Iarpakai Nayanar - A Play

Iarpakai Nayanar: A Play

BY K. N. SUNDARESAN, M.A.

[Original Story: Iarpakai Nayanar was famous in Kaveri-Pumpatnam for his great charity and bounty and for his refusal to let depart any devotee of Siva unless he took from the Nayanar whatever he may be pleased to ask. One day Siva came to him in the disguise of a Yogi and desired as his gift the Nayanar's wife! Nayanar swerved not from his promise. But his friends and relations objecting, the Nayanar at the Sanyasi’s request, with sword in hand, escorted them both to the end of the village. Leaving them in a grove beyond the village gates, the Nayanar was returning home when he heard a cry "Iarpakai! Abhayam!""Who molests thee?" cried the Nayanar and when he ran to the spot, the Yogi had vanished. Husband and wife understood it all as an ordeal planned by Siva. Suddenly Parvati and Parameswara coming on their Rishabha Vahanam gave them darsan, and took them to Kailas.]

A STREET

SANYASI: (to himself) What a dance he danced today, now before me at the temple! Uma wondered if it was myself come in disguise and dancing there! What a soul of prayer sang in that voice quaking the worlds across with its rapt threads of ecstasy! "Thy feet! Thy feet!" –thus he caught my feet in the tangle of his music–His heart's strings spread a net around me. He is gathering the net into his hands and I, –the willing bird, –rejoice his house is near! I shall know today how full his bounty can be! (Pointing to a house) I shall ask the boy. (Aloud) Little one, can I, you tell me? (Aside) Here it is, Ah! he runs to play, he heeds not my words. But–is my disguise perfect? This third eye! close thou!–bang thy door upon the future! Be like a Tilaka which men fondly wear to look like me–their God! No, no. What a mad fool I was! A Sanyasi wears no Tilaka. Boy! boy! just a word, stay!

BOY: It is their turn now; tell me quick! What for?

SAN: Will you show me the house of the richest man hereabout?

BOY: There, there it is.

SAN: What! so poor-looking! Surely that cannot be.

BOY: I don't know. It is the richest of all houses here. Most flows out from that door–must that not be the richest then?

SAN: Look! the houses, on either side –yet.

BOY: Swami, you are coming here a guest, don't you want the kindest house, the most hospitable roof to shelter thee even if it be not as high as the sky and the stars?

SAN: Yes, such a house, show me such a one!

BOY: Then go in–enter. Hesitate not that the lamp that burns within is tiny and dull!–Or come to mine if thou wouldst meet frowning brows–will you come there?

SAN: I will go with thee.

BOY: To cure my father! No, I will not take you there.

SAN: Nor will I come. When doors await ready open, why should I knock at closed ones? My journey is as long as the world–come along. This is the house? The pial is deserted!

BOY: There! They call me to the game! I cannot tarry–I must be away! There is always somebody at the door. –Go, call!

SAN: Just a moment; go in and announce a guest. Go, my good son! . . .

(BOY RUNS INTO THE HOUSE)

What creaking noise is that?–the creaking of a swing?

(A PAUSE. BOY COMES OUT RUNNING)

Did you announce me? What was he doing?

BOY: He was swinging in the swing!

SAN: Who else? May.1 go in?

BOY: All of them–Sarada too! He is coming!

(THE BOY VANISHES INTO THE STREET)

SAN: Play, play! all play for the boy! Poor boy! But know I not men too?–old, aged men whom I call but who heed me not!

(NAYANAR RUSHES OUT, IN HASTE)

NAY: Come, Holy Swami, come! Forgive me, thou hadst to wait.

(STUMBLES AT THE DOOR) And my Sashtanga prostrations!

SAN: You paint a holy look to your awkward fall! Yet, I will call it a prostration. God bless you and your poverty!

NAY: I came in haste-hence I stumbled. As to my poverty–I thank God–His Ganga He has untied from His locks, to shower her upon my roof in plenty, living as I am in this city where Kaveri runs, pouring her waters.

SAN: You want to be the ocean itself–Many rivers and rills swelling your idle treasury–God bless you so!

NAY: Nay, nay, the thin stream too falls into the ocean–so let my little hand overflow through its finger crevices! Who is it in the corridor? Sarada! Nalinai! Bring another lamp!

(SARADA, WITHIN) yes, Papa!

SAN: I hear you are the richest merchant here–yet such lamps you light in the home! So ill-looking a house! A miser!

