The Justice of King Manu

Invocation

Nerisai Venba

To recount the story of the justice of King Manu, who lived in fair Thiruvarur, ringed by fields where swans abide, our support is the Elephant-faced Lord, pure of face, who gives His grace to those who think of Him with great love.

Our support is the feet of the Elephant-faced Lord, Lord of unaging bliss, who stands at the head of the hosts, and who dwells within the devotees of the Three-eyed One, whose matted hair bears the Ganga, as plainly as a fruit held in the palm of the hand.

In the sea-girt world there is a land finer than every other: the Chola kingdom. The Kaveri, a river divine in nature, gives it water in plenty that fails at no season. Fruitful groves of plantain, jackfruit, mango, coconut, areca palm and sugarcane rise there row upon row, each girdling the next. In many places it has flower gardens crowded with ashoka, kurukkathi, champak and pathiri trees, where the bees sing; lotus tanks; and brimming streams, pools, lakes and ponds where white water lilies, blue water lilies and other flowers bloom. It is close-set with fields of unfailing yield, where red paddy and other crops ripen without fail in all three harvests of the year. Here and there in it stand holy shrines such as Chidambaram, Panchanadam, Madhyarjunam and Jambukeswaram. It is the home of a people full in wealth and in learning, who never fall short by so much as a sesame seed in the duties of household life. With all its riches, the Chola kingdom shines like the face of the Earth Goddess.

In that kingdom stood the city of Thiruvarur. It was ringed by a moat so deep that it gazed down into the underworld, and by walls whose towers rose so high that they peered into the heaven of Indra. It had pleasure parks, temple flower gardens and flower groves, and waters such as the Deiva Theertham, the Brahma Theertham, the Vasantha stream and the Red Lily stream. It had chariot stands, elephant stalls, horse stables and barracks; the audience hall, the royal hall, the hall of wonders, the hall of pastimes, the hall of justice, the dance hall, the hall of learning, the hall of accounts, the hall of song, the hall of attendants, the painted hall and the Devasiriya hall; a painted terrace, a hall for staff-fighting, an armory, a feeding hall and houses of charity. It had streets adorned with jeweled platforms, golden mansions, crystal terraces, gem-hung pavilions, arches crowned with the makara, and the sound of auspicious music: the bazaar street, the street of the courtesans, the street of the Sudras, the street of the Vaisyas, the street of the kings, the street of the Brahmins, the street of the Adi Saivas, the street of the Saivas and the street of the Vaidikas, the dwellings of the ascetics, the monasteries of the Saiva sages, and the houses of those of the inner faiths. Within it stood the holy temple called Kamalalayam, where Lord Thyagaraja abides. It was the royal capital from which the Chola kings ruled, generation after generation. Thiruvarur shone like the tilaka on the holy face of the Earth Maiden.

In that city there reigned an emperor named Manu Chola. He was the finest of the Chola kings, who were born of the exalted race of the Sun, the first of the three lights, and ruled the land. He was master of the sixty-four arts. He had heard much good teaching, the kind that gives the soul its lasting good. He did good to all living beings. He had the six duties of a king: reciting the Vedas, performing sacrifices, giving to those who ask, protecting his subjects, training in arms, and destroying enemies. He had valiant armies, prosperous subjects, unfailing wealth, a minister of subtle wisdom, loving friends, and a fortress no enemy could destroy. When anyone came to lay a case before him, or to tell of a grievance, he readily called them into his presence, settled the case and put the grievance right. He spoke sweet words with a glad face, as sweet as milk mixed with fruit. He had the discernment to know beforehand what was to come, and to know truly the good and the ill that arise from everyone, kin, strangers, friends, enemies, the low and the high, through differences of time and of temperament. Egotism, lust, anger, greed, delusion, envy, deceit, vanity, idle deeds: of such faults he knew not so much as a millet seed, even in a dream. Never, even in forgetfulness, did he think of keeping company with petty men of evil character. He took as his helpers great men, full of good qualities and able to carry through even deeds that are hard to do. He discerned what ought to be done and did it, and discerned what ought not to be done and left it alone. He conducted affairs knowing the enemy’s strength, his own strength and his allies’ strength, the state of the time and the state of the place. He examined the character, ability, zeal and other qualities of those who came to him, and when he had judged them clearly, gave each a post fitting his worth. He honored old ties, embraced his kin and looked on all with kindly regard. He knew the ways of the world, the ways of caste, of the stages of life, of religion, of country and of the times, and acted after weighing what each required. So he walked in good conduct.

If even an atom of suffering befell his people, he counted it as great as a mountain, felt pity as if it had befallen him, and his heart melted: so he was like a mother. He made them know the good way by which they might leave that suffering and reach happiness: so he was like a father. He taught them that good way and led them in it: so he was like a guru. He went before them to give them happiness in this world and the next, and removed the obstacles that rose as they strove for it; and if they strayed from that way of right conduct, he laid down a penalty fitting the fault and set them on that way again: so he was like God. When danger came upon his people, he gave them his hand at once to free them from it, as swiftly as a man’s hand flies to his garment when it slips: so he was like a friend. He showed them, “This is a good deed; this is a bad deed”: so he was like their eyes. He guarded them so that fear, grief and the like never befell them: so he was like their life. Whenever his people thought of him, they rejoiced: “We who have as our king so holy a one, of such good qualities and good deeds, lack nothing at all.” So he was like a treasure of buried gold. He gave without wanting anything in return: so he was like the rain cloud. He had his knowledge for a thousand eyes, his hands for the wish-granting tree, his eyes for the wish-granting cow, his face for the wish-granting gem, and his firmness of mind for the thunderbolt: so he was like Indra. He had his throne for the red lotus, and for his four faces the four paths to the four aims of life, virtue, wealth, pleasure and liberation, and on each path he made its aim flourish: so he was like Brahma. He had the wheel of his command for the discus, the scepter of justice for the goddess of Fortune, his great fame for the Ocean of Milk, and his keeping away from every unfitting deed for the sleep of yoga; he protected the living beings of the earth and fed the gods of heaven with nectar through sacrifices: so he was like Vishnu. He had tirelessness, purity and truthfulness for three eyes and resolve for the trident, and with them he struck down every sin: so he was like Rudra. His grace took away weariness and gave joy: so he was like nectar. He was great in devotion to Siva. In patience he was like the earth. He was dharma itself in bodily form; he stood impartial and never swerved from the justice of Manu.

This emperor, Manu Chola, held the whole world in the shade of a single royal umbrella and ruled it with the scepter of justice, while the kings of the Kalingas, Kulingas, Vangas, Kongas, Achchiyas, Kochchiyas, Tenkanas, Konkanas, Telugus and other lands all paid him tribute and bowed before him.

In that time it was his command alone that brought all this to pass. Throughout the world the tiger and the cow went together to drink at one ford and roamed about; the lion and the elephant wandered side by side; the kite and the parrot kept company and were glad; the owl and the crow flew together; the cat and the mouse lived in peace. In the same way all the other creatures that are enemies by nature lived as friends, with no enmity between them. The lives that do not move, such as trees and grasses, grew tall and flourished, free from withering, drying, shedding and being cut down. Of calamities such as great gales, great floods, great downpours, fires and lightning strikes there were none at all; gentle winds, moderate floods and seasonal rains came without fail. No sorrow such as the sickness of hunger, sickness of the body, untimely death or fear for one’s life came near; happiness alone surrounded all. Those of the castes called Brahmin, Kshatriya, Vaisya and Sudra, those of the stages of life called student, householder, forest-dweller and renunciant, and those of the religions called Saiva, Vaishnava and Vaidika all lived without falling short in the observances proper to each. Gifts of food, gold, cows, land and the like; works of charity such as building temples, digging holy tanks, planting rich groves, setting up water booths and building rest-houses; vows such as the Chandrayana; and austerities such as meditation and the repetition of sacred words: all flourished without fail. For Lord Thyagaraja and the other deities, worship at the three times of day, holy services, festivals and every other observance went on without lack.

In the lands under his rule, only flowers were plucked; only water was held captive; only the wind was tossed about; only stone was hard; only the young mango bore scars; only the plantain was weighed down, by its bunch; only bees drank intoxicating nectar; only the ball was beaten; only the horse was tethered; only paddy was pounded; only the sheaves of paddy were piled in stacks; only the fields were hemmed in; only the waists of women were found wanting; only poverty was impoverished; only sorrow grieved; only falsehood was proved false. Apart from these, there was no one plucked of their wealth, no one held captive in prison, no one tossed about by enemies, no one hard of heart, no one scarred, no one weighed down, no one drunk with liquor, no one beaten, no one tethered, no one pounded, no one fallen in war, no one hemmed in, no one in want, no one in poverty, no one in sorrow, no one proved false. Greatness alone shone everywhere.

Thus the Emperor Manu Chola ruled the world, with his minister and the rest of his steadfast circle around him. But he had no son, and he grieved at heart. To that end he had performed many gifts, works of charity, sacrifices and vows for sixty years, and still no son was born to him. So he reflected: “For one who has not gained the wealth of a son, there is no use in gaining the wealth of riches. This royal wealth will not give us the joys of this life and the next as a son would. If we leave no heir, then in time to come this world, left without a king, will be thrown into confusion, like a face without eyes or a day without the sun. So now the only fitting means to obtain a son is to worship our Lord, Lord Thyagaraja; there is no other. True, all these days we have worshipped our Lord without desire, for the sake of liberation, and it is not fitting that we should now worship Him with desire, for the sake of a son. Yet, as the saying goes, ‘For a want that cannot be ended, God is the end.’ This want of a son, which can be ended in no other way, must be ended by the grace of Lord Siva alone.”

Having thought this through, he made his resolve. With his queen he bathed, as the Agamas prescribe, in the holy tank called Kamalalayam. With reverent awe he walked around the Poongoyil, the Flower Temple, through its five enclosures, and went in. Before the shrine of Lord Thyagaraja he made the full prostration, with eight limbs and with five touching the ground. Then he stood with bowed head, glowing face, streaming eyes, a tongue that praised, hands joined in worship, and a body thrilling with rapture, and he prayed, “Graciously end my want of a son.” He praised the Lord in many ways and returned to his palace. In this same way he went every day, worshipping and praying.

Moved by his worship and homage, Lord Thyagaraja graciously granted that a son should be born. By that grace, to the great king’s joy, the queen conceived in her holy womb, as a right-spiraled conch conceives a precious white pearl. Ten months passed. On a good and auspicious day, while the deity of Dharma danced, the dwellers of heaven showered flowers and blessed, and the people of the earth rejoiced at heart, she gave birth to a son, as Aditi gave birth to the Sun, as a jasmine vine puts forth a fragrant flower. His form was full of every auspicious mark, so that all who saw him marveled.

The queen’s maids came in the greatest haste with the happy news of the birth of a son. Beside themselves with joy, they stood before the king and announced: “Lord! From the holy womb of our mistress a crest-jewel of a son has dawned, with Your Majesty’s fame for his form and merit for his life, with power to guard the earth so well that even Indra, who guards the golden heaven, will be put to shame.”

When Emperor Manu heard this, he was like a merchant told that his ship, gone to a distant land, has come into port; like a lover who hears the voice of the woman he was united with and then parted from; like a traveler tormented with thirst who is told there is water close by. His heart was cooled, his body swelled, and his joy was beyond all measure. He gave those maids costly clothes and jewels as gifts until they had more than they could want. He bathed and completed his daily observances, and to the Brahmins learned in the Vedas he gave gifts of seed grain, gold, brides in marriage, horses, elephants, land, cows and more. Then he commanded: for twelve years from the day of his son’s birth, the people should pay no taxes but keep all they had, wholly free of levy; the kings who paid him tribute should keep that tribute for themselves for seven years; the enemies held in prison should be set free; the treasury should be thrown open, and for seven days all in the city and the country should take from it as much as each needed; and in every temple there should be new holy works, festivals and other celebrations.

