10
Tamil Songs to God as Child
In Hindu tradition adherents can relate to their deity in a number of different ways—as an abstract entity, as the lord of the universe, or a lover, or a friend, or a child, for example. Building on this last alternative, the Hindu Tamil poetic tradition developed a genre of poetry called piḷḷaittamiḻ, in which the poet envisions, addresses himself to, and praises a god or goddess conceived of in the form of a baby. These verses became a way of expressing closeness and love toward the chosen deity, who is thought of as accessible and responsive to devotion. Until quite recently all the authors of this poetry were males, and even in the last decade few women have chosen to write in the piḷḷaittamiḻ genre. The question of the extent to which this genre represents women’s voices and concerns remains a vexed issue. On the one hand, we are dealing here with male constructions of the domestic sphere. On the other hand, similarities between some of the poetry and traditional lullabies that mothers have sung to their children suggest that women’s literary traditions have influenced the forms of the piḷḷaittamiḻ.
Although the vast majority of piḷḷaittamiḻs were written to Hindu deities, and Śaivite goddesses in particular, over the centuries other religious groups took up the genre. Muslim poets wrote a number of piḷḷaittamiḻs to Muḥammad and a few to selected female members of the Prophet’s family (one of his wives and his daughter), and to local Tamil Muslim holy men. Christian poets wrote several piḷḷaittamiḻs to Jesus and Mary. Within Hindu tradition there have also been piḷḷaittamiḻs written not just to deities but to saints, heads of monasteries, religious preceptors, and even Mohandas Gandhi. The meaning of the genre’s name, literally “Tamil [poetry] for a child (piḷḷai),” indicates that, despite the genre’s diversity in subject matter, one of its two distinguishing features remains portraying the subject of the poem as a child.
The other distinguishing feature is its highly conventionalized poetic structure. Piḷḷaittamiḻs are composed of ten sections or paruvams, and each paruvam usually consists of ten verses. Poetic tradition prescribes the subject matter for each paruvam; the first seven are always concerned with the following specific activities: 1. invoking protection from the gods for the baby; 2. encouraging the baby to sway gently back and forth; 3. encouraging the baby to prattle, moving its tongue (tala); 4. asking the infant to clap its hands; 5. requesting a kiss; 6. telling the child to come near; and 7. asking the moon to come and be a playmate for the child.
After the seventh paruvam, the conventions differ by gender. If the poem is addressed to a male, the last three paruvams ask the boy to beat on his little drum, beseech him not to knock down the little playhouses of the girls, and request that he pull his toy chariot. If the poet writes to a female, in contrast, the little girl is asked to play jacks, bathe in the river, and ride on a swing. Although the writer must work within the confines of this ten-paruvam system in order to produce a poem clearly recognizable as a piḷḷaittamiḻ, individual verses demonstrate how much opportunity exists for religious and poetic creativity.
The scope for creativity helps to explain the long, rich, and diverse history of the genre. The first extant piḷḷaittamiḻ written in a predominantly religious milieu, Tiruccentūr Piḷḷaittamiḻ [henceforth TCPT] by Pakaḻikkūttaṉ, appeared in about the early fifteenth century and is widely recognized as one of the greatest examples of the genre. In praise of Śiva’s son Murukaṉ, who is known, appropriately enough, for his youth, this poem celebrates him as manifested in the seaside shrine of Tiruccentūr. By the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the piḷḷaittamiḻ had become a mainstay of Śaivite devotional writing. Tamil tradition recognizes two piḷḷaittamiḻ poems from this period addressed to Śaivite goddesses as particularly sophisticated in their use of literary ornamentation and poetic conceits: Maturaimīṉaṭciyammai Piḷḷaittamiḻ [henceforth MMPT] by Kumarakuruparar, written to Śiva’s wife in the form of the fish-eyed goddess with the parrot perched on her shoulder, whom devotees worship at the large temple in the center of Madurai; and Kuḷattūr Amutāmpikai Piḷḷaittamiḻ [henceforth AAPT] by Civāñāṉa Cuvāmikaḷ, addressed to Śiva’s consort the goddess Amutam, whose temple is located outside of Madras. From among more than 350 Hindu piḷḷaittamiḻs, sections of these three texts have been chosen for translation here.
