Ponniyin Selvan continues its epic tale of ambition and betrayal, beautifully translated by Gowri Ramnarayan. Don’t miss the exclusive excerpt!
It is the twilight hour at Kodikkarai. Peace reigns on land and sea. Fishing boats and catamarans are returning to the shore. The seabirds are flying home after ranging over the coastal waters in search of prey.
The beach is carpeted with white sand. Beyond the sandy stretch, the wilderness spreads thick and far. No branch moves on the trees, no leaf stirs. Silence prevails everywhere. The reddening sun hastens to sink on the horizon, while still lighting up the few clouds trying to hide his crimson rays.
A small boat floats on the waters close to the shore. Little waves rock the boat like an infant’s cradle.
A young girl is seated on the boat. As soon as we set eyes on her, we are reminded of Sendan Amudan’s description of his uncle’s daughter. Yes, she has to be Poonkuzhali—the girl with the flower in her hair. True to her name, a single screw pine petal is tucked into her long black tresses cascading over her strong, chiselled shoulders. She wears a necklace of shells and conches that had been washed ashore. These adornments gain in beauty because she is wearing them.
Leaning lithely on the boat, Poonkuzhali begins to sing. Does the sea lull its waves to hear her song? Do the gusting breezes waft in slow motion to catch those strains? The trees in the distant woods cease rustling, while the earth and sky remain unmoving. Entranced by her song, the sun halts on the horizon unwilling to sink into the sea. Let us listen to the song as it comes floating on the breeze.
When the restless ocean lies tranquil,
why do inner tides seethe and churn?
When the earth is buried in slumber,
why does a cussed heart heave and burn?
See, how birds of the wilderness
now wing their way to their nests.
See, how the hunters and tribesmen
turn homeward for a night of rest.
They lie plunged in an ancient silence,
both land and sky in a swoon.
Why then is a doe-eyed woman’s heart
seized by a nameless typhoon?
The sea is swathed in stillness
and the breezes blow, tender and balmy.
Why then is a woman’s heart battered,
by these night gales, swirling and stormy?
When the restless ocean lies tranquil,
why do inner tides seethe and churn?
When the earth is buried in slumber,
why does a cussed heart heave and burn?
The grief in her heart remains unknown. The pain in her voice remains untold. Was the song shaped with tears? Why should her melody overwhelm us? Why does it break our hearts? Poonkuzhali ceases singing. She plies the oars until the boat reaches the shore. She skips out, drags her boat towards the catamarans heaped together on the beach and props her boat against them.
There! The fire has been lit on top of the lighthouse. The flames will keep burning all night to warn the ships to keep off the coast. The waters are extremely shallow all along the Kodikkarai shore. Only small boats and catamarans can land there. Large ships would be mired in the sands. And if they approached at a high speed, they could run aground and be splintered. The Kodikkarai lighthouse renders a great service to seamen.
In the middle of the woods on the other side, a temple spire rises above trees squat and thick. The god Kuzhagar is enshrined under it. Two hundred years before our story begins, the poet Sundarar had visited Kodikkarai, worshipped the god who dwelt in the lonely woods and sang in distress, ‘Alas! Lord! Why do you dwell in the middle of these mangrove woods, alone, with no one for company? When there are scores of sacred towns, thronged by crowds of pilgrims singing your praises, why have you chosen to remain in this dreadful forest, in utter solitude?’
In the wild, beside the sea
Where biting winds do sharply blow
My sinful eyes are forced to see
You standing still in solitude
Forlorn—
With none to bear you company
My Lord!
What’s the harm if you should dwell
In bustling towns with devotees,
Whose chants and songs and praises swell
In joyful bursts of jubilance?
But you—
Still linger in this thorny dell
Dear Lord!
The grief in her heart remains unknown. The pain in her voice remains untold. Was the song shaped with tears? Why should her melody overwhelm us? Why does it break our hearts?
Poonkuzhali ceases singing. She plies the oars until the boat reaches the shore. She skips out, drags her boat towards the catamarans heaped together on the beach and props her boat against them.
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