After this, like a man who sees plainly before him the treasure he had gathered and laid away, he saw that precious child brought out from behind the screen, and rejoiced. He marveled that this son had risen here like the young sun at dawn, and that this was Siva’s grace and nothing else. Through elders skilled in astrology he had the child’s horoscope read, in which peerless wealth, learning, victory and every good fortune danced. Because the child had come by the holy grace of Lord Thyagaraja, he gave him that God’s holy name, Veedhi Vidangan. The naming, the first feeding with rice, the first cutting of the hair and the other rites he had performed in great splendor, as the Vedas prescribe, each at its proper age. He had his son bathed in scented water, fed with sweet foods and adorned with ornaments of gold and jewels. He set him on his chest, on his shoulders and on his lap, again and again, and kissed him, and delighted in his unformed baby talk. If the boy had asked even for the fruit of the wish-granting tree, he would have had it brought that very instant. He watched him at his little games with delight. He tended him as a chaste wife tends her husband; he cherished him as one who loves study cherishes his lessons; he raised him as one who longs to rise raises up dharma; he guarded him as one who was once poor and later gained wealth guards that wealth. So he enjoyed the fruit that the wealth of a son brings.

Raised thus in matchless abundance, the son grew like the tender young shoot of a plantain. In his fifth year he was taught his letters. In his seventh year the king sent word to the kings of every land and had the city adorned. Then, in a festive hall set with rubies, jacinths, diamonds, cat’s-eyes and other gems, at a good and auspicious hour, as the Vedas prescribe, he held for him the festive rite of the sacred thread. Brahmins learned in the Vedas and the Vedangas, and ascetics with the power to curse and to bless, gave their blessings; kings, provincial rulers, titled kings and crowned kings, ministers, kinsfolk, friends and others looked on with joy; married women sang festive songs; and the great drum, the conch, the mridangam and other auspicious instruments sounded. He gave many kinds of gifts, and had the boy’s studies begun under a teacher who was master of all the Vedas, Agamas and shastras.

Within a few days the son, Veedhi Vidangan, became eight times more able than his teacher in the Vedas, the shastras, the Puranas, the Smritis, the Itihasas and the other branches of learning. He learned fully every skill: riding elephants, riding horses, driving chariots, archery, swordsmanship, and the arts of illusion called Indrajala and Mahendrajala. He had wisdom like Adisesha, beauty of form like Kama, manliness like a lion, the gait of an elephant in musth, truthfulness like the sun, and generosity like the wish-granting tree. He had good qualities: devotion to Siva, compassion for all living beings (Jeevakarunyam), patience, love, purity of observance, right conduct, zeal, calm, and friendship with the good. And he had good habits: even if it should cost him his life, he would speak only the truth, say only what is sound, use only sweet words, do only good, and value only useful works; and when he saw Brahmins, ascetics and other great ones, he would go out to meet them with love and reverent awe, bow his head to them and praise them with his lips. He knew his parents’ wishes, walked by them and gave them joy. While still young he came to know everything. Those who saw him praised him, those who heard of him rejoiced, and he reached the age fit to be made crown prince.

In those days, one day Prince Veedhi Vidangan came into the presence of his father, Manu Chola, with princes and ministers’ sons of his own age around him. He made the full prostration at his father’s holy feet, with eight limbs and with five touching the ground, then rose, gathered his garment, drew in his body, folded his hands, covered his mouth, and stood before him. Then Emperor Manu, like a cow that sees her calf after a long parting, like a man who comes face to face with a buried treasure whose place he never knew, gazed at him with eyes overflowing with joy. His heart and body swelled. He embraced him with both arms, lifted him onto his lap, kissed the crown of his head, stroked his back, and asked: “My son, precious as nectar, born to end the grief I carried so long and to give me the fruit of this life and the next! It seems some wish has arisen in your heart. Tell me what that wish is.”

Hearing this, Veedhi Vidangan made his request: “I have as my father Your Majesty, the great one who has planted unfailing glory in all three worlds. What lack could I have, to make me wish for anything? I have only one wish: to go and worship Lord Thyagaraja, our family God and our chosen God, who abides in Kamalalayam. May Your Majesty graciously consent, so that this wish may be fulfilled without hindrance.”

Hearing this, the king commanded: “Can there be any bar to serving Lord Thyagaraja, who shines as the Self-existent One, all-powerful, as God the ocean of compassion, and as the Lord who ended our grief for a child? If one wishes to behold the matchless Embodiment of Dharma, who would stop him? If a son sets out to seek merit, would his father stand in his way? That you have understood for yourself this good thing, which I ought to have taught you, and have set out to do it: is that not the merit I earned long ago? Do I not know that the elders’ saying never fails, ‘The merit a son seeks belongs to his father too’? One might stop those who water paddy and other crops, those who give a staff to the blind, those who give shelter to those who come by night, those who give refuge to those who come in fear, those who give water to the thirsty, those who give food to those who suffer with hunger, those who give a hand to those floundering in the mire, those who bring to shore those caught in a river’s flood, and those who build rest-houses and do charity; but those who go to behold the guru, to behold a knower of Siva, to behold Siva, must never be stopped. So go, my son, in comfort, with all the honors you need; behold the Lord, and come back with the wisdom of Siva and long life.”

He received that command upon his head with love, bowed, and took his leave. He went to his mother, bowed down before her with devotion, rose, stood with joined hands, and pleaded: “Mother, who kept many vows to bear me, and raised me, guarding me as the eyelids guard the eyes! I wish to behold Lord Thyagaraja, crest-jewel of the gods. For this I have obtained my father’s consent. Now may your heart, too, graciously agree.”

When his mother heard this, she was moved to tenderness and glad at heart; her face glowed, milk sprang from her breasts, and tears of love welled in her eyes. She looked at her precious son and said: “O leader, who came to bring the king and me to the blessed state! O pearl, gained by the fruit of the penance we did long ago! O ruby, who came to end all our sorrow! O apple of my eye, excellent in learning! O sun of beautiful form! O moon of gentle nature! O child of great wisdom! For a long time we did charity, gave gifts and practiced penance of every kind, and did not gain you; then we went to the shrine of Lord Thyagaraja, and by that God’s grace we gained you. That you should go to behold a Lord of such great compassion is only right. So go; behold Him till your eyes are cooled with seeing, and bring back a boon as well, so that my wish may soon come true. This is my wish: ‘Our eyes, which have seen him in the festive dress of the sacred thread and the other rites, must see him in his wedding dress too, and rejoice.'” So she gave him leave.

Having received her leave, Veedhi Vidangan came to his own palace. He sent ahead to the temple of Lord Thyagaraja, in the care of his stewards, all that was needed: offerings for the holy bath, such as oil, sandal paste, musk, milk, curd, ghee and fruit; holy jewels, such as garlands of rubies, emeralds, pearls, coral and gold, a diamond crown and jeweled earrings; holy garlands of konrai, thumbai, vilva, champak, mullai and jasmine; holy cloths of white silk, kosika silk and yellow silk; and everything else required. Then he bathed in scented water in the bathing hall and put on white silk. Meditating on Siva, he put on the holy ash and wore the tilaka mark. He put on his ornaments: crown, earrings, necklace, armlets, pendant, chains, bracelets, ring, a golden sacred thread, a golden waist cord, a belly band, a hero’s anklet and the rest. Over them he threw an upper cloth of yellow silk that shone like light, and took in his hand a golden cane set with the nine gems. He went out through the palace gate and gave many gifts to the Vedic priests, masters of the Vedas, and to others. Then he mounted a jeweled chariot, lofty as great Mount Meru, yoked with four horses so swift that even the speed of thought would fall behind them.

Around him, riding in carriages that befitted the rank of each, came the masters of learning: Vedic scholars, Mimamsakas, logicians, grammarians, astrologers, physicians of Ayurveda, Vedantins, Agama-Siddhantins, reciters of the Puranas, expounders of the religious scriptures and others; the heads of affairs: the minister, the chief officers, the envoys and others; friends, kinsfolk, family priests and others; and the kings: rulers, provincial rulers, titled kings, crowned kings and others. Elephants in musth, decked with forehead plates, tusk caps and other ornaments, came trumpeting. Strong horses, decked with pearl tassels, pearl strings, pearl pendants, garlands of little bells, golden saddles and other ornaments, came neighing. Warriors wearing the hero’s band, the hero’s chain, the hero’s anklet and other ornaments came shouting. Singers of good omen sang; bards and minstrels sang his praises; women of good omen gave their blessings; dancing women of the theater danced; his titles were read out; heralds cried his coming; married women walked around him bearing the eight auspicious objects. White round parasols gave shade, white whisks were waved, peacock-feather fans were twirled, and trays of flowers were carried. All the thirty-two instruments of the five kinds, of skin, of breath, of bronze, of the voice and of string, sounded together: the perigai, thambattam, thakkai, udukkai and sachari drums, the cymbals, the maddalam, the tharai and chinnam horns, the mallari, the conch, the ekkalam, the Rudra veena, the Narada veena, the Tumburu veena, the ravanastam, the kinnari, the flute and others. The bells tied to the chariot rang out, kaneer, kaneer, and the anklets on the feet of the dancing women jingled, kaleer, kaleer.

With all this auspicious splendor and pomp he went along the street. At the door of every mansion, canopies of flowers had been put up, strings of gems hung, and plantain and areca trees set up. On the verandas, washed clean and decorated with kolam, people had placed, for good omen, full water pots, golden figurines, pots of sprouting seed, lamps, white whisks, pairs of carp, mirrors and trays of flowers. Rosewater mixed with perfumes had been sprinkled so that no dust would rise. The street shone with dance, song and every delight. Along that street Prince Veedhi Vidangan drove his chariot, like Indra, king of the gods, going to behold Lord Thyagaraja.

Then all the women of that street, who were like Rati, Indrani and the other goddesses, saw the prince and crowded around him, as bees swarm about a fragrant flower and flies cluster about sweet honey. Their garments slipped, their bangles loosened, their eyes brimmed with tears, their hair came undone, their breasts swelled, and the pallor of love-sickness spread over them; their hearts were lost in longing. Each of them spoke in her own way.

One said, “Young prince, eight times more beautiful than Kama with his bow of sugarcane! I am a maiden; will you not cast me a sidelong glance?” Another said, “Young bull, of a beauty no painter could draw! I am a maid who has never looked upon a man’s face; will you not unite with me before you go?” Another said, “Handsome one, who fill the eyes! I am a girl whose guard has never been broken; will you not be one with me before you go?” Another said, “Beautiful one, full of every auspicious mark! I am an unmarried maiden; will you not show me your favor?” Another said, “Mighty elephant, son of Emperor Manu! I am a young girl; will you not turn and look at me?” Another said, “Wondrously handsome one! I am a jeweled girl whose modesty is whole; will you not stop a moment before you go?” Another said, “Those elders who named this prince Veedhi Vidangan: even if we bowed down to them endless times, again and again, it would not be enough!”

