1. Rama's Sister and Brother in Law

2. A Description of the Cold Season - Valmiki

3. Mandodari - Ravana's Wife

4. Bharadvaja

5. Rama of Ramayana

6. Sri RamaCharitaManasa by Tulsidas

7. Ramayana Beyond Valmiki

8. Auvaiyar

9. Tolkappiam

10. Author of Tolkappiam

11. On Charity - Tirumantiram

12. The Azhvars

13. Manikkavasagar

14. Jain Contributions to Tamil

15. SriRangam

16. Tiruppaavai and Andal

17. The Shaiva Triumvirate

18. Cilappatikaaram

19. Manimekalai

20. Jeevaka Cintaamani

21. Nataraja

22. Periyapuranam

23. Kandapuranam

24. Tirukkural

25. Kamban and his Ramayanam

26. Saint Ramalingaswamigal

27. Thyagaraja

28. Bharata Natyam

29. More On Bharata Natyam

30. Ancient manuscripts and O.V. Swaminatha Iyer

31. On the The Infallibility of Shastras

32. V. V. S. Aiyar

33. The Kovils of Tamil Nadu

34. Mahabalipuram

35. Subramania Bharati

36. Ramana Maharishi

37. Thoughts on Bengal

38. Chandidas

39. Maa Kaali and Bengal

40. Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu

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Rama's sister and brother-in-law

If one is asked to name Rama's sister, even people familiar with the broad
theme of the Ramayana may be at a loss. But one of Dasaratha's ministers
tells the king: "It is Rishyashringa, your son-in-law, who will ultimately
help you get your sons."

Dasaratha's son-in-law? Yes, indeed, the Sanskrit dramatist Bhavabhuti says
in his Uttara Rama Caritra that Dasaratha had a daughter by the name of
Shanta; he doesn't specify the queen-mother. Shanta was adopted by King
Romapada, ruler of Anga. And she was given in marriage to Rishyashringa who
was the son of Vibhandaka.
The Rishyashringa story, as narrated in Balakanda, is very interesting. The
young man was raised in a forest amidst many deer. Hence his name which
means one with the horns of a deer. He spent most of his youth serving his
ascetic father.

Once Anga was afflicted by a draught. Romapada's ministers said this was due
to Rishyashringa's powerful abstinence. The story of Rishyashringa says that
the country of Angas suffered because of Rishyashringa's extreme continence.
A belief of the times was that if too austere celibacy was practiced in a
realm, there would be drought and infertility in the land. This reflects the
great importance placed on men with intense spiritual discipline for the
good of a country. When the plight of a people turns out to be unhappy, it
becomes all the more important for people of character and spiritual
strength to come to the fore. People of goodwill generate around them
thoughts and feelings of an essentially positive and life-giving nature, and
this is valuable for society at large.
So the ministers suggested that if Rishyashringa could be persuaded to
marry, that would bring rain. But they were afraid to make this proposal to
Vibhandaka since he might get upset. So the question was how to entice the
austere youth?

They schemed and sent a bevy of damsels to the forest where Rishyashringa
lived. When the youthful ascetic was alone, the young women sang and danced
in their colorful attire, attracting the curiosity and interest of the youth
who was fascinated and excited by their presence. The next day, he returned
to the place, and the beautiful women had little difficulty in slowly
alluring him to king Romapada's palace where he was received with great
respect and induced to marry Shanta. Whereupon, it began to rain in
torrents.

Finally, it was Rishyashringa, Dasaratha's son-in-law, who conducted the
renowned sacrifice from which arose the potions that eventually led to the
birth of Rama and his three brothers. The whole story is told in great
length in the first book of the Ramayana.

The episode suggests that even the firmest ascetic can be bent by feminine
charms. No matter how continent one has been, and how many years of penance
one has accumulated to one's credit, vows of abstinence can be broken if
there is strong enough temptation. The plea "Lead us not unto temptation!"
in the Lord's Prayer is based on this wisdom and fact of experience.

Irrespective of how elevated our principle, as long as we are in a well
functioning physical frame, our thoughts, actions, and reactions are
governed by our nervous system. Shakespeare, in one of his sonnets,
describes persons of very strong will and self-discipline, whom we would
call rishis, as those
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow.
He doesn't say they resist all temptations, but that they are slow to react
to them.

The expedition of many voluptuous maidens is to suggest that the greater
the self-discipline of a person, the stronger is the distracting force
needed to deviate from the vows of celibacy. Those with little character
can be more easily corrupted than those of stronger moral strength. But no
one is totally protected in this matter. The move, in George Meredith's
phrase, "from ascetic rocks to sensuous whirl-pools" is unfortunately not
such an arduous one. Circumstances rather than intentions often provoke
people. We overestimate our will-power in exposing ourselves to certain
situations.

Milton, in his narration of the story of Samson and Delilah, wrote, "Wisest
men have erred, and by bad women been deceived." However, in this episode
it is not the idea of woman ruining a man's life that is brought out. Here
after yielding to marital life Rishyashringa is much enriched personally,
and he brings enrichment to the country.
Note the ethical principle: Depending on the context, the same act (in this
case Rishyashringa's celibacy or the breaking of it) could bring about
either bad or good (draught or rain). A Tantrik formula says: "By the same
acts that cause some men to roast in horrible hell for hundreds of eons, the
yogi is liberated." Is killing a human right? Of course not, we would say.
But what about a situation when you have to protect others from a murderer
whom you see massacring people? Is aborting an unborn child right? Of course
not. But what if the fetus is known to be seriously deformed or the mother's
life would be endangered during birth? Epic episodes often carry deeper
meanings.

V. V. Raman
April 6, 2005

India is a land rich in flora and fauna. It has mountains and valleys,
plains and meadows, beautiful lakes, long rivers and ponds galore, fertile
grounds and parched deserts too. It has its seasons hot and cold, and much
in between, it has rains, draughts, floods and storms also. Its physical
features are like its people: impressive in variety, colorful in shade, and
ranging from extreme to extreme.

So when a poet like Valmiki presents to the reader his grand epic he does
not speak only of heroes and villains, of conflicts and confrontations. He
describes the land and its beauty and changes in sceneries. Sometimes he
does this while narrating the story. Sometimes he leaves it to one of the
characters to speak. So it is that early one morning when Rama walks to the
banks of the river Godavari to take his bath, Lakhmana and Sita follow him,
and at that time Lakshmana describes to Rama the winter scene.

A good portion of a whole sarga (canto) in the Aranya Kanda is devoted to
this description of the cold month in the southern regions: both its good
and ill effects. I will try to recast its essential contents in my own
words, without translating it literally:
"The season which you like has come, Rama. It is a blessing to the year,
indded it is like a jewel. There is dryness in the air. The land is abundant
in crops, the water is generally pleasant, and so is fire. The good ones who
have performed their religious rites are cleansed of their sins. The
peasants have reaped their harvests, and cows give greater quantities of
milk. As the sun moves away to Yama's quarters (the south), the northern
regions have lost their charm, looking like a woman without her auspicious
mark. Snow is winter's treasure for the Himalayas which now deserves its
name more than ever.

"It is nice to take a stroll at noon; it is a delight to be touched by
sunshine. The sun is pleasant while shade and water aren't so.
Since it is not so hot, the fog gets thick. Sometimes the cold is bitter in
the wind. There is frost in the blighted woodlands. We can no longer sleep
in the open at night. The Pushya constellation is up there. But the frost
makes the night look dusty, and the nights get colder and longer too. The
moon has lost her pleasantness to the sun, and with its orb rendered ruddy
by the snow, it looks soiled as if by exhalation. It doesn't shine in all
its glory even on a full-moon night, obscured as it is by frost, just as
Sita, when tanned by the sun, looks unattractive. Already cold by nature,
westerly wind, saturated by snow, is bitter cold in the morning. With their
abundant crops of barley and wheat, the land looks attractive early in the
morning when birds like herons and cranes make their sounds. The golden
paddy crops slightly bend over, looking charming and much like date flowers.
Its rays weakened by fog and frost, the sun looks like the moon even at high
noon.

"The sun's radiance is only slightly felt in the forenoon. But it is
pleasant at noon. The sun is slightly red and somewhat pale, and is casting
its charm everywhere. The fields are beautiful too, and the grass is moist
with dew. Even the wild elephant, though very thirsty, pulls back its tusk
from the water sometimes: the water is that cold. Birds near water dare not
put their beaks into it, just as the meek don't get into a fight though they
may be near one. Trees without blossom seem to have gone to sleep, covered
as they are with dew drops and a darkness born of heavy fog. Streams are
barely visible, though we can hear the shrieks of cranes nearby. Due to the
frost caused by the cold and mild sunshine, water on the tops of mountains
taste good. Lotus beds have lost their charm for their flowers have decayed
and even their filaments have withered away."
Valmiki's description of how the scorching summer sun is transformed into a
soft and soothing touch in wintertime is true today as when those lines were
written. But what is intriguing is the reference to snow in the region of
the Godavari. Could it be that there has been a climate change since the era
of the Ramayana? Or was our poet extrapolating from what he had observed in
the hilly regions of the north, I wonder.

The poetic mind sees the world in ways that others don't, and it gives
expression to what it sees in aesthetically meaningful ways. Other poets in
other climes and in other tongues have reflected on winter too. Some seem to
echo Valmiki's reflections. Recall, for example, what Alexander Pope wrote:
But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews; Arise, the pines a noxious shade
diffuse.

In a stanza of George O'Neil we read:
Now there is frost upon the hill; no leaf stirring in the wood.
There is more to the Ramayana than jealousy, exile, lust, heroics, and war.

