whose flag is the bull,
Thou the Lord of all my ways,
Now O Lord of us all,
From Thy couch rise in Thy grace.
116. Now anigh Indra's East
Draws the sun; dark flies apace
At the dawn; and the sun
Of the kindness in Thy face
Riseth high'r, ever high'r,
As like fair flowers opening,
Eyes unclose from their sleep,
Eyes of Thee our beauteous king.
Hear how now clouds of bees
Humming bright fill all the air.
Siva, Lord, dweller in
Holy Perunduṛai fair,
Thou wilt come to bestow
Favours rich, Oh shew Thy face!
Mountain-joy, ocean-bliss,
From Thy couch rise in Thy grace.
117. Cocks now crow to the morn,
While the cuckoos loudly call;
Little birds sweetly sing,
And the conch-shell sounds o'er all;
Light of stars fades away
Into common light of day;
Dawn and sun come as one,
Now to us, O God, display
In Thy love Thy twin feet,
Gracious, decked with anklets rare.
Siva, Lord, dweller in Holy Perunduṛai fair,
Hard for all men to find,
Yet to me Thou shewedst Thy face.
Now O Lord of us all,
From Thy couch rise in Thy grace.
118. On this side some men play
Lutes and vīṇas sweet of sound;
On that side some men chant
Ancient Rik, their songs resound;
In their hands some have brought
Wreaths of many blossoms wove;
Some bow down, some men weep,
Some men sway, o'ercome by love;
Clasping hands o'er their heads,
Others stand with reverent air;
Siva, Lord, dweller in
Holy Perunduṛai fair,
Even me didst thou save;
Sweet to me have been Thy ways.
Now, O Lord of us all,
From Thy couch rise in Thy grace.
The rest of our specimens of the 'Holy Utterances' may be left to
explain themselves without comment, save for a single line of title.
Where two or more stanzas are given from a poem, the title here given is
a translation from the Tamil.
ONLY WITH THEE AND THY SAINTS
119. Our lady aye is in Thy heart,
As Thou in hers; and if ye both
In mine do dwell, grant me a part
Among your slaves, O ever First.
Unending lord, in Tillai's hall who dost abide,
Let this deep yearning of my soul be satisfied.
WHAT CAN I GIVE THEE?
120. Thou gav'st Thyself, Thou gained'st me;
Which did the better bargain drive?
Bliss found I in infinity;
But what didst Thou from me derive?
O Siva,. Perunduṛai's God,
My mind Thou tookest for Thy shrine:
My very body's Thine abode:
What can I give Thee, Lord, of mine?
PASSION'S PAIN
121. Caught am I in passion's snare from women's
liquid eyes;
Stabbed at heart, a cur. O wisdom's light,
no aid I see.
Only lord, whose lady's feet are softer than the
down,
How I long to hear Thy coral lips speak cheer
to me.
LONGINGS FOR DEATH
122. Our lord supreme, both earth and heav'n indwelling,
See how I have no other help but Thee.
Thou king of Siva's world, bright beyond telling,
Dweller in Perunduṛai, look on me.
Who'll hear my cry, who list to my complaining,
If Thou Thy grace deny, who saved'st me?
I find in sea-girt earth no joy remaining.
Now let Thy grace speak, bid me come to Thee.
123. In Thee she dwells whose feet than down are softer;
See how I have no other help but Thee.
Thou king of Siva's world, my gracious master,
Dweller in Perunduṛai, look on me.
Fear holds me; for, in dark confusion godless,
I did forget the grace that savèd me.
Dog and deceitful am I. Life is joyless.
Now let Thy grace speak, bid me come to Thee.
124. In Thee she dwells whose ancient praise is faultless;
See how I have no other help but Thee.
Thou king of Siva's world, the bright moon wearing,
Dweller in Perunduṛai, look on me.
Whom save Thee could I worship with my praises?
Can any other refuge give for me?
O Rider of the bull, my life is joyless.
Now let Thy grace speak, bid me come to Thee.
THE BALANCING OF DEEDS
125. O lord of Perunduṛai, place of peace,
To them who call Thy name, beyond compare
True joy art Thou. Thou mad'st my woe to
cease
When good and ill deeds done were balanced fair.