Another said, “His tuft of hair, anointed with fragrant oil, wound about with sweet-smelling garlands, parted like the petal of a plantain flower and knotted like a cuckoo’s head, showing small within his white head-cloth like a large sapphire seen within a crystal casket; his face, shining like a red lotus, giving joy to every eye that sees it, ever in bloom, with enchanting beauty, coolness and radiance; his long eyes, like flowers, deep black touched with red, brimming with compassion, knowing what is fitting, blinking little, delightful to the heart; his nose, long, high and bright; his ears, long and wide, wearing earrings; his forehead, broad and high, beautiful with the three lines of holy ash and the tilaka mark; his lips, full and red as coral; his teeth, small, close-set and shining like jasmine buds; his tongue, short, soft and red; his neck, round as a right-spiraled conch, wearing necklaces and other ornaments; his victorious shoulders, rounded like a drum, high as Mount Mandara, wearing fragrant garlands, binding the eyes and the minds of all who see them; his arms, long and reaching low like the stem of a veena, wearing bracelets; his forearms, red and soft as the lotus, pouring gold like rain; his chest, full of radiance, wearing pendants and other jewels, anointed with sandal paste and musk, broad as a mirror and high as a mountain; his belly, slender and drawn in; his navel, deep and beautiful; his thighs, rounded like an elephant’s trunk; his knees, so full of flesh that no roundness of bone shows; his calves, rounded and long; his feet, like lotus flowers, wearing the hero’s anklet; his whole form shapely and nowhere passing due measure: what penance did I do, to see this prince and rejoice!”

Another said, “If it was Brahma who created this youth, a lion among kings, where will he now find the means to make a woman fit for his beauty!” Another said, “If even black granite that never melts would melt at the sight of this handsome one’s form, how could the hearts of simple women stay unmelted!” Another said, “His smile alone, like the disc of the full moon, will drive the women of all three worlds mad!” So, each speaking in her own way, they stood lost in longing.

All the men of that street, young and old, saw him, and each said in his own way: “Ah! Ah! This son is a true prince; beside him all other princes are sons of demons!” “His form is true form; beside his form, the forms of others are forms of wood!” “The learning he has gained is true learning; beside him, what others have learned is mere conjuring!” “His character (gunam) is true character; beside him, the gunam of others is the gunam of a bow: a mere string!” “He alone is a crown prince (ilavarasu); beside him, all other crown princes are mere portia trees (poovarasu)!” “He alone is a lord (seemaan); beside him, all other lords are mere stags (kalaimaan)!” “His valor (veeram) is true valor; beside his valor, the valor of others is mere poison (savveeram)!” “His youth (yauvanam) is true youth; beside his youth, the youth of others is a scorching wasteland (vevvanam)!” “His fortune is true fortune; the fortune of all others is misfortune!” “Those who begot him are true parents; all the rest have begotten only daughters!” “What vows did our great king and his queen keep, to beget this son, a jewel of virtues?” “Peace overflows from the holy face of this son, who is like a victorious lion among heroes!” “His eyes rain compassion!” “Beauty flows from his form!” “We have waited so long, hoping to see him and rejoice; was it not the holy grace of Lord Thyagaraja that brought this prince down our street today? What can we ever give in return for that grace?” “His wondrous form itself shows that this son was born by the boon of Lord Thyagaraja!” “Because our king had no heir, we were wasting away with worry over what the world would suffer in time to come. This son has taken away all our sorrow and given us joy, and there is nothing we can do for him in return!” “Do we need any other sign that he will protect us all as the great king Manu Chola does? The corners of his eyes, brimming with compassion, show it!” So, each speaking in his own way, they stood around him.

Thus Veedhi Vidangan went on in his chariot, while the women and men of street after street gazed and gazed at him, praised him in many ways and pressed close. In one street the horses yoked to the chariot passed beyond the charioteer’s control and came under a divine power, and they dragged the chariot along at great speed. At that moment a lovely young calf, running ahead while its mother followed behind, came leaping and frisking toward it, as the saying goes, “A young calf knows no fear.” Destiny clouded every eye, so that no one in the crowds around the prince saw it. It slipped in among them, was caught under the wheel of the racing chariot and crushed; its body broken and its entrails spilled out, it lay dead.

At once Veedhi Vidangan heard that the calf had been caught under his chariot wheel. He started like a cobra that hears the thunder, trembled from head to foot, and fell from the chariot to the ground. With grief and fear beyond all thought he rose and went, and saw the calf lying dead. His mind reeled, his heart throbbed, his hands and feet shook, he heaved great sighs, sweat broke out over his body, and he fainted and fell. Recovering a little, he rose and stood, tears pouring from his eyes like a river, and cried:

“Siva Siva! Siva Siva!! Sankara! Sankara!! Sambhu! Sambhu!! Mahadeva! Mahadeva!! Lord Thyagaraja! Lord Thyagaraja!! I came to behold You: should such a calamity come upon me? Did You decide in Your heart, ‘This ungrateful sinner is not fit to behold Us,’ and so make me bear this guilt? I meant to behold You; I should have come on foot till my feet ached, with reverent devotion. Instead, in the pride of wealth I mounted a chariot and came in pomp, without devotion, putting on a vain show like a masquerader by day. I am a sinner without love. I may grieve over my own fault; is it right to find fault with my Lord? Was I born a son only to commit so great a sin? As poison was born in the wide Ocean of Milk, why was I born, a sinner without equal, in the line of Manu, which never strays from the path of the Vedas? Was I born only to lay a great blame on my father Manu Chola, who has never known blame or sin even in a dream? I came thinking to behold Lord Siva and be blessed; I have not had the sight of Siva, and I have gained a blame that can never be removed! Oho! The saying ‘What you plan turns false, what you mocked turns true’ has come true in me today! Alas! All the learning I acquired has ended as an empty tale; all the teaching I heard has ended in ruin; all the knowledge I gained has turned to grief; all the clarity I reached has turned to harm! Hara Hara! Had I known such harm would come, I would never have mounted the chariot!

“The great ones say that to murder a cow is the greatest of all sins, and that to murder a young calf is ten times worse even than the five great sins. I heard this and knew it; today I have fallen into that very crime, and still I do not give up my life, but go on carrying this body! I took a body only to bear the reproach of the world: ‘A young calf came in front of him, and he drove his chariot over it without looking. Was that not the pride of wealth?’ Had I known of it by so much as a sesame seed, I would never have let such a disaster happen. What shall I do! What shall I do!! I have planted in the world, to stand forever, the reproach, ‘In the time of Manu Chola, his son killed a calf’! The good karma by which I was born the son of the great king, Emperor Manu, who rules the whole world never swerving from justice, has now become evil karma, fit for birth as a ghost! What sin did I commit in a former birth, to take on this blame in this one? Manu, founder of the pure race of the Sun, and after him, generation upon generation, my forefathers, Kulothunga Chola, Thiruneetru Chola, Kaveri-karai-kanda Chola, Manuneethi Chola, Rajendra Chola, Raja Choodamani Chola, Rajaraja Chola, Uraiyur Chola, Mann-alantha Chola, Gangai-konda Chola, Devar-sirai-meetta Chola, Marabu-nilai-kanda Chola, Emanai-venra Chola, Sundara Chola, Meinneri Chola and the rest, all ruled with the scepter of justice without touching evil, and won glory. Now that glory must vanish through me, who carry a blame never borne before! Alas! When I think of it, I have become the axe handle come to ruin my clan! I have become the thunderbolt come to destroy my line!

“The great ones say that even to see a man who keeps a calf from its milk is a sin. What will they say of me, who put a young calf under a chariot wheel? Where was this calf born? Where did it grow? Where did it mean to go? It came here, only to die! Even I, who have seen this beautiful calf dead, feel such grief; what will the mother cow who bore it suffer when she sees it? If my father hears this news, what will come of it? My father punishes even those who jest about a wrong in mere words; how shall I look upon his holy face, carrying an unworthy blame and deserving punishment? I will not stay alive in this world under blame, eating, dressing and walking about. This very day I will give up my life!”

So he lamented in many ways, sunk in a sea of grief and finding no shore. As he stood there, the Brahmins, ministers and others who had come with him looked at the prince, and they too were grieved. They said: “O wise Veedhi Vidangan! What harm do you think has been done, that you lament like this? Did you kill that cow’s calf because you meant to kill it? Or did you know it would be caught under the chariot wheel and still take no care? Not one of us around you saw the calf run in; how could you have known? By the force of its karma it threw dust in everyone’s eyes, came of its own accord, and died. What could you have done? You keep thinking, ‘The calf of a cow, highest among the animals, has died,’ and you sink in despair. But what can we do about that? Because a knife is made of gold, should one cut one’s throat with it? No blame or sin falls on us for this. Still, since your mind is crushed like cane in the mill and full of grief over it, we can ask which of the atonements laid down in the Vedas fits this case, and you may perform it. Be calm in mind, and mount the chariot.”

Hearing this, Veedhi Vidangan said in sorrow: “You are good men who speak impartially; yet with the change of times your minds have changed, and you have spoken like those whose friendship is only for the face, who wipe a man’s face and do nothing more. How strange this is! Long ago in our line there was Emperor Sibi. A dove, chased by a hunter, flew to him in fear for refuge, and he raised his hand over it to grant it safety. Then the hunter came, demanded the dove and pressed his claim; and the emperor cut away the flesh of his own body, piece after piece, and laid it on the scales to equal the dove. When even then the scales would not balance, he climbed onto the scales himself. If he so feared the murder of a dove, a common birth among the birds, that he gave not only his body but his life as well, how great must his compassion have been for the eagle and the other noble births among the birds? Higher still are the animals: what mercy must he have had for them? Among the animals the cow is noblest: what pity must he have had for cows? Beyond that, what kindness must he have had for the calves of cows? I was born in that man’s line; and today, as I came along the street, when someone frightened this calf and chased it, it came leaping toward me, trembling, for refuge; and I did not give it my hand of safety, but caused it to be caught under the chariot wheel and die, unjustly! What could ever set right one such as me? You told me to perform a fitting atonement for this. The way the kings of our line have ruled with compassion, never swerving from justice; the rule by which my father Manu Chola, never departing from impartiality, protects every living being as his own life; the word of the Veda that a king is bound to worship the cow; the word of the great ones that a king must care for cows with the utmost vigilance and make them thrive, letting no harm come to them: alas! where shall I send all these away, so that I may perform an atonement here?”

Hearing this, the Brahmins and the others said: “Come now, Prince! We are not men who say one thing to your face to please you and another afterward. Though you have been with us so long, it seems our nature is still not clear to you. Even if the world turned upside down, we would say only what is so; we would never invent something new and tell lies. Listen to our words and trust them. That calf did not run up to you knowing it must seek refuge because someone had chased and frightened it; nor did it come leaping on its own. It was its own fate, which had decreed that it would die in such a place, at such a time, in such a way, that drove it here, caught it under the chariot wheel and crushed it. Its fate being so, what is the use of your grieving in vain? There is a proverb: ‘The Pallan of Kumbakonam made off with the loot, and the Brahmin of Thanjavur paid the fine.’ Just so, fate has carried off the calf’s life: why should you pay your own life as the fine? Fear nothing, and mount the chariot.”

Hearing this, the prince said: “Am I to grieve over my own folly, that set out without heeding the omens shown me as I mounted the chariot to go and behold Siva, when my foot slipped and my left shoulder and left eye twitched? Am I to grieve over my fate, which made me, born in a royal line, do the deed that people of low birth do? Am I to grieve that I have brought a stain on the stainless race of the Sun? Am I to grieve that I was born a son only to bring blame on my father? Am I to grieve over the death of this calf? Am I to grieve that the mother cow will suffer when she sees her calf dead? I am one man: over which of these shall I grieve! What shall I do! I do not know what can be done! And yet, as the saying goes, ‘One who is soaked through feels the wet no more’: what more grief can there be for me, who am wholly steeped in blame? Since the word of elders must not be set aside, see, I mount the chariot as you say. It is for you to make me pure in whatever way it must be done, and to bring me through.” Saying this, he mounted, turned the chariot back the way it had come, and went to the elders who knew the atonement and could have it performed.