Excerpts from Muslim and Christian piḷḷaittamiḻs demonstrate the continuities and changes in nuance that occur when poets from other religious traditions appropriate the genre. Evidence suggests that more than twenty-five Muslim piḷḷaittamiḻs have been written. Presented here are selections from Napikaḷ Nāyakam Piḷḷaittamiḻ [henceforth NNPT], a poem in praise of the prophet Muḥammad. Seyyitu Anapiyyā Pulavar, who flourished in a literary milieu that valued both the popular veneration of the prophet and the love of Tamil literary forms, composed this poem, first published in 1833. Also included is a selection from a very recent (1985) Christian piḷḷaittamiḻ to Jesus titled lyēcupirāṉ Piḷḷaittamiḻ [henceforth IPPT] written by Arul Chelladurai, an engineer and poet whose aim was to express adoration for baby Jesus and admiration for modern science.
The reader encountering the piḷḷaittamiḻ genre for the first time needs to be aware of some of its characteristic topics and rhetorical strategies. (In this discussion, texts are referred to by both their poem number in the translations below and the abbreviated title and verse number in the original Tamil text.) A frequent subject of the piḷḷaittamiḻ is a description of a woman taking care of a baby. In Poem 1 (TCPT 28), for example, the mother lovingly tries a number of strategies to make baby Murukaṉ rest. She recites a head-to-foot litany of his glittering ornaments in an attempt to lull him to sleep, beginning with praise of the two kinds of earrings he wears, and working down to his jeweled anklets. Trying another tack, she asks him to consider his poor devotees, who are exhausted by trying to keep up with him. Next, she threatens him with the evil eye. When that does not work, she tempts him to slumber by describing the rich gems that adorn his cradle. In resignation, she asks the baby to lie and suck his finger, hoping that he will eventually fall asleep. This choice of subject matter enables the poet to suggest the love, commitment, and occasional disappointment that a devotee can feel toward a deity.
One of the most intriguing rhetorical techniques found in piḷḷaittamiḻ poetry involves juxtaposing stanzas that present the deity as a tiny baby with lines that present the deity as an adult capable of performing salvific deeds. Consider, as an example, poem 3 (TCPT 54). The body of this section emphasizes baby Murukaṉ’s smallness and vulnerability: he takes such tiny steps, needs his mother to keep him clean, and depends upon her for nourishment. But the refrain at the end abruptly reverses the reader’s perceptions of the deity, describing the baby as powerful and located in his own shrine. The poet specifically praises Murukaṉ’s sharp spear, reminding his audience of the deity’s salvific deeds as killer of demons. He praises the god’s power to bring wealth by describing his shrine, using imagery that shows how his divine presence there has enriched the surrounding land and brought prosperity to its owners. The comfortable mother-son domesticity of the main part of the poem thus contrasts with the message of the refrain. By juxtaposing the two, the poet reminds us that the deity is both as accessible as a tiny baby and as powerful as a salvific adult deity.
Because piḷḷaittamiḻ poetry deals with household life, one tends to find poets appropriating, highlighting, and investing with religious meaning incidents in the domestic sphere, as can be seen in poem 5 (MMPT 15). The poem begins by describing the construction of an unusual dwelling, whose identity is unlocked through the key of Hindu cosmological symbolism. Its walls support the Cakravāla Range, that set of mountains believed to surround the cosmos. Mount Meru, the column that Hindu myths describe as linking heaven and earth, serves as its central pillar. The vast sky, illuminated by the sun and the moon, functions as a roof for the house. Thus when the goddess builds her home, she performs a cosmogonic act, establishing the world. Not only does she create, she must save the world from her husband Śiva. In this poem, the soiling of dishes stands for Śiva’s repeated destruction of the universe. Despite his mad acts of destruction, the goddess never becomes angry. Instead, she simply begins her task of washing the dishes anew, recreating the universe. Here baby Mīṉāṭci’s playing house becomes a metaphor for ensuring the continued welfare of the universe.
