The Kural

Thiruvalluvar

We know very little about the life of our poet. As in the case of so many of the world’s greatest men of the past, we have only to make our own conjectures even as to the time at which he flourished. Tradition says that he lived at Mylapore, Madras, where he had a friend in a rich merchant captain of the name of Elêla Shingan. This Shingan is described as the sixth descendant of a Chôla prince who, according to the Mahâvamsho of Ceylon, carried on a successful war against that island about 140 BC. This would give the 1st century AD as the probable date at which Thiruvalluvar flourished. Again, tradition declares that the Kural was published at the Madura College of poets in the reign of the Pânḍian Ugrapperuvajudi.2 Shrîmân M. Srînivâsa Aiyangâr in his scholarly book of Tamil Studies gives the date of accession of this king tentatively as 125 AD. Again, verse 55 of the Kural is quoted in Shilappadhikâram and Maṇimêkhalai, two great poems in the Tamil language, which have been determined on other evidence to have been written about the first or second century AD. We can therefore take it that our poet flourished between the 1st and 3rd centuries of the Christian era. Shrîmân M. Râghava Aiyangâr, writing in his able work on Chêran Chen-Kuṭṭuvan, has recently suggested the 5th century AD as the probable date of the two works above mentioned. But as it is admitted that the Kural is earlier in date than those two poems, this theory does not affect the limits above fixed for our Poet.

The very name of the poet is unknown to history, for the word Thiruvalluvar only means “the devotee of the valluva caste.” The valluvas are pariahs who proclaim the orders and commands promulgated by the king, by beat of drum from the back of elephants. From an encomiastic stanza on the author which tradition has preserved, it appears that he was born at Madura, the capital of the Pânḍias. Tradition declares that he was the child of a Brahman father named Bhagavan and a pariah mother Adi who had been brought up by another Brahman and given in marriage to Bhagavan. Six other children are named as the issue of this union, all of whom have dabbled in poetry.

Not much else is known about Thiruvalluvar besides the following bare facts. He was a weaver in Mylapore, having chosen weaving as the most innocent of all professions. He lived a happy family life until the death of his wife Vâsuki who was a model of every wifely virtue. Then he is said to have renounced the world and become an ascetic. A small book on the mysteries of wisdom, called Jnânaveṭṭi, is also attributed to him but the evidence of style seems to be against his authorship of it.

The Tamil people love to tell stories about his married life, which may be true or may be false, but which certainly serve to show not only what was their conception of the ideal home but also that Thiruvalluvar’s married life was in perfect agreement with the ideal as understood by them. Artless simplicity and unquestioning obedience to the husband are the first qualities that the East requires in the wife. Thiruvalluvar is said to have tested the faith of his prospective wife in him by asking her to boil and cook for him a handful of nailheads and other iron pieces. She took them in perfect faith and did as she was bid. The poet felt that she was the proper helpmate for him and married her. The fame of the happiness of their married life spread far and wide. A sage once visited him in order to ascertain for himself the truth of the report and to ask him whether he would recommend him to get married. Instead of answering the question directly, Thiruvalluvar wanted that the sage should draw his own conclusion after staying with him for some time. So he invited him to be his guest for a few days. One day as he and the guest were seated at their morning meal of cold rice and his wife was drawing water at the well in the yard, he called out to her saying that the rice was too hot for him to eat. Without questioning anything she left the water-pot even as she was drawing it up, and, hurrying to her husband’s side, fanned the rice that was served on the leaf. Wonder of wonders, steam rose from the cold rice as she fanned it and, what was still more miraculous, the pot that she had left to itself in order to obey her husband’s call remained hanging in mid air in the same position in which she had left it! Another day, in broad daylight, as he was working at his loom, Thiruvalluvar dropped the shuttle on the floor and called for a light to look for it. Vâsuki lit a light and brought it to him without even the slightest consciousness of the unreasonableness of the request. The sage had received the Poet’s answer: married life is the best even for scholars and searchers after truth if they can find a wife like Vâsuki; otherwise they had better continue single all their life.

The verse that is said to have escaped the lips of our Poet on the death of her who was the helpmate of his peaceful domestic life, is of a pathetic interest:

O loving one! O thou who usedst to cook delicious dishes for me and who hast never disobeyed me! who wouldst chafe my feet at night and sleep after I had slept and wake before I had waked! Art thou going away from me now, O artless one? When shall these eyes know sleep again?