NAY: God sends not darkness in vain. Is it not sin for mortals to pierce it with ray-arrows of light and to mock his purpose with a vain blaze all night long? Swami, is not night rest after weary day, to withdraw the eyes in the dark to look within? A little lamp suffices. And when devotion encroaches upon the night, . . . lamps we will have–like stars–never like the glare of the sun–Be seated, Father!

(NALINAI ENTERS, WITH A LAMP)

Place it in that niche. Pour oil into the other too–and raise the wick to the brim of the cup.

(NALINAI DOES SO)

SAN: Ha! how wondrous! it glows! The lotus blooms in sunlight, the alli (kumudam) in moonlight, and woman in the lamp-light! Is it not so? Only, I mean–has not the lamp its own splendour of light?

(NALINAI LIFTS HER EYES TO HIM, AND GOES WITHIN)

NAY: Leave the baby here, prepare for his puja–bring milk and flowers. Ask Sarada to come. Both, bow to the Holy feet!

(NALINAI LEAVES THE BABY ON THE FLOOR)

Bow to him! Where is Sarada? (NALINAI BOWS) (the child cries) Ah, even this she cannot bear! She is sleepy, she must be put to bed. Take her within and bring the offerings.

(NALINA! GOES WITHIN)

SAN: Is she your daughter?

NAY: Yes.

SAN: That beautiful girl, . . . she is an apsarasi!You may be proud of her!

NAY: Who, who? No, no! that child–not she!–she is my wife.

SAN: Wife? I thought not so. This is the only child?

NAY: My eldest son is sailing the seas–he is a pearl-merchant–he is wandering in foreign lands.

SAN: Have you no fear that this pearl of a son may sink into the sea no more to proudly come to you calling "Father!"

NAY: Death is everywhere, like God. Hence I know, Death is God. Why should I fear for my boy? If God loves my darling more than I do, then He will take him home and I grudge not the pearl to shine on His worthier bosom!

(ENTER SARADA)

SAR: Papa! Papa!

NAY: Bow to the Swami!

SAN: God descend to earth as thy husband!

NAY: Sit down, dear! sit down!

SAN: How exactly like her mother she looks!

NAY: She is my daughter Sarada. Sit down. Sing to him thy song about Uma! Let him hear!

SAR: I will bring the flowers. Mother asked me to take them here. She is putting baby to sleep, I will bring them anon.

SAN: About Uma! Let me see, let me see, sit down! (Goes to catch her) Oh! She has escaped out of my hands Will you not sing? I do not want your puja!

(SARADA GOES WITHIN)

NAY: She is very shy. I have myself asked her to sing it to me–she won't. We must catch her when all alone. She sings, her voice enchanting the invisible audience outside.

SAN: Hush! Is it she? The snakes may rush out (looking at his neck and waist) Where are they? The child is in danger!

NAY: What! You search about neck and waist? Do you wear serpents like Siva?

SAN: (Aside) Ah! I forgot!(Aloud) And I am not His devotee in vain! I do wear sometimes, but now I have not brought them here. I forgot! Hush! Is it she? That song?

NAY: I think so!

SAN: The ordinary voice–what a pitch it takes on, as it begins to burst in song!

NAY: It is her mother.

SAN: I thought so–voice and form must go together! Hush!

(SONG FROM WITHIN)

Come, sleep! wrap my darling in thy cosy dark! Wrap her safe from the dread fears of the night, Blind their eyes to vain fruitless groping, my darling must step into the lovely dark sleep, Watch her as thou watchest for the golden cloud for thee to come and go, Open wide thy drowsy dim eyes, Guard her jealously, and bring my darling again to her eager mamma in the moon. Come, Sleep, O come!

SAN: I feel like falling asleep! My eyes and head whirl round and round! Ah! only the sweetness of the song keeps me awake; No, no, lullabies must not be sung thus–the child would never sleep!

NAY: Such is the sweetness of a home! Feel you not the village sleeps, lulled by the song?

SAN: Hush! Again! I know the baby has not slept! Didn't I say?

(SONG)

Come, sleep, creep upon her senses slowly, softly, slowly as she searches at the roof for thee! But, sleep, good sleep, come not in the guise of death to steal my darling's eyes away, At her heart rocks a cradle, where joyous, merrily, eternally thou may swing and swing, keep the heart ever swinging, Come, sleep, creep softly on her soft chubby form. Let the cradle rock ever, ever, though she sleeps!

NAY: Slumber enfolds her now!

SAN: Sleep in the guise of death! Ah! singing of death to a child just born!! Strange indeed is your home!

NAY: Why not, Swami? Death! How soon it begins to chase birth–as soon as born? This ceaseless coursing of the ~ blood in the veins round and round–is not this chase and pursuit and escape at last the sure catching of the prey?