If these three examples have shown how the child motif shapes the subject matter and religious import of piḷḷaittamiḻ poetry, the other distinguishing feature, its paruvam structure, also significantly influences poetic form and religious meaning. An examination of sections from the same paruvam in different poems will suggest some of the diverse aesthetic and rhetorical effects of the structure. Poems 6, 7, and 8 come from the paruvam in which the speaker asks the moon to come down and play with the baby. Tamil tradition considers this paruvam to be both the most difficult and the most challenging to poets, and commentators have identified four commonly used rhetorical strategies: in some cases the mother tries to convince the moon that he and the baby share so many similarities that they would make excellent companions; in others, the mother proves to the moon that the baby is so superior that the moon, as an inferior, must come to be the baby’s playmate; the mother may also offer the moon gifts in exchange for coming; and finally she may threaten the moon with punishment if he does not come.
In poem 6 (TCPT 68), a carefully detailed threat lies beneath a seemingly polite invitation to the moon. According to Hindu tradition, a miraculous ambrosia that, if swallowed, would enable one to live forever, lay at the bottom of the sea. In order to bring this liquid to the surface, the gods determined to churn the ocean. Using Mount Mandara turned upside down as the churn and a snake wrapped around it as a churning rope, the gods raised the ambrosia to the surface. As a by-product of the churning, they also produced the moon. The speaker inquires, in a way that implies that she already knows the answer, whether all of the principal items and actors in the famous churning event are still available. Then she conveys how much little Murukaṉ wants the moon to be his playmate, noting that the deity always gets what he wants. The implication is that if this moon refuses her request, the gods can surely churn out another one that will be more cooperative.
Poem 7 (IPPT 61), in contrast, adopts the strategy of noting similarities between the moon and baby Jesus. In a feat of poetic virtuosity, as well as astronomical observation, the poet manages to fit eight similarities between Jesus and the moon into the body of this short section. By punning or using phrases that can be interpreted in two ways, the poet creates a series of descriptions that can apply to either the moon or Jesus. For example, the first line suggests both that the moon receives light from another source, the sun, and that Jesus receives his light from the Father. Just as the moon rises while people watch from below, Jesus ascended to heaven. Similarly, just as we know that the moon is in fact very large, though we see it as a small white disk in the sky, Lord Jesus conceals his large form in a small white wafer. Each of the eight comparisons demonstrates how similar baby Jesus and the moon are. The end of the poem draws the logical conclusion from this evidence—namely, that the two would be perfect companions.
Poems 9, 10, and 11 provide contrasting examples of the paruvam in which the poet takes on the voice of a group of young girls and asks the young boy not to knock over their little houses made of sand. One is by a Hindu poet and the other two by a Muslim. In Poem 9 (TCPT 84) the poet plays with the notion of domesticity, creating a charming verse about the clever ways that girls fabricate the elements of nurturing. In this verse the girls build their house and then stock it with the equipment and ingredients for cooking. Conches function as pots, honey as cooking liquid, pearls as grains of rice, and flower petals as vegetables and spices. Because the girls fear that Murakaṉ might destroy their carefully created home, the paruvam culminates with their poignant plea to be saved from such destruction. “See how eagerly we cook our precious rice. Don’t destroy our little houses,” shows their desire to please and their fear of his tremendous power; their words have the tone of supplication to a deity. The refrain of this verse serves to remind the hearer of Murakaṉ’s power; his feet are redolent from the head of Indra, king of the gods, because the latter has bowed in submission to him. The verse suggests that without the divine compassion of Murukaṉ, the domestic existence of everyday life would be endangered. Thus this “play” domesticity becomes the occasion for seeking protection from god.
In contrast, poems 10 (NNPT 85) and 11 (NNPT 91) take the basic premises of this paruvam and turn the focus from domestic concerns to martial ones. Focus shifts from the little girls’ playhouses to the military threat of the situation. The girls question why baby Muḥammad considers attacking their little houses, when it would be more appropriate for him to attack the houses where sinners live. In the process of making their argument, the girls also provide religious instruction to their audience, identifying those thought to lack virtue in Islam—people who ignore the learned, those who are miserly, or unjust, the denigrators, and the wicked. This comparison between Hindu and Muslim poems indicates the range of sentiments that can be expressed within a given paruvam.
