Tiruppavai

O jewel-adorned girls of the prosperous cowherd settlement of Ayarpadi, come — in the holy month of Margazhi, when the moon is full and bright, let us go to bathe.

He is the son of Nandagopan, who wields a sharp spear and deals ruthlessly with any foe; He is the young lion cub of the lovely-eyed Yashoda. With a dark cloud-like body, lotus-red eyes, and a face like the radiant moon, the Lord Narayana will surely grant us the drum as our boon, so that all the world may praise us.

O you who live in this world! Listen to the rites we perform for our Pavai observance.

We sing the praises of the Lord reclining gently on the Milk Ocean.

We shall not eat ghee; we shall not drink milk; we shall bathe at dawn.

We shall not apply collyrium; we shall not adorn our hair with flowers.

We shall do nothing forbidden; we shall not spread evil gossip.

We shall offer charity and alms to all who come.

Thinking thus of the path to salvation, with joy we observe this sacred Pavai vow!

Singing the names of the Supreme One who grew tall and measured the worlds, if we bathe under the pretense of our Pavai vow,

then, without any harm, the whole country will receive the right rains each month, and fish will leap among the tall, healthy paddy stalks,

while beautiful bees sleep in the blue water-lily buds; without hesitation, reaching in and holding the fine udders with both hands,

the generous great cows will fill the pails to the brim — such is the unfailing wealth that will stay with us, complete. O our vow!

O Lord with eyes like the rain-laden sea! Do not withhold even a single drop —

enter the ocean, scoop it up with a roar, and rise, Your body darkening like the form of the Primordial One;

flash like the discus and stand resounding like the conch in mighty-shouldered Padmanabha's hand, and without delay, like the arrow-rain loosed from the Sarnga bow,

pour down rain so the world may live, and let us too joyfully bathe in Margazhi. O our vow!

We sing of the Wondrous One, the ever-present son of Madhura, the Lord who plays on the banks of the pure, deep Yamuna,

who rose like a lamp within the cowherd clan, and who made His mother Yashoda's womb meaningful — Damodara, who let himself be bound by a small rope.

Coming to You with purity, we offer pure flowers and bow; we sing Your names with our mouths and meditate on You in our minds;

and the sins we committed before, and any we commit without realizing even now, will all burn away like cotton cast into fire — so sing His name.

The birds are calling, in the temple of the Lord who rides Garuda, king of birds — do you not hear the great sound of the white conch being blown to wake Him?

O child, wake up! Think in your heart of Him who drank the poison from the demoness Putana's breast, and who kicked and shattered the wicked cart-demon,

of Him who lies gracefully upon the serpent-bed in the milky flood, the very seed of all creation — while sages and yogis slowly rise,

chanting His name 'Hari' in a great, resounding voice — let that sound enter our hearts and fill us with joy. O our vow!

The sparrows are everywhere, calling 'kichu-kichu' as they talk among themselves — have you not heard their chatter, O foolish girl?

The cowherd women's coin-necklaces and bud-necklaces jingle as they move their hands, and their fragrant hair sways,

and have you not heard the sound of the curd being churned, loud with the beat of the churning-rod?

O leader among us girls, as we sing of Kesava, the very form of Narayana, are you still lying there listening and not rising? O radiant one, open the door! O our vow!

The eastern sky has turned white, and the buffaloes are let out in small herds to graze;

many other girls, who were just leaving, we stopped and kept here, and have come to call you,

O fortunate girl favored by Krishna — rise, sing, and receive the sacred drum;

if we go and worship the God of gods, who split open the horse-demon's mouth and brought down the wrestlers, He will ask after us with concern and grant us His grace. O our vow!

In this house of flawless gems, with lamps burning all around and fragrant incense smoke spreading, as you sleep upon your bed,

O daughter of my uncle, open the bolt of your gem-studded door! O aunt, will you not wake her?

Is your daughter mute, or deaf, or merely drowsy —

or has she fallen under some spell that brought on this endless sleep? We have called out so many names — the great illusionist, Madhava, Lord of Vaikuntha — again and again. O our vow!

O mother who attained heaven through penance!