One may be reverential to the Rama principle in temple and in songs. The
epic's religious dimension touches the soul of the devout, and that is good.
But if we lose sight of its literary aspects, it would be like attending the
rituals of a wedding and skipping the feast. There is also so much about
India's past we can learn from the Ramayana.

Mandodari was Ravana's principal wife; he had a great many concubines. She was a rakshasi: often translated as ogress. But she had none of thenegative qualities which are associated with ogresses. Even giantess would be a misnomer, for the epic describes Mandodari as a beautiful woman. Kamban informs us that her father was the celestial architect Mayan who madeLanka magnificent, inspired by suggestions from Brahma. Mandodari is said to have been very attractive.

When Hanuman saw her in Ravana's palace, her decacephalous husband was asleep. At his feet were women-musicians, wearing huge ear-rings and gorgeous jewelry of gold, diamonds and gems. They too were sleeping, exhausted and inebriated fromtoo much dancing and drinking. Valmiki says they had lovely breasts, graceful limbs, and were hugging musical instruments. In that chamber there was also a sumptuous couch on which richly ornamented Mandodari of exquisite beauty was sleeping.

For a moment Hanuman thought she must be Sita, and in the joy of his imagined discovery he clapped hishands and kissed his tail, jumped and climbed the pillars, says Valmiki. In Kamban's version, Hanuman spotted Mandodari, with face as beautiful as the moon, in a mansion all her own. In Kamban's customary hyperbole, celestial nymphs were massaging her feet which resembled the quiver of the god of love. Her body was emanating a magical light. Seeing her in such comfort in that magnificent palace, Hanuman was deeply pained. "The whole purpose of my life is shattered," he told himself. "If this be Sita," he went on in despair, "then I too must die along with the fair name and reputation of Rama, and so must Lanka and the entire rakshasa horde."

But he soon realized his error and left Mandodari's palace at once. Mandodari was another victim of Ravana's infatuation, for he lost interest in her and longed for another woman. This was humiliation enough. Then Hanuman slew her son Akshakumara on the battlefield. This was more terrible. Mandodari wailed at the feet of Ravana, beating her body in intense grief, her disheveled hair was touching the soil. Her lamentation when the other son Indrajit died in battle was just as sad and pathetic. She walked around the corpse, as if treading on fire, and fell on his body like a peacock that had been shot down, and swooned. After a while she came to herself and cried: "As a child you grew like the waxing moon. You subdued the powerful ones with you archery. Now I see your head-less body. I am losing my mind. I can't think of living any longer.Oh my sweet and handsome child! When you were but an infant crawling with anklets, you caught two lions, teased them, and played with them. Once you held the moon in your hand, spotted the dark patch on it, and said it was a hare. Oh, how I wish I could re-live that scene! I am terrified because Lanka's king may die tomorrow, having imbibed the poisoned nectar Sita.

"We recall the lamentation in Shakespeare's lines: O lord, my boy, my fair son! My life, my joy, my food, my all the world! When Ravana fell down and died, Mandodari's anguish was even more intense, and her wailing more painful.

Both Kamban and Valmiki devote many stanzas to that tragic scene. Mandodari wondered if Rama's arrows which covered Ravana's entire body, were probing his heart to see if Sita was imprisoned there. She recalled her husband's greatness, his invincibility, and saidshe always believed no man could ever bring defeat him. She referred to the fate that had planted lust for Sita in Ravana's heart, which was to lead him to death. At last, says Kamban, she stood up from the corpse which she had embraced, called out Ravana's name aloud, fell down, and heaved her final breath.

Though a rakshasi, Mandodari was a good woman, and like other Indian heroines she
suffered much, had been abused by men, and was devoted to a husband who ignored her. She went through the agony of seeing both her sons die, and she witnessed the gory end of her dear and misguided husband too. None of the other heroines were subjected to such mental torture.

Mandodari is therefore reckoned among the five great women of Indic lore who are held in very high regard. It is good that she belonged to the tribal class of ancient India, for that was the rakshasa class. Maybe Valmiki painted her and Ravana's good brother Vibhishana in positive terms to remind us that it would be wrong to judge all rakshasas by Ravana's behavior. The denigration of a group on the basis of the misbehavior of, or theunpleasant impression created by, a few is one of the major blunders that many people commit. It is the attitude by which a whole race or nation ischaracterized as consisting of only evil or inferior people. This is an ailment fromwhich many people all over the world suffer even in this day and age. We call it racism.

Perhaps through Mandodari and Vibhishana the poet is reminding us that group hatred is blind to facts and is morally wrong. This may be one of the hidden messages in the Ramayana. Sometimes we extract messages from our own reading and reflection.

What makes the Ramayana part of the larger sacred history of the Hindu world
is that it refers to personages beyond the main story line of the epic.

Consider, for example, the Rishi Bharadvaja - an illustrious sage in the
tradition, and progenitor of a gotram in Hindu genealogy. He was one of its
sage-poets who contributed to the Rig Veda.
In Kamba Ramayanam we read that Rama and his party stopped at Bharadvaja's
peaceful hermitage. The sage is described in great detail by Kamban: His
tuft was plaited, a tree bark served as his loin cloth, and a deer skin
covered his body. He was carrying a parasol, a jug for auspicious water
(kamandalam) and a sacred baton (brahmadandam). He was so learned, it was
as if Vedas were dancing on his tongue. Rama treated him with great
reverence, with flowers, prayer and a triple prostration. Bharadvaja
recognized the prince and wondered why one who could rule the whole world
was there in ascetic garb, When Rama explained, the sage said it was fate
that had intended all this to happen.
Then Bharadvaja offered to host the trio (Rama, Sita, Lakshmana) at his
hermitage which was rich in plants, trees, fruits and sacred water. But Rama
replied that the place too close to Koshala, and would attract many citizens
to come and implore him to return. Bharadvaja understood, and gave them
directions to go to Chitrakoot.

In Valmiki's Ramayana we are told that when Bharata reached Bharadvaja's
hermitage while he was on his search for Rama, the sage asked him bluntly:
"What is your motive in looking for Rama when you ought to be busy ruling
the kingdom which you have inherited as a result of your mother's demand for
Rama's exile? I am rather suspicious. In your efforts to enjoy the kingdom
that rightfully belongs to flawless Rama, I trust you are not thinking of
harming Rama and Lakshmana."

This brought tears to Bharata's eyes, and he pleaded with the sage not to
speak to him thus. He informed the man of wisdom that he (Bharata) was
coming to beg Rama to come back to rule the kingdom. Perhaps this dialogue
is meant to heighten the drama, for one would expect a man of Bharadvaja's
stature to know better. The reader (audience) is also moved to tears when
they hear the noble Bharata being thus accused.

We must remember that the Ramayana is not just a re-telling of ancient
history. It is an epic narrative, meant to sway our hearts with emotions and
to stir our souls, and to paint what constitutes noble and ignoble behavior,
what is right and what is wrong, what is ideal and what is petty, evil, and
coarsely self-centered.

Indeed, Bharadvaja quickly changed his tone and said that he was aware of
Bharata's intent, and that he had spoken in that way only to strengthen
Bharata's resolution further.

Then there is a fascinating scene in (Kamban's) Uttara Kanda in which Rama
and his entourage are traveling in the flowered aerial vehicle (pushpaka
vimanam) on their way back to Ayodhya. During that flight, Sita is curious
about where Rama found Hanuman. In answer, like a tourist guide pointing to
interesting places, Rama shows Sita as they fly over the various spots the
residence of Sugriva, the kingdom of Kishkindya, the Godavari River, the
Dandaka forest, the Chitrakoot Mountain, and Bharadvaja's hermitage.

The vehicle landed for a while at this hermitage. Rama prostrated at the
feet of the rishi. Bharadvaja greeted him fondly and praised him for his
heroic deed of ridding the world of demonic characters. Then he went on to
extol the great qualities of Rama's brother Bharata who had been spending
these fourteen long years virtually as an ascetic, living only on fruits and
vegetables, sleeping on a bed of grass, and chanting Rama's divine name.
Bharadvaja offered to bless Rama with a boon of his asking. To this Rama
said: "I want the vanaras (monkeys) to live with ease, I want them to find
all the fruits, vegetables and roots they need no matter where they roam."
This was granted. [A book, entitled Heilige Egoisten: Die Soziobiologie
indischer Tempelaffen: Holy egoists: The sociobiology of Indian
temple-monkeys, by the primatologist Volker Sommer documents after a decade
of scientific studies, how well this boon has served monkeys in India.]

As with countless other personages in our sacred history, one wonders who
this eminent Rishi actually might have been. The name appears in a variety
of contexts. Quite possibly there were several great men with the name of
Bharadvaja. It is said that they officiated in Vedic rituals. A Rig Vedic
hymn attributed to a Bharadvaja is said to have given rise to the sacred-cow
doctrine in the Hindu world. If the Vedas refer to him as a son of
Brihaspati, the Vishnu Purana gives an interesting etymology of his name. It
says that his mother Mamat?onceived him from two fathers: her blind
husband Utathya and his younger bother Brihaspati. Hence he was called
bhara-dv?am: Born of Two (Fathers). Could it be that this was a poetic
way of saying that the officiant in a Vedic sacrifice often recites the
mantras with eyes closed? Who knows!

V. V. Raman
April 16, 2005

Valmiki's Ramayana begins with these questions which are posed by the poet:
"Is there anyone who merits to be called a perfectly virtuous man, anyone
who fully understands the power of ethical comportment? Who is there that
fully comprehends the value of selfless service, who always speaks the
truth, and is firm in his resolutions? Who has such power and majesty, and
has also mastered himself and subdued anger?..."

