043 Thiruveḷḷaṛai

O divine lord who came as Parasuraman carrying a mazhu and conquered many kings for twenty-seven generations, you stay in Thiruveḷḷaṛai where fragrant breezes enter the mango groves and the mandrams and make the jasmine and mullai bloom. Give me your grace and show me a way to reach and worship your ankleted feet .

You who, taking the form of a horse, brought the Vedas and taught them to the sages when Nānmuhan, seated on a lotus had lost them stay in Thiruveḷḷaṛai where a breeze blows though the tall Madhavi trees and spreads fragrance through all the streets and in the groves and in all directions. Give us your grace.

You who split open the chest of the cruel Hiraṇyan with your long claws when he afflicted the people of all the seven worlds and killed him stay in Thiruveḷḷarai where in the beautiful ponds dark varāl fish frolic and play and lotus plants spread divine fragrance. Give me your grace.

You, the god of the Thiruvenkaṭam hills filled with bamboo, who drove the chariot for Arjuna in the Bharatha war and helped him conquer the Kauravas with galloping horses, and gave their kingdom to the five Pandavas stay in Thiruveḷḷarai where the beautiful cuckoo plucks pollen from the flowers of the mango trees and then, to take away the sour taste, drinks the honey-like juice of sweet jackfruit. Give us your loving grace.

You who as a boar split open the earth, went beneath the ocean and brought up the earth goddess with beautiful spear-like eyes when she was hidden by an Asuran stay in Thiruveḷḷarai where mullai plants in the forest climb on the sugarcane, seeming to smile with their white buds and blossoms as bees drink their honey. Give me your grace.

You, the ancient lord took the form of a turtle and helped the gods and the Asurans churn the milky ocean to get the nectar that you gave only to the gods who, adorned with beautiful crowns, worshiped you. You stay in Thiruveḷḷarai where bees that have lovers’ quarrels with their mates fly to the hair of beautiful women and the tops of the palaces touch the moon. I am your slave. Give me your grace.

You who bent your bow and cut down the ten heads of the Rākshasa Rāvaṇa adorned with long crowns stay in Thiruveḷḷaṛai where bees sing sweetly drinking honey from flourishing lotus flowers with green emerald-like leaves. Give me your grace.

When the world grew dark and everyone became dull-witted, and the gods in the sky worshiped you asking you to give them knowledge, you took the form of a swan and taught them the Vedas. You stay in Thiruveḷḷaṛai where surumbu bees and many kinds of other bees swarm around the blooming screw pine plants and mango trees singing beautifully with the sound “tena tena.” Give me your grace.

You, the highest one, who went to the sacrifice of king Mahabali, begged him for three feet of land and then cleverly measured the earth and the sky with your two feet stay in Thiruveḷḷaṛai filled with groves where bees fly to the asoka trees and swarm around their red flowers and the cuckoo birds coo loudly when they see those red flowers because they think that the bees have caught fire. I worship you. Give me your grace.

Kaliyan, the poet skilled at throwing poisoned spears in battle, composed ten pāsurams on the ancient god, the nectar, the divine, whose color is dark as kohl who stays in Thiruveḷḷarai filled with shining palaces over which clouds float. If devotees sing these ten pāsurams without pausing they will become the kings of the gods.