These are about all the things that have come down to us regarding the life of one of the greatest geniuses of the world.

The Kural

Now as regards the work of the Master. It is divided into three parts, the first of which is devoted to Righteousness, the second to Politics, and the third to Love. These three things together with Heavenly Bliss as the fourth, are called by Hindu writers as the four objectives of life. Thiruvalluvar does not treat of the fourth objective separately and Hindus say that he has submitted himself to the orthodox rule that none but a Brahman should be a teacher of spiritual truth to mankind. But the first Part of the Kural, and especially the second section of it, inculcates every principle the following of which leads to self-realisation, which is the highest happiness that can be enjoyed by man here or hereafter.

Part I—Righteousness

Under the title of Righteousness our author treats of the life of the householder and of the life of the ascetic. Every virtue that goes to make a good husband and a good father, a good neighbour and a good man, is inculcated by the poet in 19 chapters. 13 more chapters deal with the life of the ascetic and the virtues to be practised by him. The first four chapters of the Part serve as an introduction to the whole work; and the chapter that ends the section on the life of the householder is devoted to Fame as a great motive force to do good, while that which ends the whole Part treats of Destiny or rather the potential force which is behind every man impelling him to action good or evil, and which is the general resultant of all his thoughts and actions in his previous births.

Some of the grandest thoughts that have ever been uttered by man are to be found in this Part. Though it is difficult to select, we may specially mention verses 76, 115, 128, 156, 207, 247, 314, 341, 360 and 363.

What is the grand feature of the first Part is its healthy outlook on life. “The chiefest blessing,” declares our author, “is an honourable home, and its crowning glory is worthy offspring.” How charming is his love for children! “The touch of children is the delight of the body.” It is only they who have not listened to the prattle of their little ones that are attracted by the guitar and the flute! The Poet insists greatly on the love of mankind and the honouring of the guest as among the chief virtues of a man. The man that loveth not is like a dry tree in the wilderness. Kindness of speech is inculcated as a special virtue by itself. Such vices as fornication, envy, coveting, slander, vain speaking and injuring a neighbour are condemned, and such virtues as uprightness, forgiveness, obligation and good will to all, and charity, are recommended, and the first section ends with a chapter on Glory, for “they alone live who live without blemish: and they alone die who have lived without glory.” It will thus be seen that it is a cheerful, smiling, benignant humanity that Thiruvalluvar wants to produce in his country and in the world.

But the life of man ends not with this world. When man has fulfilled his duties towards society by living a life of usefulness and virtue, and by giving birth to children to take his place in the play of humanity, he has to think of another life, the life that is beyond death. The householder has ascended a few rungs on the ladder of life with the help of his righteous conduct, but from his more exalted position he sees a larger righteousness unfold itself before him. He has to go through a life of stricter discipline than before. He has now to practise mercy to all living beings, abjure flesh-meat, mortify his body and concentrate his thoughts, and thus obtain a higher spiritual power and vision, purify his mind by a strict adherence to truth, and conquer his anger and every temptation to injure or kill even the smallest of creatures. Most of the virtues treated of here should also of course be practised by the householder, though many of them only in a lesser degree; but they are placed in this section on account of their more intimate relation to the ascetic. This life of discipline removes the veils of ignorance covering the soul one after another, the eyes of the ascetic are opened, and he sees that the phenomenal life is no better than a dream and a shadow, a thing that is today but passes away tomorrow. He therefore renounces his attachments to this world utterly, and then be realises the Truth. “Heaven is nearer to him than the Earth” now. But there is yet the insidious foe of Desire which, taking a thousand forms and a thousand shapes, tempts men even the most spiritually minded, and until that is killed once for all there is no permanent bliss for the soul. And so the killing of Desire forms appropriately the last chapter of the section on the Life of the Ascetic.

