“‘Flowing close to the god, for our sake the river reflects his image, remakes the god in its water—golden dress, lotus eyes, four arms, conch, wheel, bow, club, and dark-blue body.’
“From afar, breezes saturated with the incense of many flowers welcomed all pilgrims. Geese, herons, curlews, and cranes called out greetings. The rising waves reached out in extended embrace. White foam deposited on the banks became silvery seats. Pilgrims received in this manner felt like family, and praised the river. Manikandhara performed his rituals in the Kaveri. Nearby young Tamil women were filling golden pots, full and round like their uncovered breasts, and passersby were asking them for directions though they knew the way well enough, just to strike up a conversation. He followed them onto the island of Srirangam. Passing through Brahmin neighborhoods where the sounds of Vedic chanting and philosophical exposition pleased the ear, he saw before him, on the outer walls, millions of rubies burning like eternal lamps, shattering darkness inside and out. He looked up at the entrance tower with its massive dovecots in many stories and listened to the cooing of the doves mingling in with the jingle of anklets and bracelets from the dancing girls coming and going. He passed through the first enclosure of the temple after worshiping Garuda and other gods. Next he went deeper into the Srirangam shrine.
“Ranga-nayaka Vishnu lay before him in his golden dhoti, the kaustubha gem on his breast. His eyes were wider than any lotus. Fragrant musk marked his forehead. The first sounds in the world were sandals on his feet. He lay on a cool, fragrant bed. He was darker than sapphire. The goddess was carried away by his beauty. He wore earrings in the shape of crocodiles and a jeweled crown. Manikandhara gazed at the god and threw himself to the ground. ‘Each separate part of him steals my eyes and claims them for itself—his crown, camphor mark, the smiling face, necklaces, garland, the gem on his chest, conch, wheel, his deep navel, his anklets and armlets.
He is my family deity. I rest my thoughts
on his feet.
He’s my friend, close to me as my breath.
I set my mind on the center of his breathing.
I focus on his hands, that broke the necks
of many demons.
I raise my thoughts to his chest, that enhances
the beauty of Lakshmi’s breasts.
I give myself to his face, that lightens the load
of my heart.’
“He composed verses like this one on the spot and sang them to the god.
“Afterward, he headed east. He came to Kumbhakonam, a place that churns the ego out of mind. In its moonlight pavilions, the eyes of tipsy courtesans roll like fish in the bend of the godly river that flows beside great white palaces. The entrance towers to its temples are so radiant that they wash away the turbid darkness of empty space. In a shrine made of rubies, on a mattress of cool air, his feet stretched out on Lakshmi’s breasts—firm and silky like little pillows—his head resting on one arm, another arm resting on his waist covered with gold, and the other pair of hands holding the conch and wheel, Sarngapani-Vishnu delights everyone by his presence.
“Manikandhara moved on to the temple of the Lord of the Pot,23 and from there to Darbhasayana, where he worshiped Lord Rama and sang for him, the vina following his voice:
You’re the fruit of King Dasaratha’s prayers.
You killed Tataka with a well-aimed arrow.
You killed that mischievous Subahu and saved Visvamitra’s sacrifice.
With the dust of your feet, you washed away the lapse of Gautama’s wife.24
You broke Siva’s bow like breaking a piece of sugarcane.
You were happy inside when you married the Earth’s daughter.
Your arms, thick as snakes, sucked out the pride of Parasurama.
Obedient to your father’s word, you shook off the kingdom.
You blessed Guha, who worshiped your feet all his life.
You left Bharata the kind gift of your sandals.
You did away with the disasters that came from Viradha’s arrogance.
You stayed with the sages in their tranquil space.
You made a demoness25 ugly to please your wife.
You made the sages happy by destroying Khara and other demons.
You took away the life-breath of the tricky demon in the form of a deer.26
You pounded Kabandha with his fierce arms into a ball of flesh.
You savored the taste of the fruits that Sabari offered.
You killed angry Valin27 and made friends with his brother, Sugriva.
You gave refuge to the enemy’s brother28 when he sought you out.
With your fiery eyes, you humbled the ocean.