Will those who do not open the door give any reply?

The Lord Narayana, with the fragrant tulasi garland, will grant us the drum through our praise.

Did He, the holy One, once give you deep sleep to defeat Kumbhakarna, who fell into the mouth of death?

O one with great slumber, O precious gem! Come clearly and open the door, O our Pavai!

O golden creeper of the cowherds who milk many herds of cows, who go to battle to destroy the strength of enemies, who are without any fault!

O serpent-waisted peacock of the forest! Come, all your friends have entered your courtyard singing the name of the cloud-hued Lord.

Do not delay or speak, O wealthy girl! Why do you sleep, O our Pavai?

The young buffalo, calling out in desperation out of love for her calf, thinks only of it, and her milk pours out on its own from her udders, soaking the whole house into a mire —

O sister of that fine cowherd whose wealth is to serve Krishna! We stand here holding the beam of your doorway while the morning mist falls on our heads,

and we sing of Him who is sweet to the heart, who slew the king of southern Lanka in anger — yet still you do not open your mouth to speak!

Now at least, get up — what is this great sleep? The whole household already knows of it!

Singing the glory of the One who tore apart the beak of the bird-demon, and who casually destroyed the wicked demon king (Ravana),

all the girls have entered the place marked for our Pavai vow; Venus has risen and Jupiter has set,

the birds too are stirring, O you with eyes like deer and flowers — without plunging into the cool, refreshing water to bathe,

are you still lying in bed, O fortunate girl? On this good day, set aside your reluctance and join us. O our vow!

In your backyard garden pond, the red lotuses have opened, and the water-lilies have closed —

and the ochre-clad, white-toothed ascetics are already on their way to sound the conch in their temples.

O you who promised with your own mouth that you would wake us first — O good one, shameless one, O you with a quick tongue —

wake up now, and sing of the lotus-eyed Lord with mighty hands, who holds the conch and discus. O our vow!

Wow, O young parrot! Are you still sleeping even now? — I will not call you harshly, dear friends, I am coming right away,

you are clever with words, we have long known your way of talking much and doing little — if it is you who speak so boldly, then let me be the one who is at fault,

get up quickly — what separate plans do you have for yourself? — has everyone really come? They have come; go out and count them yourself,

and sing of the Wondrous One who slew the mighty elephant and who can destroy the strength of every foe.

O guardian of the temple of Nandagopan, our chief,

and guardian of the flag-bedecked festal gateway — open the bolt of the gem-studded door, for us young cowherd girls!

The wondrous Lord of sapphire hue promised us, just yesterday, to give us the sounding drum; pure in heart we have come,

to sing and wake Him from His sleep. O Mother, do not refuse us with Your very first word — open this door that holds such love for Him. O our vow!

O Lord Nandagopa, our master, who gives everyone clothes, water, and rice as acts of righteousness — wake up!

O tender shoot among women who bloom like flowering vines, O lamp of the cowherd clan, O Yashoda our queen — wake up!

O King of the immortals, who pierced the sky and rose high to measure all the worlds — without sleeping any longer, rise up!

O Baladeva of the radiant golden anklet-feet — may you and your brother not sleep any more. O our vow!

O daughter-in-law of Nandagopalan, strong-shouldered like a musth elephant that never retreats, O Nappinnai!

O you whose fragrant tresses spread their scent — open the door; see, the roosters are crowing on every side,

and the cuckoos are calling again and again from the Madhavi-flower bower — O you with ball-playing fingers,

come, with your red lotus hands making your fine bangles jingle, and open the door with joy, to sing the names of your own husband. O our vow!

With the bright lamps lit, climbing onto the soft, cotton-soft mattress spread upon the cot whose legs are carved like elephant tusks,

O Nappinnai of the flower-laden locks, upon whose breast the flower-chested Lord rests His head — open Your mouth and speak to us!

O one with wide, kohl-dark eyes, even for a moment You will not let Your beloved husband rise from His sleep;

unable to bear separation from Him even briefly — this is not Your true nature, nor is it fitting. O our vow!

O mighty one who goes even before the thirty-three crore gods ask, and removes their fear — rise from Your sleep!