Piḷḷaittamiḻ paruvams can also provide a structure with which to explicate the nature of complex theological systems. Poem 12 (AAPT 102), for example, belongs in the paruvam in which the poet urges the little girl to play on a swing. The poet uses parts of the swing as components of an elaborate religious allegory based on the theology of Śaiva Siddhānta, one of the major schools of thought in south Indian Śaivite tradition. The activity of swinging stands for living a deluded life. The parts of the swing—illusion, egotism, the karmic consequences of actions, the grossness of matter—all function to keep the individual self in a state of ignorance. The truth is veiled by the deity; most people do not realize the nature of reality. Although the verse indicates that the goddess has created this entrapment for people, it reveals the grace of the goddess as well. She will protect them from destruction at the end of the aeon and help them to attain religious liberation. At that point, like a true mother, she will feed her children, but in this case she will feed them a particularly satisfying meal—the sweet nectar of eternal bliss.
The piḷḷaittamiḻ genre reveals how poets have appropriated the language of domesticity, traditionally identified with the women’s sphere, into religious poetry. Although many religious poets use the language of lover and beloved to describe the relationship between devotee and deity (as other translations in this volumes demonstrate), the piḷḷaittamiḻ provides an alternative mode of devotional expression. Until quite recently in the West, assumptions about the nature of literary masterpieces have resulted in the exclusion from the canon many works of literature whose contents were considered domestic and therefore, minor or secondary. In piḷḷaittamiḻ poetry, images of domesticity are used in the service of praising and expressing devotion to one’s chosen deity, an act considered not at all minor in South Asian culture. Rather than being denigrated, the domestic has been elevated as a means of expressing the highest kind of sentiment—love for a god or goddess.
This genre also demonstrates how dramatically poetic structures shape the expression of religious devotion. Because the piḷḷaittamiḻ is defined by the presence of the ten paruvams, we find poets shaping their expressions of praise within the framework of a particular set of activities, no matter what the individual deity’s corpus of mythology. Religious sentiments take form through the prescriptions of the genre.
Finally, it is notable that a number of different religious traditions express feelings of devotion by adopting the same Tamil literary genre. Despite the variation in nuance among different religious traditions, the fact that Hindus, Muslims, and Christians—with very different concepts of divinity, notions of virtuous behavior, and ideas of community—adopt the same literary form suggests that the form possesses adaptability and scope despite its seemingly highly structured format. Viewing the piḷḷaittamiḻ as a multireligious genre also moves us away from exclusive categories like “Hindu” or “Muslim” or “Christian” toward a notion of Indian religion that encompasses many different strands, which share and exchange certain literary characteristics and modes of expression.
TCPT, MMPT, and AAPT are found in Piḷḷaittamiḻkkottu, 2 vols. (Tinnevelly: South India Śaiva Siddhanta Works Publishing Society, 1970 and 1979). NNP is found in Seyyitu Anapiyyā Pulavar, Napikaḷ Nāyakam Piḷḷaittamiḻ (Colombo: Publication Committee of the Sea Street Meelaad, 1975). IIPT is found in Araḷ Cellatturai, lyēcupirāṉ Piḷḷaittamiḻ (Tirucchirappalli: Aruḷ Vākku Maṉṟam, 1985).
1 [To Murukaṉ]: Prattle
Who hasn’t seen the beauty of
your earring studs
your dangling earrings
your twelve arms, heavy with garlands
your six faces, radiant in unchanging kingly splendor
your waist-string
your leglet
your loin-gem like lightning
your ankle bells and other jewels?
Look at those who fall at your feet:
dust has fallen on their soft fragrant hair,
their limbs grow weak,
and their bellies are shrunken.
If you crawl all over,
the evil eye may harm you
and bad things will happen.
Nothing good will come of it.
Come to sleep on the grand bed
inlaid with gold and gems from mountains.
Child who is my life,
you smile beautifully
but you don’t go to sleep.
Won’t you just lie and enjoy
the ambrosia of your finger?
Won’t you speak sweetly?
Skanda, who makes prosperous
the rich city of southern Centūr,
where the waves dash,
O little one begotten by Śiva,
tāla, tālelō.
Son of the supreme goddess,
boy worshiped by Brahmā and Pārvatī,
tāla, tālelō.
TCPT 28
2 [To Muḥammad]: Prattle
Your cradle’s wheel
resembles the rich golden wheel of the sun,
so bright it blinds the eye.