Easily, you built a bridge out of mountains across the ocean.
You chopped off all of Ravana’s heads in one great blow.
Brahmins praise you, and you cut the bonds that bind them to this world.
Your eyes flow with compassion. Your body thrills Sita.
Your name is fit to be chanted by Yogis. Those who serve you fulfill their wishes.
Your fame is ever white. You are home to all worlds.
You are a terror to your enemies but care tirelessly for the distressed.
Take care of me, too, Ramabhadra.
‘When all the texts tell us that your name is the truth that gives freedom, can I add anything at all by my praise, Rama, son of Dasaratha?’
“From there he went south to Ramesvaram, the bridge Rama built to Lanka. After worshiping, he went on to Ananta-sayana29 to serve Padma-nabha, the god with the lotus growing from his navel. He sang to him for some days.
“As for me,” Manisthambha continued, “I was listening to his music wherever he was singing and watching him from afar. That’s how I know his whole story. From Ananta Padma-nabha’s place, he went to a small forest just to the west, whose brilliant fruits and flowers rivaled the ornaments worn by the god nearby. He began a harsh discipline, concentrating on Vishnu. Because of that, I can no longer enjoy the pure sweetness of his music.”
And Manistambha turned in that direction, stared, and said, “Look! He’s sitting there riveted in the lotus posture, in fierce concentration.”
Kalabhashini was amazed. “Can you really see him from here? Can you see what he’s doing?”
“If you doubt it, just send your friends far away. I’ll tell you everything they are doing.”
“Mahatma, who am I to test you? Did I ever doubt your words?”
“There’s nothing wrong with testing. Don’t worry. It’s even fun.”
And he forced her to send two of her friends some distance away. After he had reported to her everything they did and said, thus proving his point, he said, “Dear girl, in exactly the same way, I described to you Manikandhara’s entire pilgrimage and his discipline. Your mind should now be at ease. But if you still have some question about the comparative distances, since Manikandhara is so far away and your friends didn’t go too far, there’s no way I can resolve it for you.”
At that moment, a parrot who happened to be perched on a nearby tree began to speak. “Sir! No one should doubt your words. In fact, I’m here to verify independently everything you have said.”
Kalabhashini looked at the parrot in amazement. “How can you verify that? Who are you? Where do you come from? You seem to be a very intelligent bird.”
The bird spoke. “I used to live in the Nandana Forest.30 At the time that Krishna stole the Parijata Tree,31 the birds who were living in it all flew away. But my wife was about to give birth and couldn’t leave. ‘Whatever happens, I’m staying here,’ she announced, lying low in a hollow of that tree. Afterward, I couldn’t budge her until the children had grown their wings. Every time I tried to persuade her to go with me, she would say, ‘This garden32 is much nicer than Nandana Forest. I can’t understand why you can’t get rid of your attachment to that place.’
“I would say, ‘What you say is true, but all our relatives are there. I can’t cut my ties completely.’ So I started commuti
ng between here and heaven. A little while ago, I was flying on this route when I heard someone mention Manikandhara’s name. I wondered who was talking about Manikandhara here, so I waited to overhear your conversation. Now I can confirm the whole story that this Siddha has told you about the pilgrimage and discipline, and I can add the rest, too.
“Recently, Saci and Indra came to Nandana Forest, while I was watching. A spy arrived and informed Indra, ‘Lord! Some time ago a certain man came to the forest where I’ve been living and began a series of austere practices. I waited a while to see how serious he was. The more I watch him, the greater the intensity that I see. That’s why I came here to tell you. He’s been to all the great sites of power—Kasi, Gaya, Prayaga, Puri, Ahobalam. He himself told me when I asked. Now his red matted hair is on fire from the inner heat that he has generated by immersing himself day after day in freezing water. In eight months this discipline will bear fruit. You posted me to this wilderness to inform you if anyone comes there for such practices.’33
“Indra remembered. ‘Yes. I did station you there for this purpose.’ He sent off the spy and ordered Rambha, the accomplished courtesan, to come to him. When she appeared, he described to her everything that he had heard from his spy about this new man and his practices.