O pure one who is honest and strong, who brings heat upon those who oppose You — rise from Your sleep!

O Nappinnai, lady with soft breasts like a golden pot, red lips, and a slender waist, O fortune itself — rise from Your sleep!

Give us the fan and the mirror, and together with Your own beloved lord, bathe us in His presence right now.

The generous, great cows pour forth their milk so freely that every vessel set to receive it overflows and spills beyond its brim without pause —

O son of the one who owns such abundant wealth, please rise and wake!

O You of great resolve, O Great One, O radiant light who stood manifest in this world — rise from Your sleep!

As Your enemies, their strength spent, come helplessly to Your doorway and bow at Your feet, so too have we come, praising and glorifying You.

Kings of this beautiful, vast world come, having lost all their pride, and gather like an assembly beneath your royal bed —

just as they do, we too have come and approached you. Like a lotus just beginning to open, like the small opening of a kinginiy bell,

won't you open your reddish eyes little by little and look upon us? If you gaze on us with both your lovely eyes,

as the moon and the sun rise together, all our sorrow will fall away and be destroyed.

As the majestic lion, deeply at rest in its mountain cave through the rainy season, awakens, opens its fiery eyes, and shakes its body on every side

so that its fragrant mane rises, stands erect, roars, and comes striding out of its den —

so too may You come, O Lord of the hue of the kayampoo flower, out from Your own temple to this place,

and seated upon Your grand and fitting throne, graciously inquire into and grant the purpose for which we have come.

Hail to the feet that once measured all these worlds! Hail to the strength that went and destroyed southern Lanka!

Hail to the glory that kicked the cart demon and broke it! Hail to the ankles that flung the calf like a sling at the fruit demon!

Hail to the goodness that lifted the hill as an umbrella! Hail to the spear in your hand that wins over every foe and destroys it!

Praising your valor again and again to receive the parai, we have come to you today — have mercy on us.

Born as the son of one woman on a single unmatched night, you grew hidden as the son of another —

unable to bear this, Kamsa's wicked intent was itself undone, and you stood in his belly like a burning fire.

O great Mal who is tender to his devotees, we have come desiring you; if you grant us the parai,

we will sing of your fitting wealth and valor, and our sorrow will end, and we will rejoice.

O loving, sapphire-hued Mal who once slept upon a banyan leaf — if you ask what our elders need for the Margazhi bathing vow,

hear this: conches like your own milk-white Panchajanya, whose sound alone can make the whole world tremble,

a great parai drum with room enough to resound, and singers of Pallandu to bless you,

an auspicious lamp, a banner, and a canopy above us — graciously grant us these.

O Govinda, whose glory wins over even those unwilling to be won — singing of you and receiving the parai,

the honor we shall earn is that the whole land will praise us for it; we shall wear bangles, shoulder-rings, earrings, and ear-studs,

anklets and every such ornament, and dress in fine garments;

and after that, rice in milk so rich with ghee it runs down our elbows — we shall sit together, content.

We who herd the cows into the forest and eat as we wander, we of the cowherd clan with no great wisdom —

it is our great merit that you were born among us. O flawless Govinda, this bond we share with you

cannot be undone, here or ever, by either of us. We are only innocent children who, out of love,

called you by small, familiar names — do not be angry at that, O Lord; graciously grant us the parai.

We came very early this morning and worshipped you; listen now to the real reason we praise your golden lotus feet.

You, who were born into the clan that herds and lives by its cattle, cannot refuse to accept our most personal, devoted service.

Know this, O Govinda: we did not come merely to receive today's parai.

For all time, through seven times seven births, we shall belong to you alone and serve only you — turn away every other desire of ours.

The gopis, with their moon-bright faces and fine ornaments, went and worshipped Madhavan-Kesavan, who once churned the great ocean where ships sail —

and this is the story of how they won the parai there. Whoever recites, without fail, these thirty Tamil verses of this garland,

composed by Kodhai, daughter of the Pattar Piran of lovely, lotus-filled Puduvai —

will receive, everywhere, the grace of the glorious Tirumal of the four mighty shoulders, red eyes, and radiant face, and will live in joy.