History of Indian Philosophy

SR No.: 007593
Original Sutra Author: N/A
Author: Surendranath Dasgupta
Publisher: Cambridge University Press
Publication Year: 1922
Total Pages: 2517
Language: English
Classification: Book_English
File Size: 125 MB

Page 1266

The Philosophy of the Arvārs
XVII]
77 Again in the Tiru-pāvai, a well-known section of the Nāl-āyiradivya-prabandham, the poetess Aņdā! conceives herself as a Gopī, requesting her friends to go with her to wake the sleeping Krşņa,
After the cows we to the jungle go And eat there--cowherds knowing nought are we, And yet how great the boon we have, that thou Wast born among us! Thou who lackest nought, Govinda, kinship that we have with thee Here in this place can never cease!--If through Our love we call thee baby names, in grace Do not be wroth, for we-like children-we Know nought-O Lord, wilt thou not grant to us
The drum we ask? Ah, Elõrembāvāy!1 Again Periy-ārvăr conceives himself as Yasodā and describes the infant Kșşņa as lying in the dust and calling for the moon!
(1) He rolls round in the dust, so that the jewel on his brow keeps swinging, and his waist-bells tinkle! Oh, look at my son Govinda's play, big Moon, if thou hast eyes in thy face—and then, be gone!
(2) My little one, precious to me as nectar, my blessing, is calling thee, pointing, pointing, with his little hands! O big Moon, if thou wishest to play with this little black one, hide not thyself in the clouds, but come rejoicing! Again, Tiru-mangaiy says:
Or ever age creep on us, and we need The staff's support; ere we are double bent With eyes fix'd on the ground in front, and feet That totter, sitting down to rest, all spent:
We would worship Vadari Home of him who mightily Suck'd his feignéd mother's breast
Till she died, ogress confest. Again Andā! says:
Daughter of Nandagõpāl, who is like A lusty elephant, who fleeth not, With shoulders strong: Nappinnā, thou with hair Diffusing fragrance, open thou the door! Come see how everywhere the cocks are crowing, And in the māthavi bower the Kuyil sweet Repeats its song.–Thou with a ball in hand, Come, gaily open, with thy lotus hands And tinkling bangles fair, that we may sing
Thy cousin's name! Ah, Elõrembāvāy! 1 Hooper, op. cit. p. 57.
Ibid. p. 37.