SAN: Such a song my mother too should have sung–but they are flown from memory! My mother!! (laughs)

NAY: Didst thou never marry?

SAN: Never was a home for me, for a lullaby has lulled my ears.

NAY: But peace is in your soul! O great Holiness! What a vow had been yours!–What penance! No song can melt you. Because here first you have heard to-night –me seems . . .

(ENTER SARADA)

NAY: Where is mamma?

SAR: She is putting baby to sleep. She asked me to go.

NAY: What is this? She must come for the puja.

SAR: Why? Is not you who must do it? Mamma said so.

NAY: She too must come. The baby sleeps.

SAN: But she must keep the cradle going! How can she come?

NAY: No, no, bid her come, Sarada!

(SARADA GOES WITHIN).

SAN: No puJa for me–make it all at the temple! Don't waste the good milk on my dusty feet or the fragrance of flowers on one who has lost all sense for it. Not for these I come to man!

NAY: Worship of His devotee ascends through him to heaven!

SAN: True, true; but this will suffice, I will give you my prasadam–touching the gifts with my hand, will it not be a blessing? Give me the flowers here–where is the kumkumam? For them,–and . . .this vibhuthi here for you. (Enter Nalinai and Sarada) Sarada! come here. No, I will not place it on the hand–I will mark it myself between the brow and parting of the hair.

NAY: Stay yet, Sarada! the flowers! take them!

SAN: Why, I will wind it round the knot of hair behind. What Sarada! why laugh? that an old man should do this?

SAR: You have not done it well at all. How it falls here and peeps there.

SAN: Arrange it as you like. Now let the mother come.

(NALINAI STRETCHES HER HAND TO TAKE THE Kumkumam)

SAN: No, I will mark it myself.

NAY: Bend down, bend down! Bend down!

SAN: Why close your eyes? If you are afraid to look at me straight, turn behind, I will wind the flower-wreath on your locks.

(NALINAI RISING)

NAL: What a Sanyasi, you! And my lord! He insults the wife, and you look on! What a husband! Fie upon your prasadam. I wipe off the Kumkumam!

(WIPES IT OFF FROM FOREHEAD AND RUNS IN)

SAN: A curse on her!

NAY: You are in a disguise! What profligacy has come here in holy robes! I took thee for a better! !

SAN: Who do you think I am? Fine hospitality to the guest at your door! Insolence! A hypocrite and a profligate! You dare call a holy man thus! Here and now you shall suffer for it. '

NAY: And you are a guest? A homeless wanderer? From door to door a guest begging alms? –thus you behave! a beggar cringing for your daily bread–ah! you are no Sanyasi! you are a villain in holy clothing! Away! Out with you! The roof will fall of itself on your head to have roofed a knave like you!

SAN: I will go anon–but not before my curse! Thus you treat a guest! what a guise you put on in the temple where you danced in ecstasy! You shall see me yet as a Sanyasi, grim and stern, with ready doom in voice and eye! Come–my Kamandalu and stick!

NAY: Many a guest has come and gone–I never saw the like of you! Do what thou wilt. If you are a Sanyasi indeed, you will rue your insult to a wife–your own wrath will recoil on your head. Ifyou are not–you deserve my words. Do what you will–step out from my door–Not one moment more–you desecrate this home–this altar of Siva.

SAN: Not till you drag me out! Come, dare touch me! Ah! There is no water here! Ganga! Yamuna! See the erstwhile empty pitcher now–there is a handful! Now. . . .

SAR: Papa, papa! he mumbles to himself–some magic mantram! Look!

NAY: Let him close his eyes–muse or mumble or pray, curse or bless! Reck him not–go in, go to mamma. Darkness is in his mind as Without, about his eyes.

SAR: You must not, Swami, you must not!

(SHE SPILLS DOWN THE WATER IN HIS HAND)

SAN: Who did it? Vile girl! You dare touch me!

SAR: Forgive him! Forgive papa!

SAN: Away, or on you too the thunder falls!

SAR: Let the lightning pluck my eyes away too! Forgive them, forgive papa.

SAN: Foolish girl! Forgive? Again–I will do it, will you knock down the water?

SAR: But there is no water! What will you do?

SAN: No water! there is enough to drown you and all here–the whole city! Again!

NAY: Sarada! what can he do? Let him murmur his threats to himself! He has closed his eyes. Let us see what his eyes will open upon, Call mother here: She must see this fun. (laughs)

SAR: His eyes will open on this!

(SHE SPILLS THE WATER AGAIN FROM THE HAND)

Why do you look so upon me? What will you do?

