My mother is celebrating a mockery
festival to cure my love-sick, the heroine says to her friend-maid.
That is the park in which pollen of
Venkai tree in golden color will fall on blue feather of peacock when it daces.
We were guarding the yield of millet in the field from parrots eating the
corns. He joined with us in work. His behavior makes me to long for him to join
again. That is why my health is spoiling.
Without knowing this fact my mother is
trying to cure me in a different way. She calls a Murugan-God-priest; and arrange
for a festival dance to cure me. A stage was created for the purpose. A young
sheep was sacrificed to the God. He slashed me with his rattan stick in his
hand. Shall I be cured with this treatment?
If I hug him again and again, then
only my sickness of bangles falling from my hand and that of leaning shoulders
will be cured, you my friend, know.
He is the man who hugged me once upon
a time in the sandal tree park where honey-combs hanging.
 |
| seep sacrifice |
A poem by: PeriSattanar
The text is belongs to second century
B.C. or earlier.
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