” ‘My beautiful girl! If this fellow is up to such severely demanding acts, generating so much heat, it must be because he wants to take over my throne in heaven. We have to think of some countermeasure and carry it out, leaving nothing to chance. If we delay now or ignore him, you can’t tell what will happen. A fingernail’s worth of delay causes a mountain’s worth of loss. We know that. You courtesans are very helpful in such matters. I suspect that you’re the most effective weapon of all.
“‘Weave a net around him with your intriguing glances. Snare him with your smiles. Hook him with your tapering eyebrows. Muzzle his mouth with the mantra of your honeyed words. Go there, siphon off the power he’s been building. He’s like a tiger now. Turn him into a pet for the Love-God.’
“Rambha listened carefully. ‘I wonder if you know who this man is. I hear that he’s Manikandhara, Narada’s disciple. I’ve observed him before. He never took a second look at people like me. Now he’s deep into his discipline. I can’t promise you that I can carry out this mission.’
“Indra looked at her. ‘I’m issuing you more youthful beauty and charms than ever before. Don’t doubt yourself. You can do it.’
With these reassuring words he sent her off. Truth to tell, she was excited by the challenge. Her body glowing with jewels, she went down to earth along with her companions, brightening the pathway from heaven in their splendor.
“So now,” the parrot continued, “you can see that what Manistambha told you is entirely correct. At that point, I left Nandana Forest and came here. By my calculation, Rambha and her friends should be reaching Manikandhara’s place any minute.”
Kalabhashini was fascinated by this parrot. “I don’t want to let you go,” she said, “but of course you have to visit your wife. I can see why the great sage Parrot—known as Suka, Vyasa’s son—took your name. He’s present everywhere. He’s the one who knows all the Vedas. With your yellow-green wings, you remind us of Lord Hari, whose name means ‘yellow-green.’ You can naturally fly up to his world. So it’s no surprise that your words are so charming.”
Keep on listening to my story, King Krishna. You delight in meditation on Sri Krishna. Like the Snake, the Boar, the Tortoise, and the Elephants, your arms hold the earth. Women adore you. Brahmins rely on you. You thirst for knowledge and wisdom. You are strong as the great Bhima. May all good things be yours.
This is the second chapter in the long poem called Kalapurnodayamu made by soft-spoken Suraya, son of Pingali Amaranarya, whose poetry all connoisseurs enjoy throughout the world.
1. The goldsmith works with a thick iron plate with holes of various sizes, somewhat larger at the point of entry and thinner at the point of egress; gold filaments are inserted and pulled through these holes with pliars to shape them to the correct thickness. By repeating this operation through progressively thinner holes, the filament becomes delicate and uniformly shaped. See Srinatha, Bhīma-khaṇḍamu 4.130; V. Narayana Rao and D. Shulman, Telugu Classical Poetry: An Anthology (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2002), 178.
2. We translate in this way the common Sanskrit word tapas, literally the “heat” generated by meditation, self-denial, and other forms of concentrated physical and spiritual praxis.
3. A famous sage mentioned in the classical texts.
4. One of the great gandharva singers, a class of demigods.
5. Narada’s most serious rival among the gandharvas.
6. In the early sixteenth century, vinas were tuned separately for each rāga—hence the vital importance of tuning in performance. There is a tradition that Ramarajabhusana, the great Vijayanagara court-poet in the mid-sixteenth century, invented the frets that allow for a single stable tuning (Marupuru Kodandarama Reddi, Kạlāpūrṇodayamu [Hyderabad: Andhra Pradesh Sahitya Akademi, 1980], 63, note).
7. The mythical Ancanacala.
8. Vishnu’s avatar as the son of Vasudeva and Devaki.
9. The Mānava-dharma-śāstra, central textbook of the dharma specialists.
10. Aranyaka, the “Forest Books.”
11. Puri in Orissa.
12. Purushottama.
13. Near Srikakulam in northern Andhra.
14. The shrine of Varaha-Narasimha, or Appanna, near Visakhapatnam.
15. The Narasimha temple in Kurnool District, southern Andhra.
16. Venkatesvara is the god of the major pilgrimage temple at Tirupati, north of Chennai.
17. Varahasvami on the banks of the great tank at Tirupati.
18. Note that the present icon of Venkatesvara has no hand resting on the waist, as is described here. See the note by Marupuru Kodandarama Reddi, ibid., 72.