To this, Narada answers: "Yes, there is one with all these noble qualities.
He is a prince of the Ikshv? dynasty. His name is Rama. He has full
self-control, he is with glory, is resolute, and free from attachments. He
is intelligent and wise, eloquent and illustrious, a powerful destroyer of
foes. His shoulders are broad, his arms powerful, his chin is sturdy, and
his neck graceful. His chest is broad, his collar strong, and he wields a
mighty bow. With a handsome face and well-shaped forehead, he has a charming
gait too. He has a soft complexion and big endearing eyes. He keeps his
word, he cares for his people. He protects all that is good. He defends
dharma. He is versed in Vedas and science, and in archery. His knowledge is
deep, his memory sharp, and his wit is quick. He is revered and respected
everywhere. He is pious, noble, and of keen mind. The righteous always seek
him just as rivers long for the boundless sea. His knowledge is deep as the
ocean. In sheer firmness he is like the stupendous Himalayas. When in anger,
he may burst forth like cosmic fire (kalagni). Yet, he is patient as Mother
Earth..."

What can one add to this portrayal of the epic hero? We can only sing the
glories of this Ramachandra. Rama becomes relevant because we can't imagine
an intangible faceless God out there somewhere in regions beyond reach. We
need a divinity that is visualizable, in name and in image, conceptual or
real, to elevate our spirits to lofty levels, to give meaning to existence.
If such an avataric divinity deviates ever so slightly from perfection, he
becomes even closer, for he is like one of us. That is why, I feel, the Rama
of Valmiki slips here and there: stubborn in his obedience to father at the
cost of pain and anguish to countless people, indiscriminately exterminating
all rakshasas, harsh to Sita when tossed by jealousy. Rama is human now and
again.

Rama always adheres to Truth. By this we mean that he is committed to all
that is good and noble, to fairness and justice, that he is always upright,
honest, and sincere. Rama's devotion to his father is equaled only by his
father's love for him. But even more powerful is his devotion to dharma.
When Lakshmana begged him not to accede to Kaikeyi, Rama reminded him that
"dharma is primary. My father's command is paramount because it rests on
dharma." He asks Lakshmana to reassure Kaikeyi that her wishes would be
fulfilled. He refused to blame anyone, says it was so ordained. When others
get emotional, angry and annoyed, he remains calm, patient, and equanimous.
But when Sita disappeared, Rama loses all his composure and ability to bear
a burden. The two sargas Valmiki devotes to Rama's plight in this context
are perhaps the most poignant of all. Nowhere else is Rama more human than
here. He wails and he raves. He talks aloud to his beloved, imagining she is
hiding behind the boughs of an Ashoka tree, saying he could see her thighs
behind a plantain tree, and begging her to return because the hut is
desolate without her. He is shamed by the thought that people might say he
is without the power or the caring to have prevented Sita from being
kidnapped. He doesn't know how he would confront Sita's father. He asks
Lakshmana to go proclaim in Ayodhya that Sita was dead and that he too would
die soon. He calls himself the greatest sinner: Why else would he lose his
kingdom and his father, be separated from family, have to leave his mother?
Now, with Sita gone, all those sorrows were back again. Kamban says that
Rama's shock was like that of a soul which had briefly left the body, only
to find out upon its return that the body wasn't there. Or as that of a man
who had buried his immense underground, only to find out that it had all
been stolen.

Rama is the best known of all heroes in history. More people have uttered
and written his name and more often than that of any other. Few has been
worshiped thus. No other name has become a greeting mode. Yet, scholars are
still arguing about whether this personage whose saga Valmiki has so
beautifully narrated ever walked on Indian soil.
Rama is divinity incarnate on the religious plane; on the mythological
plane, he is a symbol of goodness that subdues evil; and he is an
extraordinary role model on the ethical plane. His adherence to truth is
exceptional. His respect for parents surpasses any ideal. His refusal to
throw blame on others is exemplary. His skill in archery and power over
miscreants is awesome. The name of this Lord of the Raghu dynasty, Raja Ram,
who protects those who have fallen, is for ever associated with that of his
beloved Sita in a moving Hindu hymn, and his name has inspire millions of
Hindus over the ages.

The ideals formulated in a culture serve to enhance its image and the
self-image.

V. V. Raman
April 22, 2005

I was drawn to Shri Rama Charita Manasa of Tulsi Das (Sant Tulasi Dasa) by
some of my Hindi and Punjabi friends who invited me to participate in their
Akand Ramayan sessions: uninterrupted relay-reading of the holy book from
cover to cover in 24 plus hours, interspersed with bhajans dedicated to Rama
and Hanuman, culminating in ?ti, and followed by a sumptuous shared meal.
I recognized that in the course of the rhythmic chanting - which could
strike a stranger as a drone - the readers, while immersed in the
recitation, sometimes seeming to be in a hurry to complete the task, were
not always conscious of the meanings of the words and phrases of the 16th
century Hindi.

Like the others, I too derived spiritual enrichment in the process. In the
next few weeks, I read the work in the quiet of my study, with a
Hindi-English dictionary at hand. I discovered how different this Ramayana
is from Kamban's and Valmiki's. At the very outset, Kamban is exceedingly
modest, and asks scholars to forgive him for daring to write the Rama's
saga. Tulsi Das says his work is in an elegant style, and he is harsh on the
(imaginary) critics of his opus, describing them as people who celebrate the
downfall of others and lament when others prosper.

But he also becomes humble in his self-assessment. He says that at the
thought of Rama's grand mystery, he trembles as he writes. He begs readers
to bear with him as he sings Rama's glory. Whenever he mentions Rama, we can
feel his deep devotion to the Lord. He adores Rama as one from whom all
light - of fire, the sun and he moon - emanates. Rama is the vital breath of
the Vedas, the source of all that is good. Rama is God, not just prince of
Avadh. "Though he is without attributes or form, though unlimited and
unchangeable, out of love for his devotees he has incarnated." When the poet
says that the virtues of Avadh are sung in the Vedas, we should take the
term to mean time-honored tradition, because the sacred Vedas don't mention
the Rama of Ramayana.

Like Kamban, Tulsi Das starts with a description of River Sarj?ma's
story is told as if Shambu (Shiva) is narrating it to Uma. The work is
interspersed with nuggets of wisdom. He extols the spiritual glories of
Varanasi; he emphasizes the importance of bhakti (loving devotion) and the
value of unquestioning surrender to God. Talking about Kama's impact, he
notes that if lust were instigated worldwide, all rule of law, religious
vows, responsibilities, self-discipline, rites and rituals, pursuit of
knowledge, philosophy, virtue, prayer, asceticism, everything will flee.

Tulsi Das evokes Rama's greatness with exclamations like: "A hundred
thousand Seshas can't describe the power and glory of Rama. His one shaft
can evaporate a hundred oceans." But he also reflects the mind-set of his
times when he says that even a chandala, a shavara, an idiotic alien, an
outcaste, and the like can be purified by repeating Raghubira's name. Among
the characteristics of the horrible things in Kaliyuga, he says, men would
be subject to women and shudras would be wearing the sacred thread.

Leaving aside the social constraints imposed by the age, the essential
message of Tulsi Das's masterpiece is that there is but one God, that the
Divine took on flesh and blood to save humanity from its intrinsically
sinful nature, and that the Ramayana can redeem us. He proclaims that love
should be shown even to very lowly creatures. Mahatma Gandhi rendered a
stanza from Tulsi Das, which has entered the Unitarian prayer book: "This
and this alone is true religion: To serve thy brethren. This is sin above
all other sins: to harm thy brethren."

Not surprisingly, Tulsi's book has been called the Bible of Northern India.
However, unlike the Bible, this is the work of a single gifted poet who
ranks among the most illustrious bards of India, and among the most
influential poets of the world.

The Ram-Charit-Manas is not a re-telling of the ancient epic. Rather, it is
a divinely inspired narration of the deeds of God-on-Earth, uttered with
consummate bhakti, made magnificent by feelings of crystal purity. The
stanzas touch us, not as meters constructed by a calculating mind, but as
heart-felt melodies brimming with love for the Divine.

As with other great poets, Tulsi Das reads but poorly in translation. The
magic of his work is lost in another language. The frequent mention of
Raghurai's lotus feet (kamala pad) may sound confusingly repetitious to
those unfamiliar with the framework. Unlike Valmiki's and Kamban's, Tulsi
Das's work is not for literary criticism or analysis. It is for the devotee
seeking spiritual connection. It has been as powerful as the holy book of
any tradition, and more so than the Bhagavad Gita or the Upanishads, for it
touches the soul of those who recite it with reverence. It has soothed more
hearts than any other version of the Ramayana. The saintly, the scholarly,
the peasant, the professor, the wretched, and the rich of the Hindi world
heard and experienced Tulsi's Manasa. Few poets have written so much out of
pure love of God, nor raised so many millions to ecstatic devotion.

Many years ago, during a brief stay in Bangkok, I visited the famous Wat
Phra Kaeo: Temple of the Emerald Buddha:, a magnificent structure dating
back to the 18th century. There I was surprised to see murals which seemed
to depict scenes from the Ramayana. Then I went to a temple not far away,
where there is the Reclining Buddha. Here I saw marble panels with scenes
from the Ramayana in bas-reliefs. I haven't seen anything like that even in
India. These were based on the Ramakian, of which I had never heard before,
which is the Thai version of the Ramayana. It has been a part of that
nation's cultural history for many centuries. I learned that once the Thai
capital was called Ayutthaya, and that many Thai kings bore the name of
Rama. Dance drama versions and puppet shows of Ramakien are still popular in
Thailand.