Your cradle
is like the sky chariot,
that the lord of the star-filled sky
joyously rides.
Its frame is inlaid
with gems so full of color
that they radiate sunlight,
as if lightning were stolen from the sky.
The tips of the cradle’s legs
are like pots
made of shining green emeralds.
It has chains
made of pure gold.
Celestial women sing you lullabies
while eminent celestial men praise you.
Prophet Qāsim [Muḥammad],
who sits rocking back and forth so wonderfully
that it overwhelms the eye, tālelō.
Ocean of mercy, tālelō.
Friend full of wisdom, tālelō.
NNPT 24
3 [To Murukaṉ]: Come
Come so I can fasten your waist-string, adorned with rare jewels.
Come so I can slip a ring ‘round your finger.
Come so I can place a tilak on your forehead.
Come and play in the lane.
Come let me take you to my lap and hug you.
Come so I can bathe you in fresh rose water.
Come drink ambrosia from my full breasts.
Come so you can get kisses.
Come let me wipe the dust from your body.
Come and speak a few words.
Come so I can watch your tiny steps.
Come, Murukaṉ with the sharp spear,
of Tiruccentūr,
where towering houses abound
with lustrous gems.
Come, husband of Vaḷḷi,
the woman whose budding breasts,
adorned with sandalpaste,
are like tender coconuts.
TCPT 54
4 [To Muḥammad]: Come
Come so I can bedeck, with anklets and bells,
your feet like day-blooming lotuses.
Come so I can put on, with delight,
your warrior’s anklets that confound the enemies
who battle you, as the ocean wars against the land.
Come so I can adorn you with tinkling jewels.
Come so I can anoint with attar, rose water,
the four perfumes, and excellent sandalpaste
your shoulders and chest like tall mountains
and lovingly clothe you.
So I can place you in the cradle
and rock you with delight,
come joyously.
Muḥammad, who has the truth,
come joyously, come.
NNPT 57
5 [To Mīṉāṭci]: Sway Back and Forth
You prop up the eight mountains
to support the high encircling Cakravāla Range.
You plant Mount Meru in the middle
as a pillar.
You cover the top of the sky,
then you hang the sun and moon as lamps.
In the dashing waters
you wash the old cooking vessels—
all the worlds—
and stack them up.
Then you cook sweet ambrosia
from fresh food.
Mother, you’ve done this many times.
While you do this
the great madman with the umattai flower
wanders through the courtyard of space
destroying your work again and again,
and then comes before you
dancing.
You never get angry.
Every day,
you just pick up the vessels.
Tender young girl
who plays house
with the ancient universe,
sway back and forth.
Only daughter of the southern king
and the king of the Himalayas,
sway back and forth.
MMPT 15
6 [To Murukaṉ]: Moon
The ancient Mandara Mountains still exist
so we can churn sweet ambrosia like in the old days,
can’t we?
The wide ocean—that deep moat—didn’t turn to mud
and dry up into a bed of sand,
did it?
Did Indra and his gods in the sky die?
Did a huge darkness settle in?
Did the seven outer worlds become empty?
The huge snake Vasuki,
his long teeth flowing with poison,
didn’t split into pieces,
did he?
Incomparable Vāli still has a tail,
doesn’t he?
Foolish moon,
what isn’t possible
if this boy wants it?
So moon,
come and play with the Lord of the gods—
the one from Tiruccentūr
with the sharp spear.
Moon, come and play with Murukaṉ
who rides a peacock,
making the steep mountains tremble.
TCPT 68
7 [To Jesus]: Moon
Since you receive light from another source
Since you rise into the high skies,
while many people watch
Since you receive life again,
even though your body dies
Since you remove the darkness of the world
by your light
Since you conceal your large form
in a round white disk
Since you carry a blemish
Since those who look at stars [the wise men]
sought you
Since you give light for everyone,
being appropriate for supplicants
Since the hero of my poem, the Lord who was born of a virgin girl who conceived through the Holy Spirit
is like you,
moon of the beautiful sky,
it is right that you immediately agree
to rejoice and happily play.
With him who is united with Tamil
that flows like a waterfall,
O moon, come to play.
With the son of God seated
on the right side of gracious God,
O moon, come to play.
