Thirsting for Kannan’s sapphire body, I lie
Prone. Pray don’t gather to mock me! He is
My lord. Your words burn like tamarind juice
Sluicing a sore. He does not know the agony
Of a woman cased in separation. Quick, bring
The pitambar that wraps his waist
And fan me with its golden length so its scented
Breeze cools my fever.
He killed Kamsa whose eyebrows are like thick
Black bows; my lord’s eyes shoot sidelong
Glances, swift arrows that find their mark
In my heart. Wounded and defenceless
My world quakes. Yet not once has he
Reassured me, ‘Do not fear’. Should he part
With the tulasi garland that adorns his chest
Bring it to smear on my breasts.
Translation by
Priya Sarukkai Chabria,
‘ANDAL: Autobiography of a Goddess’