The chapter on Destiny requires some explanation. The word used by the poet is Ûj and its original meaning is old or ancient. The idea underlying the word is the accumulated unspent force of a man’s actions in all his past lives. The Hindu belief is that all actions good and bad alike have, in addition to their visible physical effect in life, an invisible effect in the unseen world which transforms itself again into visible effects only later on. Using the phraseology of physical science may help a good deal to understand what we mean. Of the total force of every action of a man—including thought and word also in the word action—one part goes off as kinetic energy and that is represented by its visible effects that appear immediately the action is ended. But another part remains unspent for the time being and, whether it is much or little, it is stored up somewhere in the universe to uncoil itself as time and opportunity offer themselves. The storing up is certainly in part in the character of the man who does the action. But another and sometimes the major part of it is in Nature and in the memory of consciousness of fellow-men. Now the innumerable actions, conscious and unconscious, of a man’s life go on accumulating this potential energy until the very end of his life on earth, if not even beyond. Some of this potential energy is being turned to kinetic every moment of his life, but all the same a large portion remains unspent at the moment of death and accompanies the soul in its transmigration into another body. It is this energy waiting to materialise itself in the new life of the soul that our philosophical writers call by the name of karma or Ûj. The idea of the all but omnipotent force of this karma can now be rightly grasped by the reader, whether he is convinced of the truth of it as a fact or not. It is powerful because it forms part and parcel of a man’s character as the original tendencies with which he is born. And the portion of it that has formed part of Nature and remains in the memory of fellow-men must be even more powerful as it is much more beyond the control of the subject’s will than his inward tendencies. We hope these words will be sufficient to make the reader understand the trend of chapter 38 to which the title Destiny is given only for want of a better word to express the above ideas. That the ideas expressed in this chapter are however quite compatible with an active and energetic life, the author shows everywhere and especially in verses 619 and 620 and chapter 27.

The position of this chapter at the end of the Part on Righteousness may be explained thus. The author who is not a lawgiver in the sense that he has the power to compel the observance of his laws, has however to see that his laws are obeyed by those to whom they are intended. He requires a sanction to compel men to pursue the path of righteousness that he has showed with such infinite love to them. And what higher sanction is there than the knowledge that if a man does evil he will carry a load of evil which will make him unhappy and cursed in his next birth, and that if he does good he will have laid by a treasure which will be a blessing to him whenever and wherever he happens to live his next birth?

Part II—Wealth

The author takes up the question of Politics in the second Part of the book. The fact that this part is about twice the size of the first and thrice that of the third shows what importance the sage gives to politics in his scheme of life. The giving of the title of Wealth to this subject is no new invention of Thiruvalluvar. Already Kauṭilya had written his immortal treatise on politics and called it the Arthashâstra or treatise on wealth. But even he is not the inventor of this nomenclature, for it is at least as old as the Mahâbhârata. The underlying idea seems to be that wealth cannot be amassed or enjoyed in security except under a stable and well-ordered government. For “the condition of the rich man is more galling than that of the poor under the rule of the tyrant prince (558).” Of course the vast majority of the rules that are laid down for the guidance of the prince and the minister apply with no less force to the man who is after the acquisition of wealth.

As, in the first part, the poet shows himself as a moral teacher of the very highest order, so, in this part he appears as a consummate statesman and a thorough man of the world. Not a single function of the statesman is unfamiliar to him. Everywhere he reveals the firm grasp that he has upon the fundamental principles that underlie the art of government. There is no confusion, there is no bungling, there is no mere wordiness in any of his 700 verses on the subject of Wealth. Everything is in its right place and is seen in proper proportion. It is the dry light of reason illuminating the whole field of the statesman’s art.

We had better remark at once here that every verse in the second part (excepting the first one hundred verses of section ii which apply in the first instance to the Minister) applies to the Prince as the ruler of his State, whether the author specially mentions him or only gives a rule or makes a remark that applies to all mankind. To give an example, verse 531 reads, “Worse than excessive rage is the unguardedness that cometh of self-complacency.” This is a general remark applicable to all men. But in the intention of the poet, this rule is addressed in the first instance to the Prince, the whole second part being intended by the poet to formulate rules for the proper and efficient conduct of the State. On the other hand, there is no doubt that the verses of this Part apply to ordinary men of affairs as well. There is no question as to the fact that those verses that address themselves to or speak of all men in general do apply to all men whether prince or peasant. But even those counsels which are specially given to princes or ministers are intended also for all men of the world wherever they are applicable. Verse 462 is an example.