After the prince had gone in this way, the cow that had borne the dead calf, her first calf, went along the path where her calf had run, leaping and frisking. As soon as she saw from afar the calf lying fallen on the ground, she was shaken to the core and trembled all over. Her mind reeled, and knowing nothing, she ran whirling and whirling like a straw caught in a whirlwind, and came near. When she saw it lying lifeless, its body crushed and its entrails spilled out, she collapsed, lost consciousness, and lay like a corpse. Then, coming a little to herself, she rose and heaved a great sigh. She went round and round the calf, crying aloud again and again, smelling its body again and again: “What evil karma is this? What magic is this? What calamity is this? Just now I saw you leaping and running ahead of me, swinging your tail and kicking up your legs! I did not know, not by so much as a sesame seed, that such a thunderbolt would strike so soon! God knows what I went through to have you: pilgrimages to holy waters such as the Kaveri, pilgrimages to sacred places such as Chidambaram, holy service in the temples and the temple streets, clearing the grass and weeds with my mouth, and long days of vows, neither grazing on grass nor drinking water. You have brought all that toil to nothing, my bull-calf, and left me out in the street! The weariness of the fasts I kept to bear you has not yet cooled, and already you have set in the pit of my belly a great fire that will never cool! How shall I bear this sorrow now? True to the saying, ‘Good fortune does not stay with a sinner,’ you have not stayed with luckless me: you, with your color like crystal, your face dripping with milk, your small and rounded hump, your legs as if turned on a lathe, your tail grown long like a rolled plantain leaf, and your form with every auspicious mark, like a calf in a painting! If even the divine cow Kamadhenu saw your beautiful form, she would hug you close, her face would glow with delight, and she would kiss you! Was it not for you that I kept my life and went about in the world? Shall I ever again see your lovely face and feel my udder fill and pour out milk? Alas! With these ears I heard with joy all who saw you say, ‘The most beautiful calf among a thousand calves.’ How shall I hear with them today the words of the many who mock me: ‘She let her young calf die, and now she grieves like a barren cow’?”

Thinking this over and over, she grew faint and swooned. Coming to herself again, she looked closely at the body of the dead calf and saw the wound where the wheel of a chariot had run over it, pressed deep and pouring blood. “Oh! In my poor understanding I grieved, thinking you had fallen and died by some small mishap! Now that I see this wound, I know that a chariot wheel ran over you, your body was torn, and so you died! Ah! Ah! What sin did I commit, that so great a calamity should come upon you? O my child! How frightened you must have been when you were caught under the chariot wheel! What did you think? How you must have struggled! The more I look at you lying here, your life gone and your body crushed, the more the womb that bore you burns!” So she wept, crying out again and again, weeping and weeping, rolling on the ground, sobbing and sobbing, burning and burning with grief, heaving great sighs, falling down again and again, and she lay senseless.

Then she rose and seethed: “If I find the pitiless blind fool who crushed my calf under his chariot wheel and killed it, shall I let him go without making him food for both my horns? Even the barren, who have never borne children, would not dare to do such a thing! Ah! What would one who dared to do this not dare to do?” And she cried out her complaint: “This city gave no room to the wicked who cause suffering, nor to those whose cruel trade is murder; today it has given room to treacherous men who destroy helpless lives! Alas, is there no king here? Is there no justice? Is there no right way? What injustice is this!” Unable to bear the sorrow of losing her calf, she suffered, and she thought, “I will go to our lord, Manu Chola, make known to him the sorrow that has come upon me, and have it set right.” She covered the calf with fresh green leaves and, shedding tears and crying out, came to the gate of Emperor Manu. At that palace gate hung the Bell of Justice (Aaraaychi Mani), the bell of inquiry, tied there so that if any wrong befell the people, it could be made known to the king. With her horn, with great force and strength, she struck the bell and set it swinging.

When she shook it, all the people in the city said to one another, “Today, for the first time, we have heard the sound of the Bell of Justice, which no one has ever heard at any time! What calamity is this?” From the bell rose a clear, ringing peal that could be heard ten miles away. Emperor Manu, seated on his throne in the hall of assembly with his ministers and others around him, heard that sound. He started like great ascetics who hear the anklets on women’s feet, like Brahmins who hear the sound of wailing, like good people who hear the uproar of a quarrel, like a deer that hears the roar of a tiger. Stunned, he fell from the throne to the ground like a palmyra tree torn up by the roots in a great wind, and he fainted. After a little while he came to himself and rose. His body shaking, his heart in turmoil, his life failing within him, his tongue dry, his eyes clouded with tears, his steps unsteady, he hurried toward the palace gate. Before he reached it, the gatekeepers came to meet the king, trembling with fear, fell at his feet, rose, and made their petition: “My lord! A cow that has borne her first calf has struck the Bell of Justice that hangs at the palace gate with her horn and made it ring.” Hearing this, he came quickly, and he saw the cow standing beside the Bell of Justice, her body wasted, her face drooping, tears pouring down, crying out. Like a poor man who sees his crop withered to empty husks, his heart was crushed and melted, and he ached with pain. “Alas! What suffering has come upon this gentle cow? And I have not the power to make out what her grievance is!” he cried in anguish. He looked at the ministers standing near him in fear: “A fine work you have made of your office as ministers, which is to win me fame and merit! Is it not through your carelessness that some wrong has come to this cow?” And he glared at them in anger. Seeing this, the ministers were afraid. Among them was one who already knew the cause of the cow’s grief but had been afraid to tell the king. He thought, “Even if I hide this now, it will come out through someone else; so I will make known myself what I know.” He bowed to the king and said, “Sovereign! Today a young calf came leaping in front of the chariot your son was riding, was caught under its wheel, and died. This cow, who bore that calf, has rung the Bell of Justice in a grief she cannot bear!”

Those words went into his ears, already pained by the sound of the bell, like a spear driven into a burn. They pierced, stung and seared him, and he fell. He was in agony, as if poison had risen to his head. His five senses and his mind were thrown into confusion; his five vital breaths fluttered and sank; and he lay spent, without speech or breath. The ministers beside him tended him with soothing care, and he revived. He looked at the cow again and again, his tears swelling like a flood of the sea, his heart melting like ghee poured on fire: “Alas! I myself have been the chief cause of such grief coming to this cow! Even when no danger touches her calf, this cow by her very nature has such love that she calls out and melts each time she sees it. How she must have melted when she saw her calf lying dead! What she must have gone through! It is a cow’s nature that if her calf is not near but only a little way off, she looks and looks for it in distress and cries, ‘Amma! Amma!’ How this cow must be in anguish now, thinking again and again of her calf lying dead, out of her sight! Alas! She cries out again and again! A cow is of such a mind that if a tiger or any other fierce beast came against them, she would go before it and save her calf’s life even by giving her own. How her very life must have shuddered when she found her calf lying dead before her! Siva, Siva! Each time I think how the little calf must have writhed when it was caught under the chariot wheel, my heart lurches in terror! This cow has rung this Bell of Justice and stands here thinking to end her grief through me. She is like one who would sound the depth of the water with a dwarf, like one who takes a demon for a god and asks it for the boon of a child, like one who asks a scarecrow for wages, like one who seeks shade under thin reed-grass! What shall I do for her?

“The people of the world say, as a certain truth, that a life once caught in the hands of Yama, the god of death, never returns by any means. Long ago that saying was proved empty in our own city. A young boy born to a Brahmin died before his time. Stricken with grief, the Brahmin came into the presence of the first of my line and pleaded, his face and heart downcast: ‘Sovereign! You wield the scepter of justice without swerving from the path of Siva; yet Yama has passed through your guard before the time and carried off the life of my only son, the precious gift I won by penance night and day! Is this right?’ Hearing this, my ancestor’s heart melted in pain. By his power, the power of one who set his mind on nothing but the holy feet of Lord Siva, he brought the life back from the world of Yama, placed it again in the body it had left, and made the Brahmin glad. From that day, for as long as he lived, he did not let Yama enter his city or his land. Such was Saiva Chola, the first of my line. Even if I cannot do so great a deed as he did, I am too weak to bring back even this one life, the life of this young calf! When untimely death struck, some of the heads of my line gave the divine medicine called Sanjeevakarani and brought the dead back to life: have I done penance enough to obtain even that medicine? Some kings, when harm came to another life through their carelessness, could not bear it and gave up their own lives. I have heard of the death of this young calf, which came through my carelessness: have I even given up my life? I come of a line of good men who, on hearing even that the king of another land had killed a man who did wrong, would shake to the core and cry, ‘That a crime should happen! That a murder should be done!’ And I have so ruled that a crime has happened and a murder has been done! Was it only to bring shame on the nature of those good men that I appeared among them, like white calotropis flowering at the doorway of a house?

“Until barely half an hour ago I was glad at heart, thinking, ‘From the day I took up the rule until this day, I have had the grace of Siva to wield the scepter of justice rightly, never failing in justice, so that every living being has lived in joy, lacking nothing in any way.’ Now I have spilled all that gladness on the ground! I thought it over and over and swelled with pride: ‘I rule in fear of blame and sin, never leaving the path of virtue. As an old pauper comes upon money, so by the grace of Siva a son was born to me. He is full of learning and of wisdom heard from the wise, to the delight of the learned, and he has come of age with a noble nature. What do I lack now?’ I was brimming with joy: ‘I have had the blessing of a son; I am made pure.’ I was dreaming: ‘My son is now fit to be crowned prince; next I shall have him married.’ I was building castles in the air and rejoicing: ‘My son has good qualities; he will bring honor to the name of the father who begot him.’ Yet when a young calf came before him, he drove on like a man with no eyes and no sense, and he has taken on a blame that can never be wiped away! Alas! Instead of a precious child fit to hold my scepter, he has become the child of a coconut palm, a mere seedling!

“One who goes to behold Siva should not ride there in a chariot. Even if he does go so, he must send men ahead to clear the people walking on all four sides; the outriders must go before him announcing his coming; and he must drive the chariot gently behind them. He did not do this. True to the saying, ‘Youth knows no fear,’ he drove the chariot in haste and killed the young calf! Alas! Learned and wise as he is, he lost his wits: instead of a king’s child, he has become a squirrel’s child! He himself has read in the Vedas and the other sciences that of all cruel sins, the sin of murder is the chief, and he has heard the wise say it. Yet knowing this, he did not guard himself from that sin: instead of a child to be crowned, he has become a child of blame! Alas! I thought that by begetting a son one gains merit; now I am brought to think that even the childless have a life worth living! Was it only to have a son who would fall into such great blame that I prayed so long to Lord Thyagaraja? But what can the child do? What can the Lord do? The elders say, ‘What the mother and father do comes upon the children.’ By that word I should think that it is my own evil deed that has fallen on my son, and I should despise myself. Yet in this birth I have never knowingly done a single wrong! If not in this birth, then in a former birth:

Did I make the hearts of good people tremble?

Did I force a dispute on anyone and ruin his honor?

Did I stand in the way of those who give in charity?

Did I sow discord between close friends?

Did I betray a friendship where hearts were one?

Did I raise the people’s taxes and plunder them?

Did I make the bellies of the poor burn?

Did I punish without regard for what is right?

Did I speak with bias in a land dispute and ruin someone’s living?

Did I help those who murder living beings?

Did I spy for thieves?

Did I tell lies out of desire for wealth?

Did I raise false hopes and cheat?

Did I block a path so that no one could come or go?

Did I set people to work and cut their wages?

Did I refuse to look at the faces of the hungry?

Did I refuse alms to those who begged?

Did I carry tales and break up a family?

Did I let go of someone’s hand in the middle of the river?

Did I betray those who hid in terror?

Did I lie with a woman who had broken her chastity?

Did I violate a maiden kept under guard?

Did I violate women faithful to their husbands?