A version of Ramakien was written by King Rama I who ruled the land from
1782 to 1809. Theodora Bofman has translated it into English. In this epic,
King Tosarot of Ayutthya has three wives who, as a result of special
rituals, give birth to Phra Ram, Phra Prot, Phra Lak and Phra Satarud. They
are all incarnations of Phra Narai. Phra Isual had a gate-keeper by the
name of Nontuk (Nandi). It is Nontuk who incarnates as the ten-headed
Tosakanth, king of Longka. Tosanath's wife Monto gives birth to Sida. His
astrologer predicts that she would destroy the demon race. So the infant is
put in a jar which is left in the ocean. She is discovered by King Chanok of
Mithila. Phra Ram once ridiculed Queen Kaiyaket. So, years later, she
reminds king Tosarot of a pledge he had given her, and asks for a 14 year
exile of Phra Ram. There are some adventures here. Tosakanth's sister
Samanakha tries to seduce Phra Ram, Lak cuts off her ear, Sida is abducted,
a race of monkeys of whom Pali, Sukreep and Hanuman are important members,
come to the aid of Phra Ram and there is a climactic war.

I found this version interesting in its own way, but it lacked (for me) the
moral majesty of Valmiki. But remarkably, its impact on Thai culture - which
is Buddhist - seems to have been considerable. Like other permeations of
the Rama story in South East Asia, it has served to propagate the name of
Rama beyond the shores of India.

Temple carvings in Kampuchea going back to the 10th century have the Rama
theme. Characters of the Ramayana are deified there. In the Khmer version,
Reamker, the hero is called Preah Ream, and his wife is Neang Seda. Ravana
is known as Reap. Bali has a Ramayana Monkey Chant. In Java there is a
Ramayana in the Kawa language, and so on.

The Rama story has traveled to more distant lands and climes, as far as
Siberia and Mongolia, cultural historians say. It has undergone regional
metamorphoses, no doubt. In one, Hanuman is the child of Rama and Sita, and
he is fond of women. Even after Muslim conquests and conversions, the spirit
of Rama lingered for long in the culture of many peoples. As if all this is
not enough, there are department stores called Ramayana, and a Thai
restaurant in The Hague has the name Ramakian. Valmiki must be smiling.

Within India too, the saga of Ramayana is impressive. Whereas Valmiki has
been translated several times into English, there is perhaps no translation
of his work in any Indian language. Whether it is Madhava Kandali in
Assamese or Krittivasa in Bengali, whether Narahari in Kannada or
Ezuttacchan in Malayalam, the great poets of India's vernaculars have
trans-created rather than translated the original masterpiece, realizing
that the message of the epic is more important than details of the specific
episodes, and translations of a master-poet can never transmit the grandeur
in the original. There are also other Ramayanas in Sanskrit, besides
Valmiki's, such as the Adbhuta, the Adhyatma and the Bhushundi Ramayanas.
In one Jain version, Lakshmana is punished because he breached the rule of
ahimsa when he killed Ravana.

Versions of the Ramayana have also been published in Persian and Arabic.
Most European languages have some version or other of the Ramayana. Gaspare
Gorresio was one of the first to bring out a complete translation of Valmiki
in several volumes in Italian, already in the 1840s. In 1864 Hippolyte
Fauche brought out a French translation of the epic. More recently an
abridged version, Le Ramayana, was published by Charles Le Brun. A Spanish
El Ramayana has been published In Mexico, and Claudia Schm?rs has written
Das Ramayana in German. In the political rancor against the colonizing West,
many modern Indians tend to forget the commitment of European scholars to
bring to their own people the richness of Indic literature and culture.

Few names in history have spread so far and wide as Rama's. As with Christ
and Buddha, his name has become a household world in many nations and
cultures. It has inspired great painting, poetry, music and places of
worship. But unlike Buddha and Christ, Rama's existence is clouded in the
mist of mythic history, in a timeless realm, as it were, making the Rama
Principle historically eternal. It is on this that I meditate.

V. V. Raman
April 29, 2005

Long before the modern world came to recognize the moral and mental worth of
women, ancient cultures gave the highest respect for womanhood by
personifying wisdom and knowledge as a she. Thus, Saraswati is the goddesses
of Wisdom in the Hindu world, as Athena and Minerva were in Greece and Rome.

There were also women poets in the ancient world. The Tamils recall with
respect and affection Auvaiyar: a woman of keen intelligence who had the
gift for encapsulating wisdom in pithy sayings, verbal vitamins as it were
that jolt us to awareness. Nowhere is the Shakespearean phrase "brevity is
the soul of wit" more tellingly illustrated than in Auvai. Her
alphabetically arranged maxims are both descriptive and prescriptive, and
often within grasp of even young minds.

The first line that I learned from Auvaiyar, like millions of other Tamil
children, is aRam ceiyya viRumbu: Desire (develop a wish) to do whatever is
proper. The Tamil word aRam corresponds to the Sanskrit dharma. Recall the
Upanishadic dharmam cara: Follow the path of dharma! Auvaiyar advises us to
wish to do it, and reveals thereby a deep understanding of psychology, for
once the desire in implanted in heart and mind, action would follow
spontaneously. I can't think of a more powerful mantra to inspire us.

A companion work by her is another mound of maxims, each a string of four
terse words. The genius of the Tamil language sparkles in these precious
nuggets in rhythmic meters. The work begins with: annaiyum pit?m munnaRi
deivam: Mother and father are the first Gods to be reckoned. Then we are
reminded that it is very good to worship in a house of prayer. In the same
work, we are advised to forget promptly an unattainable desire; to dwell in
a town where water is readily available; to refrain from moping about a loss
and to get back to work again; never to give up zest; and so on.

These works by Auvaiyar's, Atti Cuudi, and KonRai Vendan, have acquired
unusual prestige in Tamil culture. During many centuries when writing on
palm leaves was in vogue, children began their education by reciting and
writing the maxims of Auvaiyar, even as passages from scriptures are learned
by rote in some other cultures. Auvai's precepts are non-denominational,
though there is the customary invocation to the Almighty at the beginning.
In the Auvai-inspired tradition, the letters of the alphabet introduce the
young to values and wisdom, rather than to apples, boys cats, and dogs.
Auvai doesn't speak of ?an, karma, gods, meditation, or mysticism. Nor
does she tell us how to achieve moksha. She is a down-to-earth teacher who
speaks wise common sense. She shows the path for balanced and meaningful
living without any metaphysical mumbo-jumbo. She was humble too. "What is
learned has the measure of a fistful of sand, " she reflected, "what is not
learned is vast as the world."

It is said that this blessed woman was a child prodigy who talked poetically
at the age of four. She grew up to be a lovely young woman, but when her
father began to seek a beau to marry her off, she is said to have prayed to
the Almighty to transform her into a wrinkled old grand-ma, white hair,
curved spine and all, for wedded wifehood wasn't her goal in life. The boon
was granted, so says the legend, and the dainty damsel was metamorphosed
into an aged lady and doyenne of Tamil poetry. What a contrast from the
normal obsession to look younger than what the calendar reveals! So no one
knows how she looked as a pretty one, for artists have always sketched her
as a grandmotherly matron: indeed, that is what the name Auvai actually
signifies.

Auvai was not a saint, though she has been called thus by later generations.
But she is perhaps the only poetess in the world who was enshrined in a
temple. Not far from the town of Tulasiar near Tanjavur there used to be a
temple consecrated to Auvaiyar. She richly deserves one, not only for having
enriched her language with verbal gems, but also because those who enlighten
the world through wisdom are truly divine.

As is not unusual when it comes to ancient history, there is more confusion
than clarity regarding the name and personage of Auvaiyar. Books on Tamil
literature tell us that there were at least two Auvaiyars, perhaps three.
The one I have been talking about is reported to have been the poet
Tiruvalluvar's sister. She had many royal patrons. She traveled places.
There are many anecdotes associated with her life. Once she was told by a
priest not to sit in a temple with her legs pointing in the direction of the
Almighty, a not uncommon matronly posture in the Tamil world. Auvaiyar
promptly asked the man to please show her a direction which pointed to a
place where the Almighty wasn't present. He realized he was confusing the
icon for the Divine itself.

Auvaiyar stands tall among the women-poetesses of the world, though she is
seldom recognized as such even within India. As with all great writers, only
those who have read her works know her greatness. She was the closest to
Saraswati in flesh and blood.

V. V. Raman
May 6, 2005

If the origin of languages can be traced to human grunting in efforts to
communicate, that of grammar is far more elusive. We have no idea when, how,
or by whom the grammars and syntaxes of the countless languages were
concocted. But we have writers who present in systematic ways the structure
of languages and rules governing them.

Not many languages can say which is the oldest book in their history. And
even if one could spot such a book, not many such are systematically studied
to this day. Tamil is one of the few such languages. For it does identify
the oldest extant book in its list. It is called appropriately Tolkappiam
which means Ancient Epic (Treatise). It continues to be studied even in our
own times. This is not to say that there were no prior books. Tolkappiam
itself refers to more than a couple of hundred works, but they are all lost.

Every language finds expression in three modes: in its natural spoken and
written forms, in music, and in dramatics. The first of these is known in
Tamil as iya-Tamizh: Natural Tamil. This is the subject-matter of
Tolkappiyam. It deals with a hundred aspects of spoken and written Tamil,
from the first alphabet to a classification of writings.