Having made these necessary observations we shall make a few remarks as to the contents of Part II. The author is fully convinced, as all right-thinking statesmen ought to be, of the necessity of preserving order in the State, and has a great abhorrence of anarchy (735) and misgovernment (740 and 551–70). The prince, he says, should not be above the law and should be impartial and just (Ch. 55). He should give full liberty of speech to his subjects and to his ministers to criticise him and his rule when he goes wrong (389, 447, 448). The king should not loll in luxury but should be alert and watchful and accessible to all who demand justice, should develop the resources of his kingdom, and protect his subjects from internal and external enemies (Chh. 39, 54, 60, 61, & 62 and verses 549, 550). He should be learned in all the arts of peace and war. He should choose his friends from among the good and the great and avoid the company of the low and the vulgar (Chh. 45 and 46). He should examine his own mind constantly and never allow any vice to enter and obtain a foothold in it (Ch. 44). He should select his officers with due care (Chh. 51 and 52) and supervise everything personally (520 and 553) as well as by means of secret agents (Ch. 59). He should look after his kindred and treat them worthily. And being almost all-powerful in the State, he should cultivate the quality that should be an automatic check on the extravagant use of his power, the quality, namely, of considerateness towards all (Ch. 58). But above all he should be firm and daring, and should never be weak or irresolute in his purposes.

As to the Minister, he should be a man of affairs, clever and shifty, pure-minded, devoted to the Prince, and skilful in reading the hearts of men. He should be a courtier in the best sense of the term, knowing when to speak and what to speak, and when to hold his tongue. When representing his master in foreign courts he should be respectful to the prince to whose court he is appointed, and polite and social with the high functionaries of that court; but at the same time and above all, he should have an ever watchful eye to the interests and honour of his prince. And lastly he should be well versed in all the arts of the forum (Chh. 64–73).

The members of the body politic are six according to all Indian writers and they are adopted by Thiruvalluvar. The minister is one of them. The other members are, as enumerated in verse 381, the people, resources, allies, the army, and fortresses. In 22 chapters the author gives the most salient features of these five Members of the body of the State in their positive as well as negative aspects. The people are treated under the heading, Country (Ch. 74). Chapters 91 to 94 are taken by the commentator Parimêlajahar, who is responsible for the division of the several parts of the book into sections, as speaking of those who are unfit to be friends or allies to the Prince, and chapter 95 treats of the art of the physician who must be in loco amici to the Prince. Independently of this, however, these chapters are also meant, as indeed every other chapter of the first and second parts of the book, to give wholesome counsel for regulating the private conduct of prince and peasant alike.

In the section entitled “Miscellaneous,” the poet treats in 13 chapters of various subjects which cannot be included under the first two headings of Part II but which are too important to be omitted from his book. His verses on Honour and Worth are especially remarkable.

Part III—Love

After considering the subject of Politics which claims such a large portion of the activities of man, the poet comes to treat of the third of the four great objectives of life, namely Love. The whole part is taken by the great commentators of the Kural as the romance of a single couple from the time when they meet each other for the first time up to the time when they reunite after a temporary separation from one another. But for one or two stanzas which may not appear to fit exactly with this scheme, all the 250 verses do lend themselves to this explanation. Of course each verse can also be considered as describing an isolated situation and containing a delicate analysis of one of the hundred varying moods of the lover’s heart. The most ardent admirers of “Locksley Hall” will have to admit that the Tamil poet is easily the superior of Tennyson in analysing the infinite number of moods that chase each other in the agitated minds of lovers.

The romance begins with the accidental meeting of a young man and a damsel in a grove. It is a case of love at first sight. They plight their words to one another and enter the married state. No rites are gone through but the simple plighting of the faith, but that was sufficient in the heroic age of Tamil society to legalise the marriage. It corresponds exactly to the Gândharva marriage of the Sanskrit Dharma Shâstras. The marriage however is kept secret by the lovers and they are at first inclined to wait for a favourable opportunity to make it public. But neither the husband nor the wife have sufficient patience to wait for that opportunity. They are impatient to rush to each other’s arms (1131 and 1138) before the minds of the parents and relations of the girl can be prepared to receive the news of their secret marriage. But lovers in the Tamil land had perfected in the course of ages an ingenious machinery to stead them under a dilemma of this kind. The lover undergoes a sort of martyrdom both physical and moral in order to induce the people of the village and the parents of his ladylove to pity his distraction and offer him of their own accord the object of his passion. A few branches of the palmyra tree are joined together so as to enable a man to sit astride on the united plank, the lover sits on it, and a number of his friends carry him in that posture into the village singing passionate songs of love. The edges of the palmyra branches being rough and hard, the “riding of the palmyra stalk” or the palmyra “horse,” as it is called, is a veritable penance. The young folks of the village mock at the lovelorn pilgrim and perhaps refer to the object of his passion by name even (Ch. 115). The outcry reaches the ears of the parents and other relations of the maiden in the village. They reproach her for entering into matrimony without their consent (1147), but there is no remedy now but to give their consent, and everything ends happily for the lovers. The idea of the “palmyra horse” may be compared with the following verses of the Twelfth Night, I. v:—

Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house
With loyal cantons of contemned love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night,

Holla your name to the reverberate hills
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia!