Did I destroy a child in the womb and rejoice?

Did I shrink from bowing to my guru?

Did I forget to give my guru his offering?

Did I treat the learned with harshness?

Did I find fault with the songs of the great?

Did I shut a bird in a cage to flutter in distress?

Did I keep a calf tied up and not let it have its milk?

Did I eat flesh for its taste and build up my body?

Did I mix stones with paddy and sell it?

Did I cause suffering to the loving?

Did I fill in a pond that held drinking water?

Did I destroy a tree that gave shelter from the sun?

Did I destroy my neighbors’ crops out of enmity?

Did I go and pull down a public hall?

Did I keep the temple doors shut?

Did I rage at the devotees of Siva and revile them?

Did I belittle those who do penance?

Did I slander those of pure wisdom?

Did I push aside the word of my father and mother?

Did I scorn God and grow proud?

What sin have I committed! I do not know what it is!

“Alas! These eyes of mine saw the tears brimming on this cow’s weary face: should I not gouge them out and fling them away, as one scoops the soft kernels out of a palm fruit? These ears heard it said, ‘Your son ran over her calf with his chariot wheel and killed it’: should I not pour molten copper into them and make them deaf? From the moment this cow made her grievance known by the Bell of Justice until this moment, my tongue has not spoken the firm word needed to set it right: should I not burn it with hot fire? I know who brought this suffering on her, and still my hands delay and have not punished him: should I not cut them off with a knife? My legs have not walked to the four quarters seeking some good means to bring her calf back to life: should I not cut them through with an axe? Again and again I have seen her wasting away, yet this body of mine, this pot of filth, has not dried up and shrunk: should I not slay it with the sword? My heart does not melt away and perish at the thought of her pitiful state and of the blame that has come upon me: should I not kill it with strong poison? Afraid for a life that does not last, I have done none of these things and still keep my life! What shall I do? True to the saying, ‘The sinner lives long,’ my life, the life of a great sinner, will not even leave of itself! The beings of earth and of heaven praised me: ‘By the power of good worship, Manu Chola wields the scepter of justice with devotion to God.’ All that praise has turned out false! I never sought that praise, so let it go. But the merit I gathered, prizing it nine times above my life, is going too!

“Ah! When I think that I rule without failing in justice, I laugh at myself in scorn! My scepter of justice consented even to the crushing of a bull-calf in the street. Shall I call it a measuring rod? A stick for applying kohl? A writing stylus? The pole of a water-lift? A pair of scissors? A burglar’s crowbar? A blind man’s stick? A tyrant’s rod? A broomstick? The beam of a balance? A wooden stick? A wisp of straw? Or shall I call it the corpse-pole that turns the body of this young calf, dead today, as it burns? What kind of rod shall I take it to be? My wheel of command consented even to the murder of a young calf. Shall I call it the wheel of the planets? The wheel of the years? A potter’s wheel? Or shall I call it the chariot wheel that crushed this bull-calf? What kind of wheel shall I take it to be? My watch over my people waited while harm came to this cow’s calf. Shall I call it the watch a little girl keeps over a millet field? The watch a blind man keeps over a backyard plot? The watch a man made of straw keeps over a dry field? The watch at a gate kept by a man with no income? The watch set over a farm to guard the crops? The idle watch of one who keeps it only to be given work? Or shall I call it the watch of Harishchandra, waiting to lay this calf to rest? What kind of watch shall I take it to be? What shall I do? Alas! To call a sinner like me by the name Manu is like the custom of calling a black goat a ‘white goat,’ an inauspicious day ‘the auspicious day,’ and a cobra ‘the good snake’: a way of speaking, and not the truth! If anyone should say that this young calf could be brought back to life if I gave up my son’s life, and with it my own life, my wife’s life, my kingdom and everything that is mine, here and now I will give them. But there is no one even to say so! How shall the grief that has come upon her, and the sorrow it has brought on me, ever be ended? I do not know how! What shall I do?” So he lamented in many ways.

As Emperor Manu lamented and grieved in this way, the ministers beside him turned to him, joined their palms in reverence, and said: “O great king, who never fail in the justice of Manu! The young calf came of its own accord, driven by fate, and died. We thought your grief over it only natural to the compassion you have for living beings, and so until now we have kept silent and said nothing against it. But it is not fitting for ministers to keep their mouths shut when a matter is going wrong, so please hear what we have to say. Your son has Jeevakarunyam, compassion for all living beings, for his very body. He walks softly so that the earth does not shake, looking down in fear lest some creature come in his way and be caught under his feet. Many times we have seen him, as he walked so, see little ants scurrying away, frightened by some other tremor; he would start in alarm, thinking, ‘Oh, what a sin! I have walked so as to make these lives tremble,’ and stand there downcast and dazed. There is no ground to think that one so full of mercy killed this calf through carelessness. Besides, the calf came leaping in as if by magic and died, without the least sign to the Brahmins and others who went around him, to us who went around the chariot, to the people walking before the chariot, or to the citizens standing in the street watching. Moreover, in front of the chariot, elephant-riders, horsemen and others went close together, rank on rank, as if drawn up for battle; and banner-bearers, criers calling out warnings, heralds proclaiming his titles, reciters of praise, men watching for any lapse, men clearing the way and others walked there. Even a lion cub could not get past all these people and come near the chariot. And this was a young calf, whose nature is to run a shouting distance away at the sight of a man holding a stick! If this calf got past all that guard and came running and leaping right in front of the chariot, we can only think it was magic! So it was the calf’s own fate that brought on this strange death; your son did not. Since this is how things stand, to blame your son for killing it, and to blame yourself because blame has come from begetting him: is that not like blaming the arrow while the archer stands by, or blaming the smith who made the arrow? You have learned all the sciences, you are rich in wisdom heard from the wise, and you are such that all kings praise and honor you. What need is there for us to explain this to you at length? Now leave off grieving. There is a rule: ‘If the murder of a living being happens through oneself unknowingly, or if one sees another do it, one must perform the rite of atonement fitting for it.’ By that rule, this calf’s murder came about by the force of karma, and your son stood as its occasion. The right course for you is to have the elders determine the expiation fitting for it, and to have your son perform it.”

When Emperor Manu heard this, the signs of anger showed in him: sweat, trembling, a bitter laugh. He looked at the ministers and said: “Ministers! A fine argument you have made! The justice you speak of may suit you, but will the deity of righteousness consent to it? Will it even ease the anguish of this cow grieving for her lost calf? Did you speak so to spare my face? Out of pity for my son’s life? Or thinking of your own livelihood? For what reason? If a king who rules the world, through desire or anger, through favor or kinship, fails to find what is just and speak it impartially, and turns aside, the duty of wise ministers is to oppose him. They resolve, ‘Even if the king kills us for this, let him kill us; our duty is to give him sound counsel,’ and they find what is just and say it impartially. Forgetting that, what were you thinking when you spoke like this? It is your nature to keep affairs free of fault, with minds unshaken, though the moon and sun should change their course, though the ocean should break its bounds, though great Mount Meru should be shaken from its place. Yet today, with no regard for justice, you have spoken words of flattery, like the evil ministers who keep company with petty kings who have no justice. If such a king says ‘Dust,’ they say ‘Nothing but dust!’ If he says sugarcane is bitter, they say ‘As bitter as the poison-nut!’ If he says it is proper to murder one’s mother, they say ‘It is laid down in the first section of the Veda!’ If he asks whether a stone can float in a flood, they say ‘We saw a grinding stone floating in the river!’ If he says crows are white, they say ‘We saw one standing there only yesterday!’ If he says paddy will sprout on a rock, they say ‘A thousand grains to the bunch, a thousand to the cluster!’ If he asks whether a thief may be caught, they say ‘Would it not be a great sin to catch him?’ If he asks whether one may tell up to a thousand lies, they say ‘The rule allows up to five thousand!’ If he asks who gives a child to a man who has a wife, they say ‘Sir! The one who gave him the bride must give him the child!’ If he asks whether one man’s wife may go with another, they say ‘If it is kept quiet, there is no fault even with a thousand!’ If he asks whether this man may be put on this stake, they say ‘He is not heavy enough for the stake!’ If he says, ‘They say my son and the crier’s son insulted each other with contempt; what shall be done about it?’ they say ‘Sugar must be put in the mouth of your noble son, and dirt in the other’s mouth!’ Like such evil ministers, you have spoken words of flattery. I can only think that this is the change of the times.

“Many a time you have told me: ‘It befits the virtuous to hold fast to the word of the elders: seek righteousness even at the cost of yourself.’ And: ‘This is the good deed most needed in kings: to stand as true as the beam of a balance and give judgment, even when it concerns their own mother and father.’ Today you are urging me to accept an unjust judgment that would cast me down to the lowest state. I can only think that some evil state has come over you. You used to teach me that when sentencing anyone, one must pass sentence in keeping with these marks of right judgment: to regard every life as one’s own life; to find out the truth of a matter, whatever form it takes; to look to understanding, not to outward form; to look to the deed done, not to fate from past deeds. Yet today you say that my son is merciful, that he did not kill through carelessness, that the young calf died by its past karma, and that therefore a fitting expiation should be performed for it. You stand there talking like the robber who sat as judge, sent for the plaintiff alone, and gave his verdict. Oho, ministers! I look at you and think, ‘These are not the ministers of former days. Where have they come from now, bent on my ruin?’ Alas! Is it by teaching me such injustice that you will bring me joy in this life and the next? You once spoke sound words that lead to the state of Siva, from which there is no return. Where did you learn today to speak base words that lead to the state of ruin, from which there is no return? Ah! Ah! Each time I think closely on this partiality, my heart starts in dread! If I agree to this as you say, righteousness and penance will be shaken! If, thinking that there is no one above me in these times, I pervert the case and speak falsely, the time will pass, but the word will remain! Because I rule by the justice taught in the Book of Manu, I bear a name that has spread far and wide: ‘Manu Chola! Manu Chola!’ If I consent to this, the people of the seven worlds will mock me: ‘He took on this name for nothing, like an illiterate man carrying a palm-leaf book, like a blind man carrying a mirror, like one with no sense of smell carrying a flower!’ If today I let my son off lightly with an expiation for the sin of this cruel murder he has done, and tomorrow I see another man commit a murder smaller than this one and have him killed, all who see it will revile me: ‘This king knows nothing of righteousness: he does one thing for his own and another for others!’ Or if, out of love, I hush it up because the murder was done by my son, will the blame and sin that follow from it not reach me? As the saying goes, ‘Kiss a lamp because it is your own house’s lamp, and it will burn you all the same.’ Therefore, since I have no way to end this cow’s grief for the precious young calf she has lost, it is right that I too, like this cow, should kill my son, whom I had as a rare gift after grieving for long years, a life for a life, and so suffer grief as she does.” So he spoke.

Hearing this, the ministers were troubled at heart. One of them bowed to the king and said: “Sovereign, who never stray from the path of righteousness! Please be patient and kindly hear my words. The Sruti says that merit and sin rise and fall for souls according to the height or lowness of their understanding. Following that word, the books of righteousness lay down this rule. Among beings who have taken human birth, with the understanding fit to attain the four aims of righteousness, wealth, pleasure and liberation: if one murders another in the frenzy of lust, anger and the like, as in the maxim ‘The elephant in rut lays waste the forest,’ then the one who killed is to be put to death in return for that murder. But if someone dies by fate, with no force or enmity, as in the maxim ‘The crow lands and the palm fruit falls,’ then those who stood as the mere occasion of the death are to be punished, so that they may not be the occasion of such a thing again, and made to perform an atonement for the sin that came from being its occasion. And if someone dies by mishap while being frightened and punished to keep him on the good path, as in the maxim ‘The nectar being fed turned to poison and killed,’ then those who were the cause in this other way, such as a father, a guru or an officer, are to be made to perform hard vows and penances such as fasting. And if murder comes upon animals, birds and other lives at the hands of men, an expiation is to be determined and performed according to the rank of each life, and to the good and bad qualities, the acts and the reasons of each one. That is the rule laid down generally in the books of righteousness. The unheard-of sentence you mean to carry out today for the murder of a calf sets that rule aside. It will give men cause to call it a fault that oversteps what is fitting.” So he said.

