The Village Beauty
"Beloved! To appear more handsome before the gods,
Shiva adorned his brow with the fair crescent of the moon, but he lost this
crown when the moon became your pale forehead. The limbless god of Love
gave up his bow to make your dark eyebrows, for it is not the law of war that
the victor takes his weapon from the vanquished?
"Leaving the gods at the mercy of the demons, Indra
their king gave up his double-trident thunderbolt, that your waist might be
wrought from its steel, for you are a treasure rarer than the life of the
immortals. Against his nature, the beauteous young Murugan, six-faced god
of War, gave up his fiery arrowheads so that your long eyes with their blood-red
inner corners might frighten away the dark clouds of your hair. Shamed by
your complexion, the peacock ran into the woods to hide his jeweled robes.
Radiant maiden, your sinuous walk so shamed the swan that now he stays hidden
among the cool lotuses in the ponds.
"To hear your
voice, soft as the ancient harp called yal and sweeter than nectar, the green
parrot keeps silent. Woman of noble gait, he perches, drunk with pleasure,
on the flower of your hand.
"O girl with the
blossom-scented hair, the weight of jewels and the art of your maids add nothing
to your loveliness. Save for those few flowers in your hair, what need
have you of these heavy garlands? Why anoint with musk these tresses that
the humble myrrh makes fragrant? Why these ropes of pearls when your
breasts are already traced with arabesques of sandal paste? A foolish
vanity has laden you with ornaments that bend your too frail waist and bring
these tear-like pearls of perspiration to your tender brow. Set in pure
gold, you are yourself a jewel without rival.
"You are
the pure perfume, the sweet sugar cane, the translucent honey, on which I feast.
Your grace is a ritual, your lips a spring of nectar. Noble maiden born of
a noble line of merchants! You are a precious stone that has never known
the darkness of a mountain mine. You are a nectar more fragrant than that
distilled from sea foam, you are a harmony such as never arose from the strings
of a harp. Your floating hair is darker than the night."
The Shilappadikaram- Prince Ilango Adigal