More than 25% of Tolkappiyam is devoted to an analysis of the Tamil
alphabet. The author describes vowels as life/soul (uyir) letters, and the
pure sounds of consonants as body (mei) letters. Most of the ordinary
letters we use result from a merger of the two, and are the soul-body
(uyr-mei) letters. In English, for example, the letter B is made up of the
sound b and the vowel e, giving the full sound bee.

Tamil is the only language which has two different letters for the sound of
n. One of these is also the last letter of the alphabet, and no (written)
Tamil word begins with this n.

Tolkappiam also mentions what one calls diglossia: the existence of two
parallel languages, one literary or written, and the other spoken. It calls
the two versions centamizh (correct or pure Tamil) and koDuntamizh
(unpolished Tamil) respectively.

The work classifies words into four categories: those in common use, those
used in poetry, those with only regional currency, and those derived from
the north (Sanskrit).

Like its Sanskrit counterpart by PâNini, the work traces the root meanings
of words. In this matter, it is one of the earliest treatises on etymology,
making it a storehouse of information for philologists in their search for
the origins of Tamil.

A fundamental difference between Sanskrit and Tamil grammar relates to the
gender of nouns. In Sanskrit (as in Latin), gender is not always determined
by sex. Thus, nadî (river) and purî (town) are feminine, while âtman (soul)
and panthan (road) are masculine in Sanskrit. In Tamil all these would be of
neuter gender.

Tolkappiyam gives the geographical divisions of the Tamil county into hills,
plains, woods, coastal regions, and desert areas. Each region was known as a
tiNai. In this context, it refers to the five-elements (earth, water, air,
fire, and ether) theory of his time. There is also a thematic (poruL)
classification scheme of writings as matters of subjective (aham) interest
and objective (puram) relevance. The first pertains to love, and the second
primarily to war. There are extensive discussions of the kind of love
possible: mutual, unrequited, and enforced. Then the author talks about the
states of people in love: united, separated, patiently waiting, wailing, and
sulking. Likewise, there are various stages of war: from cattle raids and
invasions to sieges, battle, and victory.

What is remarkable is that so many
aspects of culture and civilization are discussed in a book supposedly
devoted to the grammar of the language.
There is an artificial correlation between each mode of treatment of a topic
and one of the five types of regions of the land. This seems to restrict the
framework in which writers in any given region could write. Scholars tend to
believe that Tolkappiam mentions the writings of the times, all of which are
now lost. It was not meant to impose rules to which later writers strictly
adhered.

This first of all extant Tamil books is attributed to a certain Tirana
Tumâkini. But he has come to be known simply as Tolkappiyar: Author of
Tolkappiyam. Inevitably, incredible legends have grown around his name. He
is said to have been a descendent of Rishi Jamadagni. His master was
Agastiyar. His work was such a masterpiece that his own guru became jealous.

The illustrious Agastiyar was also annoyed with Tolkappiyar about another
matter relating to his wife, and he tried to foil Tolakkpiar's chance of
getting the Tamil Cangam's approval for Tolkappiam. He is said to have
inflicted a curse on the learned grammarian to the effect that he should
never achieve spiritual liberation: a verbal violence which Tolkappiar is
said to have promptly reciprocated on his guru.

Some historians, noting that Agastiar is mentioned in the Ramayana which is taken to have happened more than 4000 years ago, argue that Tolkappiam is at least that old. More balanced scholars date the book as belonging to perhaps the second century
B.C.E.

V. V. Raman
May 11, 2005

Tirumantiram

251: The Charitable Realize the Self
Who the self realise, seek and adore the Feet of the Lord;
Who the self realise, most freely give in charity;
Who the self realise, Lord of Tattvas become;
Who the self realise, Kin to the Lord in dear amity.

Translation by B. Natarajan
------------------------------------

This comes under Aran ceivAn tiRam: Quality of a charitable person

thAmaRi vAraNNal thALpaNi vAravar
thAmaRi vAraRan^ thaN^kin^in RAravar
thAmaRi vArchila thaththuva rAvarkaL
thAmaRi vArkkuth thamarpara nAmE.

tAm aRivAr aNNal tAL paNivAr avar
tAm aRivAr aRam tangi ninRAr avar
tAm aRivAr chila tattuvar AvarkaL
tAm aRivArkku tamarparanAmE.

tAm: themselves;
aRivAr: Who know;
aNNal: The Great One('s)
tAL: feet;
paNivAr: serve;
avar: They.

tAm aRivAr: Those who know themselves;
aRam: charity;
tangi: staying with
nindRavar: who stand
avar: they;
tAm aRivAr: Those who know themselves
chila: some
tattuvar: tattvas, essences
AvarkaL: will become.
tAm aRivArkku: To those who know their self
tamar: their own
paran: kin
AmE: become.

Those who realize the self
Serve the feet of Divinity.
Those who realize the self
Generously give to charity

Those who realize the self
Some essences they become.
To those who realize the self
As their own kin does God come.

V. V. Raman
May 13, 2005

In ancient Alexandria a group of seven tragic poets were known as the Pleiad (after the tiny constellation Pleiades of seven stars). This name was
adopted by a group of seven French poets in the 16th century. These were
instances of a single name given to a group of poets. In Tamil culture we
have a similar situation. Twelve eminent Vaishnava poets are collectively
known as the Azhvars: God-intoxicated poets. As per current historical
reckoning, they lived from the 7th to the 9th centuries C.E. But tradition
and lavish imagination sometimes say they lived between 3000 and 4000
B.C.E., without enhancing by an iota the spiritual depth of their poetic
outpouring.

Music is a powerful channel for the religious experience of the transcendent principle. But music needs words, and the words are furnished by poets. A significant feature of classical Tamil literature is the variety and
richness of its religiously inspired poets and minstrels. Their works
transport the listener to lofty heights even when one doesn't understand
every word. To those sensitive to their euphonies, some of these songs are
even more ecstatic
The works of the Azhvars brim with devotion and love for the Supreme. To
them God was not an abstract principle, not the intangible Brahman, but very
personal. They lauded the Divine as Rama or Krishna, and sang their glories
in exuberant verses. Their compositions are inspired from the epics and
mythic lore of classical Hinduism.

Some 4000 hymns of the Azhvars were put together by a sage named N?muni. His anthology is entitled N?yira Divya Prabandham (Four Thousand Divinely
interlinked Poems). It is venerated as the scripture of Tamil Vaishnavism.

How the first three Azhvars are said to have emerged miraculously on the
same day. And one day all three converged from very different locales to a
place called Tirukolvalur. Poikaiyar, the first of the Azhvars, found a
place at a musician's home to spend the night. Soon thereafter Putattar, the
second one, came to the same home for rest. He was told that this would be
possible if one of them slept in a sitting posture, while the other was
lying down. When this was settled, the third one, Peyar, walked in for
shelter also. Now the option was for two to be sitting or all three to be
standing. All three stood the whole night, not sleeping but composing their
hymns to the sun, to divine love, and to Vishnu, inspired by a vision of
Vishnu they all received.

In this day and age when we are rightly concerned about religious
conversion, and upset by the claim of the missionaries of other religions
that there is no God but theirs, it may be of some interest to recall
Poykaiyar's memorable rhetorical line: "Is there any God other than Mayavan
(Vishnu)?"

Indeed, there was a time in India when conversions were not uncommon from
Shaivism to Vaishnavism and vice versa, as also in and out of Jainism and
Buddhism. Consider, for example, the poet Tirumalisai Azhvar. He is said to
have been a convert from Shaivism, and he became a virulent critic of
Buddhism, Jainism, and Shaivism. In one of his hymns he describes Jains as
ignorant, Buddhists as disgusting, and Shaivas as lowly. All this may be
interpreted (charitably) as expressions of his great love for and unswerving
devotion to Vishnu.

The foremost of the Azhvars is Nammazhvar (8th - 9th century) to whom almost
half (1296) the hymns are credited. He is also known as Satagopan. He is
said to have come from a so-called lower caste. Tradition tells us that
Nammazhvar was in deep trance for sixteen years. As per one legend, the poet
Mathurakavi, upon seeing him, forced open his mouth. Lo and behold! He saw
the Divine inside, and mystical hymns gushed forth. Mathurakavi memorized
these marvelous verses and presented them to the world. It is generally held
that these hymns embody the wisdom of the Vedas. Tirumozhi (Mystic Language)
is said to contain the essence of the Upanishads. The hymns yearn for union
with God, reminding one of some the canticles of St. Francis of Assisi.

A culture is enriched, not only from its material manifestations in art and
music and literary works, but also through its legends and sacred histories.
In this matter too Indic culture has been amply blessed. The hymns of the
Azhvars are kept alive and vibrant to this day, for they are sung all over
the Tamil world, in homes and in one Vaishnava temple or another. They
continue to bring a spiritual joy that sermons, routine chanting, and
prosaic readings seldom achieve. When one listens to them in the precincts
of a temple, one experiences a cultural continuity, for the uttered words
are echoes of ancient sounds, rich in meaning and brimming with devotion. We
experience the sacredness of traditions, for such singing became daily
practice centuries ago. Through verses and songs, through the metrical
rhythm and melodious music, heart and soul are touched. Such is their power.
For all this, we pay homage to the Azhvars of the Tamil world.

V. V. Raman
May 16, 2005

Manikkavacakar (9th century?) is one of the foremost poets in the rich
history of Tamil literature. He is also revered as a saint in Tamil
Shaivism. Much of what we know about this bright star in the firmament of
Tamil tradition is from two sources: the Tiruvaadavoor Puranam and
TiruviLaiyaadal PurANam.