Hearing this, the king said: “Minister! On a tree that bears good fruit, you have passed over the ripe fruit and seized the unripe. A fine speech indeed! In its former part the Sruti says that merit and sin rise and fall according to the height and lowness of understanding. But in its latter part it says: ‘Since the Supreme Lord fills every soul without distinction, do not look to understanding, which differs as an effect of Maya; look to the Supreme Lord, and live treating all lives as equal.’ According to that latter part, the right course is to punish the murder of a living being equally, without regard to such distinctions as birth, quality, caste and occupation. My son rode out in his chariot and, through heedlessness born of the pride of wealth, killed this cow’s calf. So he is not a mere occasion, as in ‘The crow lands and the palm fruit falls.’ Nor did he become the cause of a murder while trying to do good, as in ‘The nectar being fed turned to poison.’ He fits exactly the maxim you gave: ‘The elephant in rut lays waste the forest.’ Therefore the decision stands: he must be killed.”

Hearing this, another minister bowed to the king and said: “Great King! What the latter part of the Sruti lays down, that all lives must be regarded as equal without looking to high and low, belongs to the conduct of Brahmins; it does not fit the conduct of kings. If it were applied to kings, the customs of the castes, beginning with the Brahmins, and the rules of the stages of life, beginning with the celibate student, and the order that ranks people as great and small, good and bad, would all be overturned. The order of the world would fail, and the king’s rule would lose its edge. That would give men cause to call it a fault that oversteps right conduct. So the right way is to judge by the principles set down in the books of righteousness, following the rule laid down in the former part.”

Hearing this, Manu Chola laughed: “Minister! You are trying to frighten me, like a man who joins a traveler as a companion for the road, then frightens him in the middle of the forest and robs him of his money. The latter part says that since the Supreme Lord shines in each and every life without difference, all lives must be regarded alike. I have followed that rule only for the removal of the sin of the murder of living beings, and in nothing else. Not grasping this meaning, you took it as in the saying, ‘He who does not know the meaning takes only what is said,’ and you said that a fault of overstepping right conduct would follow. Leave all else aside. If you ask why all lives must be held equal for the removal of the sin of murder alone, hear it. All lives are forms of Chit-Sakti, God’s power of consciousness. It is God Himself who gives all lives their bodies and faculties. To part lives, which are His power of consciousness, from the bodies He has graciously given is an offense not to be so much as thought of. When any life is made to leave its body by violence and not by nature, the pain it suffers in leaving that body is great. More than this: when sugarcane is put in the mill and sesame in the oil press, they are caught in the crush, ground, squeezed and torn to pieces, and the juice and the oil come out of them churned and troubled. Just so, in murder, the body is crushed and ground to pieces, and the life comes out of it trembling all over, its understanding lost, stunned and troubled; and this is common to all lives. When they know that murder is coming upon them, the body shakes, quivers, sweats, pounds and staggers; the legs give way; the eyes fill with tears and grow dark; the ears are stopped with a roaring; the nostrils go limp; the mouth runs dry; the tongue falters; the belly lurches in terror; the mind is stunned and beats wildly, like a drum being struck, and throbs, and swoons in grief and weakness; and the life whirls and whirls and is tossed about, like a crow caught circling a ship’s mast, like a beetle caught in a whirlpool, like a straw caught in a whirlwind. This terror comes naturally to every life. And as soon as they die, those lives, besides the torment they suffered in the loss, must at once suffer and grieve again through birth. Since we have no freedom to bring a life to birth at our will, we have no freedom to bring a life to death at our will either. Know this: God alone has the freedom to cause death and to cause birth; whoever does not consider this and commits murder by his own willful deed (aagaamiyam) falls into a hell from which there is no return. Therefore the sin of murder must be held equal for every life. By this reasoning, the decision is that my son be killed, a life for a life.” So he spoke.

Hearing this, yet another minister bowed to Manu Chola and said: “O king! The Book of Manu, which shines with your name, lays down that those who have killed a cow must be made to do these things as atonement: shave off the tuft of hair and the hair of the face; cover themselves with the hide of the cow they killed; live among the herd of cows; bathe in cow’s urine; restrain the senses; drink gruel; eat food cooked as an oblation; fast; go about with the herd; serve the cows; and give cows as gifts. Is that not so? If, against this, you put your son to death, it seems that the fault of departing from the rule will arise.”

Hearing this, Emperor Manu said: “Minister! What you have said is like setting a fruit before a child crying for milk, to distract it. You said it seems that the fault of departing from the rule will arise. That Book of Manu gave that rule only for the ritualists, who hold attachment to the impermanent body and desire for the impure pleasures of the world. It did not give it for those like my father and my forefathers, who held their attachment to the eternal Siva and their desire for the pure bliss of Siva. By implication it has said that, if the murder of a living being occurs, the one who did it must give up his own life. Whatever rule was for my father and my forefathers, that same rule is fit for me and for my son. So this is no departing from the rule. By this reasoning, the end is that I lose my son.”

Hearing this, another minister bowed to the great king and said: “From the time the world appeared until now, the kings who ruled the world with justice, by the grace of God and by their own might, had even outsiders who, in their reigns, arrogantly beat to death some animal such as a cow, made to perform atonement. We have never heard of any who had them put to death. That being so, your son did not kill this cow’s calf out of a grudge, meaning to kill it. How can you sentence him to be put to death? If you sentence him so, will not the fault arise of going against the practice of the forefathers?”

Hearing this, Manu Chola said: “Minister! You have come to speak like a man who knows nothing of the family line coming to arrange a marriage. You said the fault would arise of going against the practice of the forefathers. But listen well to what I say. In the past, in the reigns of my forefathers, such a murder never happened at all. When now and then, in some place, a grave sin of murder did happen, they gave even their own lives to make amends for the guilt. Leave them aside. As for the other kings, in their reigns they framed new and ever newer rules about inventions such as local custom, and acted by them. Those kings are not to be counted with me. So to carry out my judgment is my firm resolve.”

Hearing this, all the other ministers bowed together and stood, and said: “O great king! Do not be angry, thinking that we say again what has been said already, but graciously hear the words we speak. This cow is one of the animals, which have five senses. The calf it bore is not one that would become a cow giving milk; it is a bull calf, fit to become an ox for the plow. Your son is a man of excellent good sense among men, who have six senses. He did not kill that calf meaning to kill it. The whole world will say that this death was the calf’s own destiny. So the proper course is to have him perform a fitting atonement for it.”

Hearing this, the king said: “Ministers! You speak lightly, like men who have no power to find out the truth and tell it. Very well; listen to what I say. You said, ‘This cow is one of the animals, which have five senses.’ A fine reasoning, yours! You place high and low in the knowledge of living beings: to kill animals of lower knowledge, you say, calls for atonement, and to kill men of higher knowledge is murder. Then by your own words this cow has a knowledge higher than the knowledge of men. How so? In what world, at what time, has any cow ever done as this cow has done? Grieving beyond comfort over the death of its calf, it came knowing a thing that even ordinary men do not know: that the king has had the Bell of Justice hung at the palace gate, so that if any wrong comes to anyone from officials, from enemies, from strangers or from other living beings, it may be made known to him. And it struck that bell with its horn, made it ring out, cried aloud, and stood there shedding tears. Have you ever heard of such a thing? No! Today you stood and saw this cow alone know this and do it. So, though through some lack of penance in a former life it has taken the body of a cow, it must be held to be one born in a human birth, of high family, with a higher knowledge.

“Moreover, is it not said that the cow is the highest in every birth: that Brahma and Vishnu dwell at the root of its horns; that the Kaveri and the other holy waters are at the tips of those horns; that Lord Siva is in its head and Siva’s Shakti in its forehead; that the god Subrahmanya is in its nose, the Ashvini gods in its ears, the moon and the sun in its eyes, Varuna on its tongue, Saraswati in its voice, the Gandharvas in its chest, Indra in its neck, the Rudras on its back, the Seven Mothers in its genitals, Lakshmi in its anus, the Ganges in its urine, the Earth Goddess in its belly, the Yamuna in its dung, the Ocean of Milk in its udder, the sacrificial fire in its belly, mouth and heart, and chaste women such as Arundhati in its body? Moreover, does it not give milk and the other substances fit for the holy ablution of the sacred head of the Supreme Siva? Moreover, is it not also the source of the substance from which the holy white ash comes? Moreover, is it not of one kind with the Bull of Dharma, which shone as the mount of the Supreme Lord, having the four Vedas as its legs, ritual action and wisdom as its eyes, the Agamas and the Shastras as its horns, dharma itself as its body and penance as its gait? Can a cow of such greatness be called one of the animals, which have five senses?

“‘Its calf can never become a cow that gives milk; it is a bull calf, fit to become an ox for the plow,’ you said. This Thiruvarur is so great that all the gods perform penance to be born here, and by the settled teaching that all living beings born in it are Siva’s own hosts (Siva Ganas), this calf, born in this holy place, should be held to be one of Siva’s hosts. Leaving that aside, can it be called a bull calf? ‘The son is a man of excellent good sense among men, who have six senses,’ you said. One who rode out in his chariot to have the sight of Siva, was blinded by the veil of wealth, and killed a calf: can he be called a man of good sense? You said the world will call the calf’s death its destiny. That may be said by those who hold to fate already set in motion (prarabdha). But for those who follow the excellent path, which holds that the soul itself is the doer of its fresh deeds (aagaamiyam) when it commits sins through lust, anger and the rest, is it fit to call it destiny? ‘The proper course is to have him perform a fitting atonement for it,’ you said. When a man has swallowed a mountain and his stomach aches, do they cure him by pounding dry ginger and giving it to him? Just so, can the sin of one who has committed the grave sin of murder be removed by having him perform atonement? If I did so, I would cast my son into the hell from which there is no return, forever, and I too would fall into it and suffer. In this world too I would become the bearer of a reproach that never leaves. Moreover, a word of dishonor would fall on the Solar line, whose greatness is beyond counting, and on you who stand by me. So from now on my word has no second. The settled judgment is that my son be put to death to make amends for the guilt of killing this cow’s calf.”

Having said this, he looked at the minister named Kalavallabhan among the ministers and commanded: “Minister! Take my son, lay him down in the street where that calf lies dead, mount the chariot yourself, drive it so that the chariot wheel runs over his body, kill him, and come back.” Then all the other ministers stood wringing their hands, tears welling in their eyes, their minds shaken and dazed.

The minister named Kalavallabhan was startled and his senses left him, as if he had been told: “Throw into the sea the Kaustubha gem won by severe penance, and come back”; “Feed to a kite the five-colored parrot reared with care for many days, and come back”; “Pour into the mud the nectar of the gods won by penance hard to perform, and come back.” He stood dazed, like one who has stepped on the bewildering herb. When his senses returned a little, though he had no heart for the matter, he feared to resist the king’s command; he bowed, took his leave, and set out from that place. With faltering steps, his face darkened, heaving long sighs, he grieved over and over: “Siva Siva! Sambho! Sambho! Was it to commit this grave sin that I was made a minister? I fear even to look at people who speak of murder: must such a fate come to me? If we leave this deed undone, we will be guilty of defying the king’s command. If we do it, how will we find the heart to murder Veedhi Vidangan, who is dear to us as our own life? Thinking this over and over, my mind is bewildered like an ant caught on a stick burning at both ends! What shall I do about this! What shall I do!”