Then lest unwith'ring seeds of birth should
grow,
In Kal̤ukunḍu Thy fair self didst shew.
LIFE'S CONSUMING
126. Myself I cannot understand, nor what is day nor
night;
He who both word and thought transcends has
reft my senses quite,
He who for bull has Vishṇu, and in Perunduṛai
dwells,
O Light supreme, in Brāhman guise has cast on
me strange spells.
127. I ask not fame, wealth, earth or heav'n. No
birth, no death for me.
None will I touch who love not Siva. Now 'tis
mine to see
Abiding Perunduṛai, wear the King's foot as my
crown;
Never will I leave this His shrine, nor let Him
leave His own.
128. Art Thou like honey on the branch too high for
me to climb?
Or art Thou nectar ocean-churned? O Hara,
King sublime,
In Perunduṛai, circled with moist fields, I can see
Thee
With form ash-smeared, the spotless. Can I bear
my ecstasy?
129. Many in this great earth who live do penance; I
alone
Bearing this frame of flesh, a barren jungle-tree
have grown.
Dweller in Perundurai old where blooms the
kondai tree,
May I the sinner cry "Wilt Thou not grant
Thyself to me"?
PIOUS FEAR
130. I fear not serpents lurking smooth;
I fear no liars' feignèd truth;
But when I see fools venturing
E'en to the foot of Him our king,
Our three-eyed Lord with matted hair,
Of His great godhead unaware,
Fools thinking other gods can be,
Terror such sight inspires in me.
131. I fear no javelin's gory blade;
Nor sidelong glance of bangled maid;
But when I see men void of grace
Drinking no sweetness from the praise
Of my unchiselled Gem, whose dance
In Tillai's hail is seen, whose glance
Melts men's whole frame in ecstasy
Terror such sight inspires in me.
I CLING TO THEE
132. King of the heavenly ones! All-filling Excellence!
E'en to vile me Thou Thy wonders hast shown;
Balm of true bliss, ending false earthly bliss of
sense,
Thou my whole household did'st take for Thine
own.
Meaning of holy writ! Wondrous Thy glory!
True wealth, our Siva, to Thee, Lord, I cling.
Never to loose my hold, firmly I cling to Thee;
Where canst Thou go, leaving me sorrowing?
133. King of celestial ones, ever with bull for steed,
Evil am I, yet my riches art Thou;
Lest I should rot in my foul flesh, and die indeed,
Thou hast preserved me, and Thine am I now.
Thou art our God; Thou of grace art a boundless
sea,
Saved from my flesh, now to Thee, Lord, I cling.
Never to let Thee loose, firmly I cling to Thee;
Where can'st Thou go, leaving me sorrowing?
134. Thou dids't come into my vile fleshly body,
E'en as 'twere into some great golden shrine;
Soft'ning and melting it all, Thou hast savèd me,
Lord condescending, Thou gem all divine!
Sorrow and birth, death, all ties that deceivèd me,
Thou did'st remove, all my bonds severing;
True bliss, our kindly Light, firmly I cling to
Thee;
Where canst Thou go leaving me sorrowing?
NAUGHT BUT THY LOVE
135. I ask not kin, nor name, nor place,
Nor learnèd men's society.
Men's lore for me no value has;
Kuttalam's lord, I come to Thee.
Wilt thou one boon on me bestow,
A heart to melt in longing sweet,
As yearns o'er new-horn calf the cow,
In yearning for Thy sacred feet?
LONGING FOR UNION
136. I had no virtue, penance, knowledge, self-control.
A doll to turn
At others' will I danced, whirled, fell. But me
He filled in every limb
With love's mad longing, and that I might climb
there whence is no return,
He shewed His beauty, made me His. Ah me,
when shall I go to Him?
THE WONDER OF GRACE
137. Fool's friend was I, none such may know
The way of freedom; yet to me
He shew'd the path of love, that so
Fruit of past deeds might ended be.
Cleansing my mind so foul, He made me like
a god.
Ah who could win that which the Father hath
bestowed?
138. Thinking it right, sin's path I trod;
But, so that I such paths might leave,
And find His grace, the dancing God,
Who far beyond our thought doth live,
O wonder passing great! - to me His dancing
shewed.
Ah who could win that which the Father hath
bestowed?
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