This Vaadavooraar (Man from Vaadavoor) began to compose devotional songs at
a tender age. His reputation drew the attention of the reigning Pandya king
of Madurai. He was appointed prime minister of the realm when still young.
The story is that when he was sent by the king on a mission to purchase
horses from a neighboring kingdom, he was distracted by a sage who is
believed to have been Shiva himself in human form. Inspired by the sage's
blessings and instructions, the poet spent the king's cash to construct a
temple. This infuriated the king, and he threw the man in prison, even
tortured him. But miracles happened, they say, and the saintly poet was out.

He began to sing hymns to the Lord. Words flowed from his lips like
sparkling gems, which won him the epithet of Manikkavacakar: one who utters
ruby-like words.

Manikkavacakar did much to rid the Tamil world of Jaina and Buddhist
influences. Like other poets of that Hindu revival phase in the South, he
attacked their doctrines, and would not tolerate their preachers, especially
when they spoke in public. There was more than a touch of religious
intolerance here. Shakespeare's Mark Anthony said in his speech: "The evil
that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones." It
is just the opposite with Manikkavacakar. Today we remember him primarily
for his Tiruvacakam: a rich collection 656 devotional verses. It is number
eight in a canonical categorization of sacred works. The work begins with
Sivapuranam with the famous line: namaccivaaya vaazka! :May Siva's name
endure!

In the Shaiva tradition, the combination of these five (Tamil) letters
na-ma-ci-vaa-ya is a mantra: a chant with esoteric significance. It is
known as tiru(v)aind(u)ezhuttu: sacred-five-letters. Volumes have been
written on it. The five syllables are said to represent Shiva's five faces,
the five elements, etc. The mantra could mean I bow down to Lord Siva, but
it is also interpreted as naamacivaaya: name of Shiva, and the poet prays
for its enduring persistence. We cannot fathom Divine Wholeness. So we refer
to it by a name. It is through that name that we connect with infinity. When
we pray for that name to endure, we are praying for our own connection with
the eternal principle to endure.
We are all known by the names which are associated with our present bodies.
In another birth, the name won't be the same. But the Lord's name will live
on for ever. So we speak of the enduring permanence of the name of Shiva.
The importance of attaching sanctity to God's name is not unique to
Shaivism. Vaishnavas have their twelve-syllabic mantra, om namo bhagavate
vaasudevaya. As Yaweh or as Allah, God's name should not be taken in vain.
The Old Testament says, "The name of the Lord is a strong power." The Lord's
prayer in the Christian tradition begins with the lines: "Our Father Who art
in Heaven, Hallowed by Thy Name!"

The word vaazhka! means: May (someone, something) live for ever in
auspiciousness! It is used several times in Sivapuranam. It is more than the
French Vive! or the Italian Viva! which simply mean: May (something or
someone) live long! The word vAzka! in this context is also said to reflect
the bliss of the one who chants the mantra.

The Tiruvacakam reveals the ecstasy of a mystic, but also, on occasions, the
pangs of a lover longing for his beloved. He declared he was granted grace
because of the Lord's mercy, and not because he deserved it. As in all
revelatory works, they embody truths of a higher order which only the
initiates can truly decipher.

The Tiruvacakam contains some of the finest poems of the Tamil bhakti mode.
It is difficult for the lay reader to fully appreciate the depth of feeling
and spiritual yearning in Tiruvacakam. Spiritual poetry of this kind is an
outpouring of the heart to the Unfathomable Mystery. Sometimes it seems to
wander in the wilderness like the reckless coloring on canvas by a master of
the abstract school of painting. Some resonate with awe, others are
bewildered, yet others turn away.

Manikkavacakar also wrote another work, called Tirukk?y?which is a work
on love: from romantic love at first sight to marital love and love with
prostitutes. It is intriguing that the saint poet also wrote a work of this
genre. Commentators have explained this by suggesting that the work is an
allegory of the soul in quest of Shiva. Even with this interpretation, it is
not among this poet's works that are recited in temples.

It is said that the poet often went through moments of spiritual delirium
interrupted by deep depression when he felt God was not within reach. After
a series of such alternating phases, he is said to have attained full
liberation in the holy center at Cidambaram.

V. V. Raman
May 18, 2005

When one says Hinduism, one tends to imagine primarily its Sanskritic
components. Likewise, by Indic culture one tends to picture only its Hindu
expressions. Since very ancient times, however, Jainism has also contributed
to the treasure-chest of Indic culture. Jaina thinkers, saints, poets,
philosophers, architects, artists: all have been creative in the north as
also in the south of India. It is sadly true that sometimes in some parts of
the land the adherents of Shaivism and Vaishnavism became so concerned by
Jain successes as to react somewhat violently. This is said to have happened
in the Tamil country, although some have argued that such episodes were not
as serious as they are sometimes stated in history books, or even that they
might not have occurred at all.

Whether this was so or not, we need to learn to forget the horrors and hurt
that our ancestors inflicted on one another in the past, and begin a new
chapter in which we can live in harmony and mutual respect. [This is just my
opinion. There are sincere people who believe that this should not or cannot
happen.] In the context of my reflections, the happy fact remains that
Jaina writers have enriched Tamil lore, culture, and literature.

In Tamil history one refers to the glorious Cangkam period (>5th century
C.E.). The earliest Cangkams were mainly for religious poetry. To this day,
Tamil literary and cultural groups call themselves Tamil Sangams. This word
was introduced into Tamil by Jaina (and Buddhist) monks whose monasteries
are called Sangams. The Dravida Sangha was founded in the Tamil country in
470 C.E. by a Jain monk. Shaiva and Vaishnava poets who fought the Jains
were proud of their association with the literary Sangam.

There is evidence that from the earliest periods, Jaina writers were part of
the Tamil literary scene. For many centuries Jains and Hindus lived in
harmony as they do in our own times. Jain writers were as productive as
their Shaiva and Vaishnava counterparts.

The renowned city of Kanchipuram was once a great center of learning where
different religions were studied. A whole section of this great city used to
be called Jina Kanchi. Eminent Jain scholars taught there. Their educational
institutions were known as samana pallis. Jains were called SamaNars in
classical Tamil. The Tamil word for school (paLLi) is derived from the Jain
name. To this day, some of the relics of the ancient vibrant Jain presence
may be seen in the vicinity of Kanchipuram and in areas around Madurai.

There are more than half a dozen modern Jain temples in Chennai alone. I
remember being told that admission into the sanctum in one of these temples
is not for everyone: only for those who take a fresh bath at the temple.
What a beautiful idea! Certainly far more enlightened than rules which
restrict admission on the basis of castes.

The first Tamil epic, entitled Cilappatikaaram was authored by a young
(iLam) king (kO) who became a Jain monk (aDigaL). There are strong
indications that Tiruvalluvar, the best-known name in the Tamil world, was,
at the very least, influenced by the Jaina ethical framework. Another major
Tamil epic, inspired for sure by some Sanskrit works, is known as Ceevaka
CintaamaNi, and it too had a Jain author. Then there are references to
Kundalakesi and Valaiyapati, two other important works by Jaina (Buddhist?)
writers. These works have been lost. Kundalakesi is one of the five
classical Tamil epics.

According to what one has been able to gather from indirect evidence,
Kundalakesi was about a young woman who falls in love with a man who had
been arrested for robbery. The man is released because he happened to be the
son of a high official. Now he marries that lady. One day she asks him
tauntingly if he was not after all a thief. This infuriates the husband, and
he schemes to kill her. But she outwits him in the plan, and he is the one
who is killed. The self-inflicted widow now joins a nunnery, but cannot
stand the thought of shaving off her head. She leaves the place, and so on.

What is interesting is that this is a purely secular story. Sanskrit and
Tamil had stories on non-religious themes even in ancient times.
When we say puranas, we immediately think of the major Sanskrit ones. But
there are puranams in Tamil also, and of these, two are on Jaina themes:
Sripuranam and Merumantirapuranam. Historians of Tamil literature say that
these works brought in many Sanskritic literary styles and vocabulary into
the Tamil language.

My reason for recalling all this two-fold. First I present this as a
background for two literary masterpieces I would like to discuss later in my
reflections. Secondly, I wish to remind myself (and others who may think
this way) that the true greatness of India's culture lies in its
incomparable diversity, and that Indic culture, though perhaps not unique,
has been blessed with thinkers and writers from many religious traditions.
At a time when cultural diversity is becoming global, and often
confrontational, it will serve us well to honor and recognize the best that
our ancestors have left behind in the form of art, literature, music,
philosophy and the like: the finest elements in any culture.

Places of worship are efforts by the human spirit to pay homage to the
Transcendent, and to express the deepest gratitude to the Unfathomable
Mystery for this thing called human life. Europe has her magnificent
cathedrals in Chartres, Vienna, Rome, Frankfurt, and Canterbury, and
elsewhere. India has her temples, modest and magnificent, strewn all over
the land, like art works in a museum. Upon returning to India after my
graduate student years in Paris, I took a tour of some temples of Tamil Nadu
with a historical sense. I had been to some of them as a pilgrim before.

I recall visiting the famous temple of Sri Ranganatha in Srirangam during
this trip. Situated on a small island between two rivers, this is one of the
most spectacular temples I have seen. But I also discovered somewhat sadly
that Non-Hindus were not permitted to enter this temple. [I am not sure if
this rule still prevails.] This was in stark contrast to the cathedrals of
Europe into which I had freely gone, where I had even chanted a mantra or
two from the pews. Many years later, at the end of a lecture at Berkeley in
California on Hindu visions during which I had mentioned tav tvam asi,
someone asked me if Non-Hindus weren't allowed to enter Hindu temples. I
said it was true in some instances. "The difference between Hindus and
Christians," I added, "is that Hindus don't allow Non-Hindus to enter their
places of worship, but allow them to go to Heaven, whereas Christians allow
Non-Christians to come into their places of worship, but don't allow them to
enter the kingdom of God." There was applause from the audience which
consisted of only Westerners. One gentleman said, "I am a Christian, but I
would allow you to enter the kingdom of God." I wish he had full authority
on the matter.