Now the pair live a happy married life for some time, but the husband has soon to part for the wars from which, he tells his wife, he would soon return laden with glory and wealth. The wife cannot bear even the thought of separation. She will surely die if he leaves her. “If there is anything about not parting, speak it to me: but if it is only thy speedy return, tell it to those who will survive till then.” (1151). But he persuades her to allow him to part, and goes away. Wars and battles, however, do not hurry on to an end for the sake of young ladies, and the husband does not return within the appointed time. The pangs and pains of the wife’s lovesickness are described by the poet in 11 beautiful chapters, all the verses of which are gems sparkling with the light of fancy or expressing some of the tenderest emotions of the love-oppressed heart. The husband at last returns. The wife at first sulks because of his overstay, but cannot really withstand the passion of her heart to clasp him to her arms. Bouderie as one of the incidents of married life is described in three beautiful chapters, which are the last of the book; and as you read them you almost see the pouting lips and indignant eyes, and hear the hard words of the wife to the husband. But every pet ends in a petting which is only the more enjoyable for the quarrel that preceded it. For “bouderie is the salt of love.”

It is because the second section deals with the actions and feelings of the chaste wife in the absence of her lord that the author has given it the title of Chastity.

The above is a very inadequate description of the treasure which the reader will find spread out before him by the poet for his enlightenment as well as enjoyment in the 133 chapters of his book. Whether he speaks of moral duties or state policy, of the principles of action to be followed in order to succeed in life, or of the varying emotions in the trembling hearts of lovers, everywhere Thiruvalluvar has sounded the utmost depths of human thought. The prophets of the world have not emphasised the greatness and power of the Moral Law with greater insistence or force; Bhîshma or Kauṭilya or Kâmandaka or Râm Dâs or Vishnu Sharman or Macchiavelli have no more subtle counsel to give on the conduct of the State; “Poor Richard” has no wiser saw for the raising up of clever businessmen; and Kâlidâsa or Shakespeare have no deeper knowledge of the lovers’ heart and its varied moods; than this pariah weaver of Mylapore! Such is the universality of mind of this grand seer who was born in the Tamil country but who belongs to all mankind.

When one has read his book through, the one impression that abides in the mind is that virtue and honour and manliness triumph over everything, and that vice and degradation are to be eschewed even should they bring pleasure and profit. This is the master-thought that runs through the whole book “even as the thread that is seen through the crystal bead.” Certain verses in the Second Part, like 830 for example, may look as if they would take away a little from this high praise. But we must understand that the author makes a clear distinction between private morality and State necessity. In private life, for instance, forgiveness is one of the greatest virtues and chapter 16 sings its praises abundantly. But, for the king as the representative of the State it is only a limited virtue. He must punish the guilty as a matter of course. Not only that. When he has an enemy, he is not to sit quiet, allowing him to grow in power and strength, but he must attack and subdue him before he becomes strong enough to menace him seriously (879). And when a neighbouring prince defies him, he should not forgive him but humble his pride at once (880). But all the same, the king and the State have not a carte blanche to do what they please with regard to their subjects or their neighbours. They shall not think of acquiring even kingdoms by means for which they shall have to blush (1016). And “to try to lay by wealth by means of guile is like trying to preserve water in a pot of clay that is not baked” (660).

While admiring the high moral purpose and the sublime ethics of Thiruvalluvar, Christian writers, actuated by what we may call for want of a better term a spell of religious chauvinism, cannot resist the temptation of making use of this very moral elevation of the poet to attack the religions of India in an insidious manner. Dr. Pope repeats in substance what Beschi, Digot, and others have written, and speaks of the Kural as “the one oriental book, much of whose teaching is an echo of the Sermon on the Mount,” and says of the author, “Without doubt Christian influences most affected him … we see in Thiruvalluvar a noble, truth-loving and devout man, feeling in the darkness after God, if haply he might find him.” And in another place, with a patronising air towards the great sage and his people he remarks, “I suppose he was not satisfied with the glimpses he had obtained of man’s future, and awaited for light; or, perhaps, he thought his people not prepared for higher teaching.” The reverend gentleman insinuates in these and similar remarks that Thiruvalluvar’s book could not have been so moral in its tone but for his having listened to the doctrines of Christ from the descendants of those who must have, according to a scarcely credible theory, received the teachings of the Apostle St. Thomas at Mylapore.