He wandered like one swinging to and fro, putting one foot forward and the other back. “Even if the king commands us, ‘Eat poison,’ we are bound to eat it; let us go and be done with it,” he said, and walked a little. “How can we commit this grave sin, which is not fit even to be thought of?” he said, and stood still a little. Like a sleepwalker, he was now clear, now confused; he babbled like a madman; he shed tears and was in turmoil. Then he grew clear and resolved: “The king is a father to us also. So let us take on ourselves the fault that Veedhi Vidangan committed, and give our own life.” Swift as a flood that has burst its dam, he came to the street where the calf lay dead and stood there. He drew the sword at his waist from its sheath, set it to his own neck, cut his throat, and fell dead.

Seeing this, some spies went with all speed to Manu Chola and humbly reported: “My lord! The minister named Kalavallabhan, who shone like an eye to Your Majesty, went to the street where the bull calf lies dead, cut his own throat with the sword at his waist, and has died.”

Hearing this, the king writhed like one whose festering wound is struck by an arrow, and was deeply shaken in mind. “Oh! What sin is this! What sin is this! Alas! The minister named Kalavallabhan went off as though he agreed to carry out the order I gave. Was it only because he thought, ‘The guilt that has come on our king over the calf is not enough; let us lay more guilt on him’? He knew the trouble that had fallen on me, and yet, like one who pushes a burning brand deeper into the fire, or pours ghee on a fire already blazing high, he has heaped trouble on that trouble! As when a ship breaks up and men are tossed about, the raft too breaks, so, while I am shaken by the guilt for the calf, the guilt for the minister has closed in on me as well! When shall I ever again see the wise minister who held every trouble that came to me as his own, and guarded me night and day? All who hear of this will scorn me, saying: ‘What cruelty is this! It is like letting the robber go and laying the charge on a man who happened to cross his path. It is like telling a woman who came for her day’s wages to take the wedding thread, while the wedded wife is at home. His own son killed the young calf; yet this king passed him by, laid that guilt on his minister, and had him give up his life. This king is unjust!’ ‘Is the deed of a man without wisdom only useless? It brings guilt and sin as well’: I have become the very mark of these words of the elders! Alas! What have I done! What have I done!”

And he cried: “O God who abides in the Flower Temple (Poongoyil) of Thiruvarur! O Lord who gives grace to those who come to You! Should You put even such a trial as this on me, Your servant, who trusts in You? Should You make me, Your servant, who belong to Your holy feet, the bearer of such guilt as this?”

Lamenting in many ways like this and grieving, he thought: “Deeds that bring sorrow afterward should be known beforehand and left undone. If one has done a thing without thinking it through, one should not grieve over it, but should do without delay what is fit to be done next. So what use is there in our grieving, who sent the minister without knowing what would come? Now we ourselves will go, run our son under the chariot wheel, and give our own life for the guilt of the minister’s death.” He came out of the palace and commanded the guards to bring his son.

With tears running down their faces, the guards grieved: “Alas! Can such a calamity befall even a king who never fails in the justice of Manu? How shall we go to our crown prince, Veedhi Vidangan, and say, ‘Sir, the king has told us to bring you’? What shall we do?” And they went to the palace where Veedhi Vidangan was.

Even before this, Veedhi Vidangan, who had gone to ask the elders about the rule of atonement, had heard from the spies the news that the cow had come to his father and cried out for justice. “What atonement is there for us now? Let us abide by the judgment our father gives,” he said; and with his body wasted, his color changed, his heart failing and his face downcast, he had come back to his palace. Then the guards sent by the king saw Veedhi Vidangan, joined their palms, and stood before him. He looked at them and asked, “On what errand have you come to me?” They said nothing; like mutes they stood sobbing and sobbing, shedding tears. Seeing this, Veedhi Vidangan understood: “These men have come to tell me some grievous news, and they tremble, their tongues unable to move.” He said: “O guards! There is no use in grieving without telling me what you have come for. I know that matter too; still, tell it without sorrow.” Hearing this, they said: “Sir! How shall we say it! What shall we do! Where shall we go! To ruin every household, a pitiless cow with her first calf came from somewhere and shook the Bell of Justice, and so made the king send for you, that the world may now perish with no one to rule it.”

Hearing this, the relatives, friends and others around Veedhi Vidangan wept and sank down, saying: “Was it for such a calamity as this that he set out for the temple of Lord Thyagaraja? We never knew, not even by a sesame seed’s measure, that it would come to this! What shall we do about it!” In the same way, the others in the palace lamented and cried out. Veedhi Vidangan’s mother heard this sound of weeping, asked what the cause was, and learned it. She fell to the ground like a creeper that has lost its supporting pole, and fainted. When her senses came back a little and she grew clear, she cried: “Sinful fate has destroyed my good fortune! The evil fruit of past deeds has destroyed my wealth! Deceitful destiny has destroyed my life! My womb, which bore him after long days of striving, is burning! It throbs with dread! Alas! For the fault my son committed, could they not kill me instead?” Saying this in many ways, she wrung her hands, shed tears, clutched her belly, beat her breast, struck her mouth, her heart in torment, rolled on the ground, and wept aloud and lamented.

Then the prince named Veedhi Vidangan looked at his weeping mother and the others and said: “What do you gain by weeping and lamenting in vain? Can even the divine lords, Brahma and the rest, pass beyond destiny? Can this little house, built of impure things such as bone, sinew and skin, be trusted to last? One must think that people died on the very day they were born. Even ordinary, unthinking people say, ‘Death at six, death at a hundred,’ and ‘Plants that sprout from the ground wither on the ground.’ How is it that you, who have understanding, have not known this? There is no need to grieve over this at all.” Speaking many such words of comfort and firmness, he set out from there; with shame and trembling in his heart he came to his father, bowed in worship, and stood at a distance.

Emperor Manu did not look straight at his son standing there. Looking at someone else’s face, he said: “As he killed the young calf, so he has become a criminal fit to be put to death.” Then the son humbly said: “I, the sinner who killed the young calf, would have given up my life that very moment and made amends, a life for a life. But I waited for that command, thinking, ‘As Your Majesty’s command directs, so shall we act.'” At once the king had the executioners called and commanded: “Guard this criminal closely, as is prescribed, take him to the street where the calf lies dead, and lay him down there.” In fear of that command, the executioners surrounded the prince with drawn swords and led him along under guard in their midst, and Emperor Manu mounted a chariot as high as a mountain and followed behind.

Seeing this, all the people of that city said: “The God who gave this prince wealth, beauty and wisdom without any lack has, midway, made him the bearer of this guilt, and so made true the saying, ‘While good fate stood in the middle, crooked fate came across its path!’ In the prime of youth, the season for enjoying happiness, a guilt that can never be lifted has come and closed round him, and brought sorrow, as the saying goes, ‘The throat chokes while one is eating rice!’ At the age when he was ripening to be dressed as a bridegroom, harm has come to his precious body, as the saying goes, ‘The pot broke just as the butter was gathering!’ He went for the sight of Siva, and there the guilt of the bull calf came upon him: it seems like ‘One goes to dig a well, and a demon comes out!’ Like a thief met on the way to market, where did that calf come from, like Yama, to meet this son as he was going to receive grace! If the pity we all feel for this prince had been in the cow that came to take revenge, it would not have shaken the Bell of Justice and cried out for justice! Alas! This cow has raised its banner to destroy the Solar line! From now on, with no king to be had after our king who is fit to rule with justice, all living beings will stand faltering and bewildered. We rejoiced to see this prince before, in his auspicious array, riding in his chariot with his army around him. What sin did we commit, that we should now see him in this pitiful state, walking on foot with guards around him? Even if we offered to give all our lives in exchange for this son’s life, the king would not agree! If this son loses his life, the king too will lose his life after him; then what shall we do, remaining here? It is better to die before that! Ah! Ah!! There has never been, and never will be, one who rules with such rare justice as our king! It seems that Lord Thyagaraja has made this happen only to test our king’s heart! It seems that the goddess of Dharma has done this to test the true nature of our king’s justice!” So, in many ways, each of them, feeling it as a calamity that had fallen on themselves, stood lamenting and marveling.

All the gods who had come into the sky to see this wonder stood and praised him, saying: “The deed this Emperor Manu has resolved to do: could the kings before him even speak of it? Or even think of it? Could even we, who are of higher birth than these humans, do it? This king excels in justice and in firmness of mind. Siva’s gracious glance will come to him; can it come to others? Even so, let us watch and learn all the wonders that are yet to happen.”

While they stood saying this, Emperor Manu went to the street where the young calf lay dead, looked at the executioners who had brought his son ahead under guard, and commanded: “Without further delay, lift this young calf and lay it to one side, and lay this Veedhi Vidangan down in its place.”

Hearing this, the executioners stood with trembling hearts, their minds confused. Then Veedhi Vidangan looked at the executioners, who stood confused at hearing the command of his father, Emperor Manu, and said: “Why do you stand confused and grieving? I will carry out that command myself.” He turned toward the shrine of Lord Thyagaraja, joined both his hands and raised them above his head, and said: “O Lord Thyagaraja, who called forth the holy Ocean of Milk and gave it to a little child! O Siva Sankara, pure Consciousness, whose very form is the Space of Consciousness: undivided, wholly full, Being, Consciousness and Bliss, self-luminous, directly present! I, Your servant, have become a sinner who killed a young calf. As if that were not enough, alas! I have also become the cause of the death of the wise minister named Kalavallabhan, who taught me the good way, who shone like an eye to me, and who was foremost among Your servants. Where are there sinners like me? The punishment my father is about to give is not even a punishment fit for my grave sin! What shall I do! Sinner though I am, I have no other refuge. So, as You once pardoned the great sin of the one who lay with his mother and killed his father, and showed him grace, You must show grace to me, Your servant, too. You must remove the guilt and sins that have come because of me upon my father, upon me, and upon the others who belong to us. You must raise up and give back the minister who died for my sake. Here, I cast off this body of flesh and come. You must take me also into the shade of Your holy feet. If Your holy feet are not to be mine in this birth, You must have me born with the good wisdom and great love by which they may be gained, at least in the birth to come.”

Having made this prayer, he turned around and stood, and in his mind he saluted his mother, his father, his guru and the others. He prayed to his chosen God, “May the scepter of justice of this Manu Chola stand firm and never fail.” Repeating the Five Letters, he lay down with his head to the north and his feet to the south, closed both his eyes, fixed his mind in meditation on the holy feet of Lord Siva, and laid his body down like one in yogic sleep.

Then Emperor Manu, meditating on Siva, faced the shrine of Lord Thyagaraja and prayed: “O Lord who took me, Your servant, as Your own! It has been shown plainly, before our eyes, to be true that this Veedhi Vidangan killed the young calf. I, Your servant, have no power to give this criminal a punishment that could take away his grave sin of murder. So I follow the rule laid down in the books of righteousness, which the great ones established according to Your holy will: that one who has murdered must be put to death. Giving not the least room to faults such as departing from the rule, I have sentenced him to death in purity of mind, word and deed, and here I begin to kill him under the chariot wheel. With Your holy feet as witness, no error has entered this judgment to my knowledge. If some fault has entered without my knowing it, You must pardon it. Have this criminal’s sinful soul given the fitting punishment, so that it is freed from that sin, and with Your gracious glance grant it the way to reach the farther shore, at least in its next birth.” Having prayed so, he urged the horses yoked to the chariot straight on, so that the wheel would press down on the neck of Veedhi Vidangan where he lay, and drove the chariot forward.