IPPT 61
8 [To Amutāmpikai]: Moon
All of these—
the Gaṅgā River
snakes
the tumpai flower
a thickly-woven garland of pure, golden cassia flowers
a skull
the feather of a crane
fragrant umattam flowers, from which fragrant honey drips,
Agni
the erukku plant
cool aruku grass
the celestial mantaram flowers,
showered from above by the gods,
and flowers picked and strewn by the sages—
they stay [as does the moon]
in the Lord’s forest of matted hair.
Therefore,
you have nothing but a tiny claim
on that place,
do you?
But the goddess lives, taking as her own
exactly one half of all
of the flawless thirty-two parts
of Śiva’s body.
So, she is greater than you.
Of that there is no doubt.
Come, then, moon, to play with her.
Come to play with Amutavaḷḷi from Kuḷattūr,
whose beauty ever increases.
AAPT 65
9 [To Murukaṉ]: Little Houses
We little girls
make the outer walls
of our playhouse
with pearls from golden conches
that surround the fragrant golden water.
We make our cooking pots
from right-whirling conches.
We fill the pots with rich honey,
produced when buds break
in the seed pods of red lotuses
growing in newly planted fields.
We cook our rice,
made of pearls found in bamboo.
We make our curry
from freshly picked bunches of flowers
grown in a grove
as fragrant as rose water.
See how eagerly we cook
our precious rice.
Don’t destroy our little house,
with your fair young feet,
redolent from the head of Indra.
Don’t destroy our little house,
rich one of Tiraccentūr,
where waves wash up pearls.
TCPT 84
10 [To Muḥammad]: Little Houses
Don’t you know the homes
of fools who ignore learned scholars’ words
that elucidate the ocean of knowledge?
Don’t you recognize the houses
of embittered men who refuse to give alms
for the sake of our precious God?
Don’t you see the abodes
of treacherous people who plead legal suits
that violate justice?
Haven’t you noticed the dwellings
of those who despise scholars
of the revealed books of God?
This is not the house of wicked people
who cause hardship and destruction,
is it?
Don’t destroy the little houses
made by us little ones who play in the sand
with our little friends.
Noble Messenger Muḥammad,
don’t destroy our little houses.
NNPT 85
11 [To Muḥammad]: Little Houses
Thinking that there is one God who created
all the worlds filled with entities,
you confronted the sinful infidels,
who lacked devotion.
You defeated and drove away those infidels,
who came to raze beautiful houses
surrounded by pools and walls.
King who protected us by destroying
their houses like mountain fortresses,
if you have destruction on your mind,
to whom will we confide our misery?
Therefore, precious gem
who is light from the Great One,
don’t destroy the little houses
of your servants and believers.
Muḥammad, prophet for the world,
don’t destroy the little houses
of your servants.
NNPT 91
12 [To Amutāmpikai]: Swing
With cruel illusion, both pure and impure,
as pillars,
dark egotism
as the long beam that joins the pillars,
huge accumulations of karma
as the hanging ropes,
matter as the seat,
the endless sky and million of worlds
as the space where souls joyfully play,
you place the children—
those precious souls—
on the jeweled swings,
that are death, birth, and disease.
Then you swing them.
And at the end of the yuga
you pick them up and hug them so that
they will not be destroyed.
You grant them great knowledge
and drive them on to exalted supreme mokṣa.
Then you feed them the ambrosia
of endless bliss.
You, who have raised them
as a true mother,
play on the golden swing.
Play on the swing,
one seated on the lotus,
who granted grace to the full moon.
AAPT 102
13 [To Muḥammad]: Beat Your Little Drum
The entire celestial world
totters [on Judgment Day].
The seven clouds
turn frenzied with terror.
Meru and the eight mountains
that touch the skies
tremble.
The oceans
shake.
The whole earth
quakes.
The celestial serpent
reels.
The elephants of the eight directions
spill out rut, stunned.
The sky,
so vast it overwhelms the eye,
is startled.
The moon and sun
feel disturbed,
cannot maintain their positions,
and disperse, along with their horses.
With your true, strong, shapely hands,
beat your little dram.
Muḥammad with the shade-giving parasol
of thick clouds,
beat your little drum.
NNPT 79