19. Ekamranatha.
20. The goddess of Kancipuram, “with eyes of desire,” who worshiped Siva here as a linga of earth or sand.
21. Karigirindra, Vishnu in Kancipuram.
22. All Indian rivers, with the exception of the Brahmaputra, are perceived as feminine.
23. Kumbhesvara, Siva in Kumbhakonam.
24. Ahalya.
25. Surpanakha, who fell in love with Rama and was disfigured by Lakshmana. The compound tata-niśācarī-virūpatā-kṛta-priyā-vinoda is somewhat ambiguous; it could also mean that Rama plays with the woman he loves by making her (here: the demoness) ugly.
26. Marica, Ravana’s uncle.
27. King of the monkeys.
28. Vibhisana.
29. Trivandrum in Kerala.
30. In Indra’s heaven.
31. Krishna had offended his wife Satyabhama by giving her rival, Rukmini, a single flower from the Parijata tree in the Nandana Forest of heaven. To prove his love for Satyabhama, he promised her that he would bring her the whole tree, which he had to steal from Indra, king of the gods.
32. In Dvaraka, where Krishna transplanted the Parijata tree, and where Kalabhashini is now speaking with Manistambha.
33. Ascetics who perform such charged acts of self-discipline become Indras—kings of the gods—themselves. For this reason, Indra is always seeking intelligence about such potential threats in order to adopt countermeasures.
CHaPTer 3
Listen, son of Narasimha, new god of love. The goddess of wealth looks at you out of the corners of her eyes. You are the source of all right living, and ever attentive.
The Siddha, Manistambha, said to Kalabhashini, “Woman of intoxicating gaze, I came here to listen to your music, to feast my ears on a new kind of beauty. Please, pick up your vina and sing a little.” So she did. She passed the day singing for him.
[ Rambha Entices Manikandhara ]
While Kalabhashini was entertaining Manistambha, Rambha and her friends landed in the wooded area where Manikandhara was sitting. They looked like streaks of lightning that ha
d quarreled with the rainclouds and come down to earth, while their hair could have been those same dark clouds that, unable to bear this separation, followed after the lightning. Their light-red hands and feet seemed like a sunset out of time, and their fingernails glistened like stars. Their faces created the illusion of multiple moons. Anybody who saw them was dumbfounded.
Their eyes blue as lilies, they came down to the forest, which rose like a goddess to welcome them. The pollen of its flowers was Rambha’s yellow sari, dark bees were her long, tremulous hair, and the bird-cries were the jingling of her ornaments. Or, to put it differently, these women blended into the grove, their dark hair merging with the bees, their bodies with the vines, their breasts with burgeoning flowers, their delicate fingers with tender buds, their smiles with everything that blossomed. As they moved among the trees, these women became part of the forest, like water flowing into milk.
All was in harmony. Tigresses lay with eyes half-closed, like cows, while deer suckled at their breasts. Lions watched the deer playing while they went on scratching the elephants’ backs. Snakes were swaying to the song of bees that hovered over elephants’ temples, while mongooses were entertaining them. Rats clung to the side of snakes, and cats took care of the rats. Parrots were conversing with the sages who were at home in this forest, contemplating God. The women from heaven were amazed.
They saw Manikandhara, like purity personified, like all goodness in one place, like serenity made visible or seriousness made solid or truth poured into a grain bin, like a heap of dispassion, like Yoga with hands and feet, wisdom congealed in a ball. The women cupped their hands to their foreheads, bending toward his feet, and as they did so their black curls were caught between their fingers like dark bees trapped in a lotus that was folding its petals at the touch of the moonbeams coming from his crescent-like toenails. When they saw his fierce, unwavering stare—for he was deep in meditation—they retreated a little, out of fear.
The Sound of the Kiss Page 6