Writing as Thiruvalluvar does on almost all things that concern man’s life here as well as hereafter, it is easy to find parallels to his maxims among the greater writers of almost every nation in the world. But that is no reason for at once jumping to the conclusion that he must have listened to the words of any sage in particular. Whatever be the truth as to St. Thomas having preached at Mylapore, the author of the Kural does not show that he has ever heard of any of the peculiar doctrines of Christianity. Christians have a tendency to think that the ideas of forgiving one’s enemies, abstaining from returning evil for evil, humility etc. have been first taught to the world only by Jesus Christ. To say that these ideas are not autochthonous to any great nation that has developed a distinct civilisation of its own, one must possess a much greater amount of learning than falls to the lot of the ordinary man. But it can be safely asserted that these ideas were the common property of great minds at least four centuries before Jesus was born. And Thiruvalluvar had enough in the sacred literature of India, to say nothing of his own Illumined Self, to enable him to build these truths in his grand scheme of life without being indebted in any way to the teachings of Jesus.

So again among Hindus, Buddhists and Jains and Shaivas are each fond of asserting that the sage belonged to their own particular persuasion. But if every one of these religions can claim many of his teachings as its own, none of them can deny that they also belong to its rivals. And each of them will find it difficult to reconcile some of his ideas with its orthodox doctrines. For instance, almost all the names by which Thiruvalluvar refers to the Lord in his first chapter apply distinctively to the Buddha and to the Arhat of the Jains. But the Jains have to find an explanation for his reference to a creator of the universe (1062), for the high regard that he has for the sacred character of the Brahmans, their Gods, their sacrifices, and their Vedas (543, 560, 413, 134), for his Brahman division of life into four states (41), and for his attributing of anger to ascetics (29). The Buddhists have to explain his reference to the five principles of matter (271) while they admit only four, his approval of self-mortification and austerities (Ch. 27), and his condemnation of the eating of meat (Ch. 26). On the other hand, neither Shiva nor Vishnu nor any other God of the Hindu pantheon is by name spoken of as the supreme God anywhere in the book. The truth therefore appears to be that in whatever persuasion Thiruvalluvar had been born, he freed himself from the trammels of all sects and worked his way up to the Illuminated Existence of the Yogin for whom there are no persuasions or sects or religions, but only Truth and Wisdom and Joy.

The Verse

A few words on the verse of the Kural will not be deemed out of place here though this book is mainly intended for readers who are unacquainted with Tamil. The title of the book itself indicates to the Tamil reader the verse in which it is written. For the word Kural means only a short rhymed couplet, the first line of which is composed of four feet and the second of three feet. The last foot of the first line or the first foot of the second line should rhyme with the first foot of the first line. The ability with which the poet manages the caesura in these short verses is something masterly. It is within the compass of these seven feet that our author has compressed some of the profoundest thoughts that have ever been uttered by man. And how like a master he plays on this tiny instrument! Sparkling wit and humour, the pointed statement, fancy, irony, the naive question, the picturesque simile, there is not one of these and others of the thousand tricks of the born artist that our author has not employed in this perfect masterpiece of art. But the abiding note in this varied symphony is the sublime. Well has an admirer described the Kural as “a little mustard seed, but whose bore holds all the waters of the seven seas.” If we should start quoting we should have to quote each one of the 1330 verses that compose the book, and so we shall merely refer the reader to verses 263, 397, 827, 835, 839, 922, 930, 1071, 1072, 1073, 1219, and 1220 as some of the finest that be can ever meet with in any work in the world.

The following transliteration of a typical verse is intended to satisfy the curiosity of those readers who are unacquainted with Tamil:

Kâmam vehuli mayakkam ivaimûndrin
Nâmam keḍakkeḍum nôy.

—Verse 360.