Be that as it may, the beautiful Srirangam temple is sprawling, and I was
told that one could get easily lost in its maze of buildings and pathways.
Here, as perhaps in no other Hindu temple, we find images of all the ten
avataras of Vishnu. The temple has the mythical Sriranga-Vimana made of
plated gold majestically adorning it. Legend says that the vimana had been
presented to Vibhishana by Sri Rama, and that when the vehicle was grounded
briefly in that town it could not be removed.

I had the privilege of seeing the magnificent icon of Vishnu with golden
hands and feet and dark body reclining on the black coiled serpent Adisesha
with a protective hood with sparkling gems. Vishnu in this pose represents
the Sustainer of the Universe during the inter-manifested phase of cosmic
history; Adhisesha (Ananta) representing both recurring and eternal time in
the cyclic framework of the yuga model. This is one of the most awesome
icons I have seen in any temple.

The famous Thousand-Pillar-Hall (Ayiram-kaal-Mandapam) is here: a
fascinatingly impressive structure in temple architecture. In this grand
hall with its nearly thousand pillars with sculptures etched on them many
generations of devotees have gathered to celebrate various festivals of the
Vaishnava tradition. Here one can listen periodically to the singing,
sometimes with accompanying dance, of the Azhvar prabandhams.

The formal presentation of a new book or work of art to an assembly is
called arang-kEtram in Tamil. It was here that the foremost Tamil poet
Kamban did the arang-kEtram of immortal Ramayanam in the ninth century
C.E. in the presence of eminent scholars and his philanthropist-patron
Sadayappan of Tiruvennainallur.

I stood for a moment at the crowned statue of a blessing Saint Ramanuja with
Vaishnava symbols painted on his forehead and bodies. The remains of this
eminent personage are interred in this temple. This was the first time I
knew of this practice in the Hindu world, and it reminded me of Westminster
Abbey where lie many of England's great poets. It was in Srirangam that this
great scholar-saint composed some of his works on Vedanta and commentaries
on the Bhagavad Gita.

Defying petty gurus who held that sacred works must be beyond the ears of
lower castes, Ramanuja climbed to this temple's summit and recited in loud
voice the mantras, urging one and all to repeat after him. He explained to
them their hidden meanings. What a glorious day in Hindu history! It was
revolutionary back in the eleventh century, but sadly, most people who pride
themselves to be his followers, many in number, revere his name and worship
him rather than follow him in this matter.
The Vaishnava saint Caitanya from Bengal and Orissa, visited Sri Rangam
where he is said to have spent several months as a pilgrim: bathing in the
Kaveri River and visiting the Ranganatha temple every day. Such is the
prestigious history of this place.

I found Tipu Sultan's minarets in visible vicinity a tad incongruous, not to
say offensive. Would they allow Hindu gopurams to stand tall near the dome
of a mosque in Tehran or Cairo? The simple answer is: No, of course not. I
fear there can never be religious harmony in the world until this grotesque
asymmetry is dismantled.

V. V. Raman
May 22, 2005

Lord Krishna is a central figure in the Hindu framework. What is most
striking in the Krishna symbol is that it represents divine wisdom
(Arjuna-Krishna) as well as ardent love (Radha-Krishna). This as a deep
insight into sophisticated cultural evolution: At this level one is
intellectually/spiritually alert and also capable of the highest kind of
love.

Most Hindus have heard of the Bhagavad Gita, some have even read it. Hindus of every caste and sect have experienced love of one kind or another, and love of God in the bhakti mode through bhajans and kirtans. Bhakti is often instigated by the poets of the tradition. When poets sing in ecstatic
binding with the Supreme, they become saints.

Lop?dr?as the only woman-author of Vedic hymns. In the Tamil tradition
Andal (AANDAAL) (9th - 10th centuries C.E.?) was the only woman in the
Azhvar constellation. Recall that the works of the Azhvars are the Vedas of
Tamil Vaishnavas.

Andal's major work is Tiruppavai (Sacred Portrait) which reads like a love
poem, where the love is for none other than Krishna. This love is not just
poetic metaphor; it is a very real longing for merger with a God who is
visualized as all too human in physical form, with charm, attraction, and
capacity for gender love. Tiruppavai's invocations to Krishna are those of a
lover, pining in her separation for merger with him.
Commentators have seen inner meanings and deeper truths behind the veil of
Andal's versiform words. When she describes Krishna's reddish eyes
(ceng-kaN) as shining like the sun (kadir), she is talking about the
blinding effulgence of the Supreme. When she exclaims that Narayana will
give us the drums (paRai), some have said this refers to blessings. I take
it to mean that the Divine gives us the voice and the inspiration to
proclaim the Lord's glory to the world at large. [Incidentally, paRai is the
root of pariyah: a derogatory word that has crept into English for a
lowly-held caste.]

In her other work too, called Naacciyaar's Tirumozhi (the Lady's Sacred
Words), Andal conveys the pangs of an abandoned lover very movingly. She
wails that her bones have become lean, her eye-lids haven't closed for many
days, she is going hither and thither in an ocean of sorrow. All this
tells of a restless soul gone astray that suddenly remembers its cosmic
connection and craves for for rapid re-union with its source.

Andal's Tiruppavai is a moving articulation of bhakti. What is bhakti if
not intense and unswerving love whose focus is not on this person or that,
but on the Divine such as is personified in the mythic visions of the
tradition. One cannot have bhakti for abstract Brahman, but only for a Rama
or a Krishna, for a Shiva or a Murugan. God in human form is a requirement
for the bhakti mode.

Tiruppavai is unique in religious history. Yes, we have parallels in Meera's
songs which have uncanny resemblances in feeling and content to the works of
her Tamil sister. But Tiruppavai is one of the few texts authored by a
woman - if not the only one - that has become part of a canonical scripture.
It is recited and sung in Vaishnava homes and temples in formal and
reverential modes.

The sacred history of Andal is a joyful chapter in Tamil hagiography. One
morning, when Periazhvar (Vishnuchitta) went to the garden to pick flowers
for worship, he came upon an infant girl under a tulasi tree whom he brought
home and brought up. [There still stands a tree which is believed to be that
same one.] He called the child Kodai ((kOdhai: garland). As little Kodai
grew up, she heard all the stories about Krishna in Brindavan, and developed
a fascination for him. Soon this became love for Ranganatha: the deity in
the temple of Srirangam. Kodai used to wear flowers on her head and see
herself in a mirror to check if she would be attractive for the Lord, before
sending them to the temple for worship. One day this was discovered through
a strand of hair in the flowers, and her father became furious. God appeared
in his dream and assured him that He preferred the flowers tried out by his
daughter: her devotion added a special fragrance to the flowers. Realizing
that his daughter was blessed one, the father called her Andal: the
redeemer.

When she came of age, and Vishnuchitta sought a suitable groom for her,
Andal insisted she would marry none other than the Lord in the temple. So
one day the maiden was decked in flowers and adorned as a beautiful bride
for Ranganatha, and carried ceremoniously in a palanquin to the precincts of
the temple. When they had entered the main gate, Andal jumped from the
palanquin and ran into the sanctum sanctorum of the temple, ardently
embraced the icon of Vishnu, and disappeaed from everybody's sight.
Since then, in the Tamil Vaishnava tradition, not only has Tiruppavai become
part of the scriptures, but Andal herself has become an eternal consort of
Mahavishnu.

Thus, through her inspired writings and legacy, Andal has attained
immortality in Tamil literature and culture, and has also secured for
herself a permanent place in the spiritual history of India.

V. V. Raman
May 25, 2005

[This message has been edited by Webmaster (edited May 25, 2005).]

In English literature, Samuel Coleridge, William Wordsworth, and Robert
Southey are collectively known as the Lake Poets. Likewise in the Tamil
world we have a trio of extraordinary poetic geniuses who have not only
contributed richly to the literature of the language but also influence the
course of its religious history.

The scripture of Tamil Shaivism is the Panniru (12) TirumuRai. It is an
anthology of works authored prior to the 12th century by twenty-seven
saint-poets called Naayanars. Their writings include hymns, rules of conduct,
and sacred history. The TirumuRai has always been open to all men and women.
The Shaiva saint-poets preached the ideal of a society where there are no
castes or spiritual hierarchies.

Appar, Sambandar, and Sundarar were the foremost of the Naayanars (7th - 9th
centuries?). Their hymns sing the glories of Lord Shiva. The devout who
chant or listen to them derive a spiritual experience that even a visit to
the temple can barely give.

Appar, the eldest of the three, received the honorific Tirunaavukkaracar:
King of the sacred tongue, for his poetic gift was truly remarkable. He is
said to have been a convert to Jainism for a while. In one poem he sings
sadly about how his fickle heart which abandons one's love and clings to
another, then jumps back again to the first, referring to his brief play
with that faith. But once he was back into Shaivism he walked to every Shiva
temple in the land - and there were many - weeded their lawns and cleaned
their precincts, and created the most moving verses. His lamentation for the
elusive Shiva was sometimes as of a woman craving for her lover. Some
scholars have seen sexual symbolism in Appar's works. But he was also a
Nature poet who speaks of the Lord's feet as the advancing spring tide, as a
cooling experience in a tank located where honey-drunk bees hum in the
shade of a grand tree, as the sight of the joy-giving moon, as music from
the veena, and as the northern breeze.

