In this episode, we perceive a man’s angst, as portrayed in Sangam Literary work, Aganaanooru 24, penned by Aavoor Moolankizhaar. Set amidst the flowering bushes of the ‘Mullai’ or ‘Forest landscape’, the verse sketches the pain in parting with vivid images.

வேளாப் பார்ப்பான் வாளரந் துமித்த
வளை களைந்து ஒழிந்த கொழுந்தின் அன்ன,
தளை பிணி அவிழா, சுரி முகப் பகன்றை,
சிதரல் அம் துவலை தூவலின், மலரும்
தைஇ நின்ற தண் பெயல் கடைநாள்,
வயங்கு கதிர் கரந்த வாடை வைகறை,
விசும்பு உரிவதுபோல், வியல் இடத்து ஒழுகி,
மங்குல் மா மழை, தென் புலம் படரும்
பனி இருங் கங்குலும் தமியள் நீந்தி,
தம் ஊரோளே, நன்னுதல்; யாமே,
கடி மதில் கதவம் பாய்தலின், தொடி பிளந்து,
நுதி முகம் மழுகிய மண்ணை வெண் கோட்டு,
சிறு கண் யானை நெடு நா ஒண் மணி,
கழிப் பிணிக் கறைத் தோல் பொழி கணை உதைப்பு,
தழங்குகுரல் முரசமொடு முழங்கும் யாமத்து,
கழித்து உறை செறியா வாளுடை எறுழ்த் தோள்,
இரவுத் துயில் மடிந்த தானை,
உரவுச் சின வேந்தன் பாசறையேமே.

The hues of the forest and the drylands fuse together in this verse, as we hear these words from the man, as he remains away from his beloved:

“A member of the priestly tribe, who doesn’t perform fire rituals, cuts bangles with a sword from a conch shell and leaves behind the curving head portion. Akin to these remnants are the tightly wound, coiling buds of the rattlepod, which moistened by the drizzle of the rain shower, blooms in this month of Thai, when the last days of the cool showers are here. This is a time when the early morning’s bright rays are hid by the northern winds. Now, after pouring down on wide spaces, as if the sky has shed its skin, the dark rain clouds, move away in the southern direction. During these dark and cold nights, my maiden with a glowing forehead has been traversing all alone, in her town.

As for me, all around I hear sounds many: Sounds of the long-tongued shining bells, worn by small-eyed elephants, which, after pouncing on well guarded fort walls, are left with their adornments broken, and the sharp edges of their white tusks blunted; Sounds of arrows raining down on blood stained shields, and that of roaring drums in this midnight hour. Now, as the soldiers of the army, having unsheathed swords in their strong arms, lose themselves to sleep, in this night spent at the battle encampment of the furious king, I am here, faraway from her!”

Time to delve into the nuances of emotions. The man starts by curiously talking about a tribe of priests, who don’t perform ritual sacrifices, as they are expected to, but seem to be engaged in the task of cutting shell bangles from conch shells. He has mentioned this only to throw the spotlight on the remnants of the conch shell after the bangles have been cut. The top portion is placed in parallel to a rattlepod bud, which the man says is ready to bloom, for it’s the month of ‘Thai’, which falls in the contemporary January-February and it’s a time when the morning sun is hidden by mist and fog. A time when the rainclouds, after peeling open the sky and pouring down, were heading south. On such dark and cloud nights, he sees his beloved suffering all alone, and quivers in pain. He also brings before our eyes, where he is, talking about the sound of elephant bells, sound of raining arrows and roaring drums, etching his presence in a battle encampment of their king, and concludes by pointing to the sleeping soldiers with unsheathed swords all around him, highlighting his own sleeplessness and yearning for his beloved, far away. A verse that highlights the simple thought that love and pain are the very same, be it for a man or woman!