Parimêlajahar

No man that writes or speaks about the Kural can forget to refer to its greatest commentator Parimêlajahar. Parimêlajahar was a Brahman scholar who lived and taught at Kânchi about 600 years ago. Nine commentators had interpreted the Kural before him. But it was reserved for him to enter into the very mind of the author, as it were, and bring out every beauty and point that lie embedded in the original. But for his commentary none in modern days could understand the full significance of the original verses. His commentary is as terse and vigorous as the Kural itself in point of style. The reasonings by which he condemns readings and renderings other than his own are a study in sharp, incisive, logical, and dignified criticism. I am tempted to give an example of his method of commenting. I take verse 687 which would stand thus in literal translation: Knowing his duty, considering the time, judging the place, (and) deliberating, (who) speaks (is) head.

Here is the commentary:

• “Knowing his duty: understanding how to comport himself before foreign princes;

• Considering the time: judging the moods of those princes;

• Judging the place: judging the proper place to address to them the business for which he has gone;

• Deliberating: meditating within himself beforehand as to how he should deliver his message;

• (Who) speaks (is) head: who delivers the same in that manner is the fittest among ambassadors.

“The manner of comporting himself before princes consists in weighing the political situation of their kingdom as well as that of his own king, weighing his own status as ambassador, and regulating thereon the formalities to be observed in visiting and speaking to the prince etc. Mood is the state of mind that is prepared to receive in good part what he (the envoy) is going to say. As it depends on time the author mentions time also. The place referred to is the place where there are men who are friendly to the ambassador. Deliberation consists in imagining the words that he is going to use, the possible replies of the other side, his own rejoinders etc. in all their possible developments. As the northern writers (Sanskrit authors) add the carriers of written messages to the other two classes of ambassadors (explained in the commentator’s note to the title of the chapter as he who speaks only what he is told to speak, and he who is allowed a wide discretion as to what he is to speak, the word speak being used in the sense of negotiating), and classify envoys into three classes, namely, first (lit. head), second (lit. the middle), and third (lit. lowest or last), our author uses the word head so as to apply to their classification also. The word ambassador is supplied by the title of the chapter. These five verses (683 to 687) describe the qualifications of the ambassador who is allowed full freedom of negotiation.”

I shall give but one example of the commentator’s criticism. In verse 338 which reads, The fledgeling abandoneth the broken shell of the egg and flieth away: that is the symbol of the love between the soul and the body, the word kuḍambai which Parimêlajahar explains as the shell of the egg had been explained by others as nest, either of which meanings being correct from the etymological point of view. It is in these words that he supports his own rendering as against the other:

“As the author says abandoneth (more literally abandoneth to itself) we obtain the unseparatedness of the shell in the previous stage: that is, its contemporaneous origin with the embryo and its remaining as the matrix and support of the same until the very moment of separation. Hence it is the symbol of the body. As the bird is one with the shell in the beginning and as it enters not thereinto after the breaking thereof, the same is the symbol of the soul. Though there are other beings that are oviparous, it is the bird that is taken as the symbol of the soul here as it alone flies away from the shell. The word love is denotative of want of love. As the conscious, immaterial soul, and the dull, material body are the very opposites of each other, know that there can be no attachment between them but what comes of karma.

“Now there are those who would explain kuḍambai as nest. But as its origin is not contemporaneous with that of the bird, and as the bird goes again into it after leaving it, the reader will see that it cannot symbolise the body.”

After these two examples it is quite superfluous to expatiate any more to the reader on the great qualities of the commentator. The Tamil people have preserved this commentary with the most religious care. Indeed it as well as the Kural have been among the greatest sources of inspiration to the princes of the Tamil country for a good and just rule and for successful statecraft. Even thirty years ago the Zemindars of the Tamil land were great lovers of the Kural and their children were carefully initiated into the rules of state policy and good government that abound in it and in Parimêlajahar. Would that these great books are again restored to their proper place in the curricula of study of our young men both rich and poor!

In undertaking this translation, my object has been not only to spread a knowledge of Thiruvalluvar’s grand work as widely as possible in the world, but also to induce my own countrymen speaking other languages than Tamil to retranslate it into their different vernaculars, so that the words of a great moral teacher who intended his message for all the world and for all time, may not fail at least now to reach the ears of the poorest of the poor and the simplest of the simple of his own countrymen, and to sow in their hearts the seeds of a noble, dignified, virtuous, and manly life. If I shall be able to say to myself that I have contributed something towards spreading the ideas of the Great Master among a wider audience among my countrymen, I shall consider that I have been amply rewarded for my labours.