Sambandar was a child prodigy. Tradition says that he received a blessing
from the Divine Mother when he was just a toddler, and that he began to
create magnificent hymns right away. He is perhaps the most venerated
saint-poet of the Shaiva world. He was ruthless towards Jains and Buddhists
because those religions were fast winning converts in the Tamil world. This
eminent poet is known as Tirujnana Sambandar: Sambandar of Sacred Wisdom.

Sambandar describes Shiva as one who is riding a bull, whose ears are
pierced with rings, whose head is adorned with the ray of the crescent moon,
who is smeared with ash, who is the thief who steals away the poet's heart.
All this sounds rather dry in English, but in the original Tamil they are
beautiful and melodious. Sambandar also says that Shiva's sacred name is the
essence of all the Vedas. The mystic's ecstasy is evident when we read:
"Perennial and changeless joy we feel
For we belong to Sankara who's bliss supreme."

Sundarar, also known as Sundaramoorthy Naayanar appeared some two centuries
after his illustrious predecessors. Listed as the last of the sixty-three
original saints of the Saiva tradition, he extolled the sixty-two others, as
much as he sang in praise of Shiva Himself. He is said to have been married
to two women. Though he was considered a Brahmin, at least one of his wives
was of what used to be regarded as a lower caste. Sometimes he sounds a
little sad, as in the lines below:
"When will the end come, my senses dim, my life be over,
And my corpse is laid to rest?
All this is mere emptiness.
Oh effulgent Lord, up on high,
Even if I forget you, my tongue would keep repeating your holy name."

Fourteen commentaries have been written on the subtle metaphysics of
TirumuRai. They are collectively known as Meikanda Sastras (Sastras which
have seen the Truth).
In the Shaiva tradition, divinely touched souls who live amidst us for the
welfare of humankind are known as Siddhars (Perfected Ones). A siddhar is in
communion with the Supreme, and yet lives in the chaotic and contradictory
world of human activities. Siddhars are not other-worldly mystics who
rejected the world; they are very much for neighborly love and social
service. To them religion is more than inquiring into the nature of the
Supreme or worshiping in temples. They rejected casteism and believed in
bringing knowledge to the common people.

But the siddha mystical movement is not the same as Saivasiddhantam. Siddhas
and Saivasiddhantins have the same scriptures, but they differ in profound
ways. The former emphasize yogic practice and goddess worship, and are
affiliated to the tantric tradition while for the latter lingam-worship is
basic. Both have universalist religious visions.

V. V. Raman
May 27, 2005

During a visit to Chennai many years ago I was strolling on the Marina beach
where there are huge statues of several men and women who have brought honor
to Tamil culture and history. I was drawn to the statue of a woman with an
accusing finger on her outstretched arm. It was Kannaki, the heroine of the
epic Cilappatikaram (2nd century C.E.?). I had read about this work in my
school days; this statute now inspired me to read it again. This is perhaps
the only fictional character (?) to be commemorated as a statue on the
beach.

The theme is perennial: a well-established married man falls for a beautiful
damsel, and forgets his marital vows. Then follow the dire consequences of
his moral slippage. The work is a classic, not for its common theme, but for
its analysis of the human condition, and its lessons on ethical behavior. It
is also replete with information on the social, political, and religious
conditions of the Tamil people and country of those times.

Kovalan of the city of Kavirippattinam is the hero. Kannaki, daughter of a
wealthy merchant, is his faithful wife. Chance factors bring him to a very
attractive danseuse by the name of Madavi while he is in town. He cannot
resist her physical charms. He showers her with gifts, and begets a daughter
with her. Soon he is without any money. He returns home, his wife realizes
the predicament, and offers to sell her valuable anklet (cilambu) to get
cash for the household. So they take it to the capital city of Madurai.
In the course of this journey, the couple meets a Jaina nun and some Jaina
minstrels (c?nas). They learn from them about Jaina worldviews.

Kovalan passes through the gates of the capital guarded by Yavanas (Greeks),
and tries to sell his wife's anklet. A swindler who had stolen the queen's
anklet, notices him. He goes to the king and says he has spotted the thief
with the queen's jewel. The king orders Kovalan's arrest, but one of the
king's men kills our hero with a sword. Kannaki hears about this, rushes to
the town. She wails near her husband's corpse, tells the chaste women of
Madurai that her sorrow is unmatched. The women are moved, they shout in
chorus that Kannaki has been wronged, that the king's scepter is crooked,
that his glory has vanished, and that they have found a new goddess in
Kannaki whom they comfort.

In her sadness and fury Kannaki rips off her left breast, rushes to the
king's court and laments the injustice. She breaks open her anklet and
reveals that the precious stones in it are different from those in the
queen's anklet. The king is shocked and sorry, but Kannaki's curse sets the
palace and the city ablaze. The city-goddess pleads with her and explains
that Kovalan had merely reaped the fruits of some evil deed in a past birth.

Eventually Kannaki also dies. The Chera king Chenkuttuvan commissions a
statute of Kannaki to be carved from Himalayan rock. She was worshiped by
the people.

Cilappatikaram reveals the role of karma and of fate: our experiences are
pre-determined by our past actions (?inai), yet fate is an unpredictable
force that is different for each individual, acting silently to chart the
course of every human life. If the happily married Kovalan had not
encountered Madavi, terrible things would not have ensued. Yet, he may be
reaping only the karmic consequences of his past deeds.

We also notice in this story a fascinating portrayal of the sanctity of
marital fidelity. When one deviates from this, so it would seem from the
chain of events, one can expect unhappy consequences sooner or later. The
story paints the exemplary behavior of a loyal wife and her spiritual power.

It also reveals how, if a king (or any executor of a nation's values), acts
rashly without due deliberation, the whole country would suffer.

Cilappatikaram is not just a story: it is an epic. It mentions Vedic gods,
but does not invoke any god. The work is held in great reverence by the
Jains of Tamil Nadu, not unlike how the Ramayana is treated by Hindus. It
has been said that here too a character in a poetic composition has become
so real that she is worshiped as if she had lived.
Like many other great poets of early Tamil literature, the epic's author
Ilanko Adigal hailed from the region now called Kerala. At the time when
Cilappatikaram was written, Jainas, Shaivas, and Vaisnavas lived in happy
harmony, except that there was gradual acceptance of Jainism by more and
more people, including kings and chieftains.

If one were to make a list of the world's great literary masterpieces,
Cilappatikaram would certainly be in that list. The work has been translated
into English, but, as usual, the version into another language doesn't
incorporate the linguistic brilliance of the original.
Kamil Zvelebil, a noted authority on Tamil, wrote about books like
Cilappatikaram that they "are among the most remarkable contributions of the
Tamil creative genius to the world's cultural treasure and should be
familiar to the whole world and admired and beloved by all in the same way
as the poems of Homer, the dramas of Shakespeare, the pictures of Rembrandt,
the cathedrals of France and the sculptures of Greece." One couldn't have
stated it better.

V. V. Raman
May 30, 2005

If Jains have epics in Tamil, Buddhists have one also. Manimekalai is the
major Tamil Buddhist epic. Interestingly, the heroine Manimekalai of this
work is the daughter of Kovalan of Cilappatikaram through the danseuse
Madavi. When Madavi hears about the death of Kovalan, she is deeply
saddened. She develops great respect for Kannaki with whose lawfully wed
husband she had played with. Now she is ashamed of her behavior. To cleanse
herself of this sin, Madavi enters a Buddhist monastery. She takes her
daughter, whom she regards as Kannaki's own, to the monastery along with
her.

Here Madavi meets the monk and teacher Aravana Adigal who is an important
character in the epic. This elderly man of immense learning and wisdom
guides the repentant mother and her young daughter. Mother and daughter
learn many things about Buddhism from this man, such as the four noble
truths (Buddhist satyas): That suffering is associated with all existence,
that it is caused by ignorance, that it can be terminated, and that this
(nirvana) can be achieved through the eight-fold path. Manimekalai also
learns about the five vows (silas): abstention from taking away life, from
taking things that are not given, from lying, from lustful behavior, and
from intoxicants.

As daughter Manimekalai grows up in the convent, she absorbs many good
things of Buddhism, including ascetic life. One day, she is seen by a prince
who is infatuated with her. Just as Shakespeare's Ophelia could not pursue
Hamlet's love because of her father and brother, Manimekalai could not
reciprocate the prince's love because of her mother's influence. She goes
into a crystal pavilion. When the prince sees her beautiful body through the
transparent crystal, says the poet, Kama (Cupid) shot five floral arrows
into his heart, filling him with deep desire for her whose eyes of lotus
blue hue were very sad.

Manimekalai now retreats to an island. Here, a goddess tells her that in
her previous birth she had been married to a prince. Manimekalai receives a
begging bowl from the deity, with which she returns to the old monastery.

The Buddhist sage teaches her that feeding the poor is the noblest virtue.
Her bowl has a magical quality by which it is an inexhaustible source of
food. She uses this for feeding many hungry people in accordance with the
cardinal virtue she had been taught: relieving the hunger of the poor.

The story continues with more incidents: the murder of the prince who had
loved her, her imprisonment and release, her travels, and her final resting
place in Kanchipuram.

This literary masterpiece contains clear expositions of Buddhist philosophy
and epistemology. It is apparent from this work that just as in our own
times Hindus who have settled down beyond the shores of India still have
their spiritual allegiance to India, Buddhists in the Tamil country had
their hearts and minds in Sri Lanka and Nalanda.