Then the chariot wheel pressed down on Veedhi Vidangan and dragged on at great speed with a grinding sound. His body was mangled, torn apart and crushed, like the skin of a mango squeezed by hand to press out its juice; his body was parted from his life, and he died.

Seeing this, all the gods blessed him: “O man of honor, who looked not to the son you gained with such difficulty, but to virtue! May good come to you!” And they showered down a rain of flowers from the Kalpaka tree. The drums of the gods resounded. All the people of that city stood shedding tears of joy and tears of sorrow, saying, “What penance did we perform to gain a great king who administers such justice?” and “Alas! When shall we ever see Veedhi Vidangan again?” At once Emperor Manu, resolved to give his own life for the guilt of the minister’s death, came down from the chariot.

Then Lord Thyagaraja came. Around Him, praising Him, came the Pada Murtis, such as Srikantha, Anantesa, Kalagni Rudra, the Twelve Rudras, the Eleven Rudras, the Buddhyashtakas, Kushmanda, Hataka, the Hundred Rudras, the Eight Forms, Nilalohita, Kankala-Kapala, Asvarohana, the Eight Bhairavas, Virabhadra, Chakradhara and the Four-faced One; the Pada lords, such as Kapalika, Aja, Budha, Vajradeha, Pinaki, Kritasadhipa, Rudra, Pingala, Santa, Kshayantaka, Balavan, Atibalavan, Pasahasta, Mahabalavan, Sveta, Jayabhadra, Dirghabahu, Jalantaka, Meghavahana, Saumyakesa, Jatadhara, Lakshmidhara, Ratnandhira, Sridhara, Prasada, Prakasa, Vidyadhipa, Isa, Sarvajna, Balipriya, Sambhu, Vibhu, Ganadhyaksha, Kiriyaksha and Trilochana; the gods, such as Indra, Chandra and Surya; the sages, such as Vasishtha, Agastya, Pulastya, Parasara and Vyasa; the seers, such as Kanva, Garga and Satananda; the hosts of Asuras, beings of the middle air, sky-dwellers, Vinjaiyar, Vidyadharas, Garudas, Gandharvas, Yakshas, Kinnaras, Kimpurushas, Siddhas, Nirutas, Bhutas, Pisachas, dwellers in the lands of enjoyment, Uragas and the rest; and the Pramatha hosts, such as Nandi, Bhringi, Chanda, Prachanda, Sankukarna, Bana, Andhaka, Kumbhodara and Virupaksha. Kettledrums, mattalam drums, cymbals, conches, sachchari and tadari drums and other instruments sounded. Heralds came bearing the insignia and crying: “The God who can do all things has come! The Lord who gives grace to the good has come! The Ancient One who burned the Three Cities has come! The Treasure of Mercy who gives grace to the faultless has come! The Bountiful One has come! Mahadeva has come! He who is in all things as oil is in sesame has come! The Master who gives grace to those who love Him has come! The God who gives bliss has come! The First One, who carries out the three works, has come! He whose feet the devotees praise has come! Thyagan, whom the gods praise, has come! The Three-eyed One, whom the Three hail, has come!” Tumburu and Narada came singing to the yazh; the dancers of Rudra came dancing; the single white umbrella, the yak-tail whisks and the other auspicious emblems pressed close; the Elephant-faced God and the Six-faced God came in harmony on either side. With Uma Devi, the Mother of the World, at His left side, His matted crown, His three eyes, His dark throat, His four arms and the rest shining, Lord Thyagaraja, whose holy form is the Power of all that is auspicious, came seated on the bull, His mount, which is Dharma in form, and gave His vision to King Manu Chola.

He smiled a smile that spilled and spread cool moonlight, and made the king’s body, heart and life grow cool and refreshed. With His flower-like holy eyes, from which the flood called mercy, filling, swelling, brimming, overflowing, rising in light, ran out as from an opened sluice, He looked on him with grace and took away all the weariness that had come on the king. Then He spoke with His holy mouth: “O Manu Chola, who places faith and great love in Us and rules without failing in the justice of Manu! We Ourselves tested you in this way, so that the people of the world might know well the greatness of the justice you administer. From now on, fear nothing.” And with His gracious glance He made the young calf that lay dead, the minister named Kalavallabhan and the prince named Veedhi Vidangan come back to life and rise up.

That very instant, as one wakes from sleep and rises, the young calf came back to life, rose, and went to its mother cow. The minister and the son came back to life and rose; they bowed to the Lord, and stood near Him with faces in bloom, worshipping and rejoicing. Seeing this, the people of the city and the others were filled with a great joy that carried them beyond themselves. Some danced, crying, “Wonder! Wonder! Wonder! Wonder!” Some sang, “The worship we offered has borne fruit, borne fruit!” Some gave praise: “The Solar line has risen! It has risen!” Some leaped about: “Sorrow is gone! Happiness has come!” Some celebrated: “Every want is ended! Every want is ended!” Some jumped: “The God we worshipped has come across our path!” Some exulted: “When our Lord comes before us, what cannot be done!” Some embraced one another, ran a full ten miles, and came back. Some clapped their hands: “Our distress is over! Joy has come!” Some walked about slapping their shoulders, slapping their thighs, twirling their mustaches, their faces glowing, their bodies drawn up tall. Some swelled with joy at heart: “Our good life has come!”

So, while each and all stood shouting for joy in boundless bliss, like people who see a lost treasure come back before them, Emperor Manu gazed until his eyes grew cool, and was filled with delight. He saw the matted crown, where the Ganges and the young crescent moon shine; the forehead, where the three stripes of holy ash, the tilaka and the holy eye shine; the holy glances, brimming and overflowing with grace; the long ears, hung with conch-shell earrings; the nose, shining like a fragrant kumizh flower; the flower of the holy mouth, red as coral, which graciously gives the devotees the clear nectar of the Vedas to take and drink their fill; the jewel-like throat, which gave life to the gods; the holy shoulders, wearing garlands of konrai flowers and rising like the great mountains; the flower-like hands, holding the deer and the axe and showing the gestures of granting boons and of “Fear not”; the flower-like feet, red and soft, ripe with holy grace, flowing with bliss, sweet in the hearts of the devotees; the holy body, like a garland of red coral; and the side where Parvati shines in joy, like a green creeper spread upon it.

Tears of bliss welled up again and again like spring water, and fell and fell, until they pooled upon his chest. His body softened, trembled and trembled, thrilled and thrilled; his hair stood on end; his very bones loosened and melted. His heart ripened and ripened, seeped and seeped, softened and softened, fluttered and fluttered, melted and melted, sank and sank in the flood of bliss, and was lost in rapture. With his mouth watering, he sang over and over, “Siva Sankara, Siva Sankara, Siva Sankara, Siva Sankara, Chitpara, Tatpara, Chidguna, Chinmaya, Siva Siva Siva,” until his tongue faltered and grew calloused. He danced the dance of bliss, crying “Hara Hara.” He fell down like a staff countless times in worship, and rolled in the dust. On his face, cool like the disc of the moon, sweat broke out like a string of pearls, and a gentle smile appeared and blossomed. He joined his hands, raised them above his head, and stood, love itself in form, and praised Him:

“O God, whom even Brahma and all the great gods, though they perform hard penance, can scarcely see even in a dream! How shall I praise Your great mercy, which so easily showed Your rare holy form, in waking sight, to me, Your servant, who have not an atom of love? I trusted the false world as real, longed for its mean pleasures, and, ruling the earth, was set to fall into the hell from which there is no return. O Ocean of Mercy, who held even me, Your servant, full of ignorance, as something of worth in Your holy heart, and gave me Your vision! O Pupil of my eye! O Sweetness of the sugarcane! O Fruit of the Kalpaka tree! O Treasure of Mercy! How shall I tell the greatness of Your holy grace!

“The demon of ego, which says ‘I’; the giant demon, which says ‘mine’; the deceiving demon called Maya; the great demon called desire for women; the human demon called desire for land; the wicked demon called desire for gold; the fire-mouthed demon called anger; the useless demon called miserliness; the foolish demon called delusion; the overbearing demon called pride; the barren demon called envy: these, joined with the demon of the mind, made me dance night and day, and I grew weary, dancing and dancing. Your holy heart took pity to save me, Your servant; You ordained Your vision, took away my sorrow, and gave me joy. O our Lord! O my Master! O my Father! O my Mother! O my Guru! O my God! O God of my family! O Companion of my life! O God, the Knowledge of my knowledge! If even the Vedas do not know the glory of Your holy feet, and stare wide-eyed, searching and searching until they are weary, how could I, Your servant, a dull thing lower than worms and insects, know it and praise it! To this cow and calf, which brought about for me the vision of Your holy feet, I would give myself as a slave; what other return could I make? The son named Veedhi Vidangan, through whom I gained the vision of Your holy form, has become my son only today! What lack can there be now for me, Your servant, who have been granted to see Your form of holy grace? O Lord who gives joy to those who love You! I have received Your merciful glance: my body is filled with joy! My heart is cooled! My life flourishes! I have received the boon that the young calf, the minister and my son should come back to life and rise! I have gained true life! I am rid of all sorrow! I am happy! I stand in a joy my mind cannot contain! From now on, You must grant me, Your servant, unfailing meditation on Your holy feet and unwavering love, and take me as Your slave. O Mountain of goodness, who takes even wrongs done as good! O Supreme Being, who gave the breast to the piglets! O Holy One, who gave the tigress’s milk to the fawn! O Master, who showed mercy for the blow of a stone and the blow of a bow! O Lord Thyagaraja, who abides in the Flower Temple of Thiruvarur! Praise to You! Praise to You!” With this hymn of praise he stood in worship.

Lord Thyagaraja received into His holy ears the hymns of praise the king had offered, and said: “O king who loves Us! May you go on to have a life free from disease and wealth free from want; with Our grace alone as your support, may you rule all this world under one umbrella, with true knowledge shining in you, and live in unchanging joy! Afterward We shall give you the experience of great bliss, from which there is no return, for all time.” Having bestowed this grace, He vanished from sight with His hosts.

Seeing this, Emperor Manu again fell down, bowed, worshipped and offered hymns of praise. He had the cow and the calf cared for with kindness, grazed in places with good grass, and kept in great comfort. He embraced Kalavallabhan and honored him: “O loving minister, who did a deed hard to do, to make amends for my son’s guilt! Is there anyone as dear to me as you?” Then he took up his son, Veedhi Vidangan, set him on his lap, kissed him, smelled the crown of his head, and cherished him: “O son, gained through the merit I had earned! Is it not through you that I have been raised so high?”

Then he, his son and the minister went together to the temple called Kamalalayam. With purity and with love, as the rule prescribes, they worshipped Lord Siva, had the holy ablution and other special rites and many holy works performed, bowed, worshipped, praised, went round the shrine, took leave and came out. With auspicious instruments sounding, so that all the people of the city rejoiced, blessed and praised, they went round the streets, keeping them to the right. Married women bearing the eight auspicious objects, and the Brahmins, the ministers and others, blessed them and received them with auspicious rites, and he entered the palace. He gave the Vedic priests, the ascetics, the guests, the relatives and the others gifts fitting to each, and made them glad. He showed the son to his wife, who never strayed from chastity, so that her heart was cooled and she rejoiced. Surrounded by his ministers and the rest, by the grace of Siva, he sat as lord of the throne, held the whole world under the shade of one umbrella, and ruled by the path of righteousness.

Benediction

Nerisai Venba

Long live Manu Chola! Long live his son!
Long live his minister, the able one! Long live
the justice of his scepter! Long live those who hear of their glory!
Long live the feet of our Lord!

Thiru Chitrambalam.

Here ends Manu Murai Kanda Vasagam.