SAN: A silly girl to thwart my purpose!

SAR: In the name of Uma, I implore you–I fall at your feet, forgive them, forgive papa, forgive mamma! Recall your mantrams!

SAN: He, he does not ask! It is only you–their vile tongues have not recalled!

NAY: If I have said aught in ignorance, forgive me, forgive us–yet –.

SAN: What! you would praise your own ways?

SAR: Say, say! do not be wroth with them!

NAY: Now your rage is cooled, let me ask thee, Holy Sire–certainly you are a great Swami-is not a wife's honour sacred–were not death better than to bear this shameful sight?

SAN: Well; what did I do?

NAY: Forgive me, you offered to fasten the wreaths of flowers on her tresses.

SAN: Was she not your daughter?

NAY: This is she!

SAR: I am the daughter.

SAN: That too? Is she married?

NAY: She is my wife!

SAN: Alas! Alas! I am stained impure–not all the floods of the Ganga can cleanse me again! alas!

NAY: And Swami! was I wrong, then, to take your words for an insult?

SAN: I forgive you–It is your right.

NAY: My harsh words, seeming –insolent,–forgive them!

SAN: What did you say? "Out with you!" so you cried. I will no longer stay. I go.

NAY: Nay, nay, everything is now peace. Stay here for the night, great Swami.

SAN: Not one moment more, where she is. I remember your words–I go.

NAY: Refuse me not–the guests that come to my door go not thus. Nor shall you.

SAN: Every guest was not like me.

NAY: Yes, like unto you in holiness and devotion to Siva. When you closed the eyes and I saw the chanting of your lips–what a power of ascetic penance beamed on your form!

SAN: And you treated me so shamelessly! I will not stay.

NAY: Then, be it so. My own words are against me though I confess their hasty utterance in a hot moment of outraged honour. But, one request, which you shall grant.

SAN: What! ask it, let my granting atone for my insult to your home today. Quick! I feel I am on thorns to stay under this roof.

NAY: Every guest that steps to my door does not go till he takes something from my hands. And you too must ask your wish. Grant me this favour!

SAN: What! Are you a king? You boast you can grant whatever is asked!

NAY: I am not a king, yet my hand has not grown weary, nor has my body fainted in this purpose. Thank God till now. . . .

SAN: Till now! Beware of the future! You are imprudent–beware–what are you? You are not a god to create, to dispense and to bless!

NAY: But God is on my side and I fear no wreck. Ask what you will.

SAN: I will accept none from your hands.

NAY: Why? because of today’s – –Oh! let not my vow break today and spill down the daily store gathered these many years.

SAN: No, no, a guest must be a worthy guest–which I am not. Waste not your bounty on desert sands. Let me go! Sarada, it is you who have saved your house today–and me too from the dread shot of dangerous curse from my angry heart. All blessings on you! (Rising to go)

NAY: Force me not to prevail upon you thus–for your Siva's sake–Siva, your as well as my own daily thought–for His sake.

SAN: Then, I must. Don't you know I am a Sanyasi and my wants are few? Perhaps, you still deem me a profligate and urge me to beg for one of my many needs.

NAY: Break not so my heart, break not so, Holy father.

SAN: Tell me, how rich are you?

NAY: I know not. But ask whatever you desire!

SAN: Every guest has taken from you what they desire! Ah! I see, you must be a great good man!

NAY: Why, none has yet flayed my armours from me as from Karna. The God that measured the two worlds has not crushed my head to death, –what have I done?

SAN: I have one desire-that will I ask.

NAY: Ask It, ask It.

SAN: You who love the home too much, shall not go to seek for the gift through all the worlds.

NAY: Is it such a simple thing to grant? Yon do me a great favour. But, Swami, be not afraid to ask what is close to your heart.

SAN: Yea, close to my heart, rather what is in my heart. Yet it will be so easy for you. Does not that make you glad, Sarada ?

SAR: You are a good Swami–very good to me and papa.

NAY: Easy or difficult–let your heart utter it and to grant it to a Yogi makes me doubly blessed–a Yogi who knows no desire.

SAN: I have no desire–only today I suspect it whispered to me–"Why not this?"

NAY: Tell me, tell me–

SAN: Guess yourself! Guess.

NAY: I cannot!

SAN: Guess, what is it a Sanyasi needs most?

NAY: Ah! you, have it not, do you need the softest tiger-skin to sit and pray upon?

SAN: Not I! I can pray sitting on thorns and spikes!

NAY: Torture me not With hazarding of futile guesses. I am not a god, to guess others' minds truly.

SAN: But, did you not say that God is on your side? Perhaps, He is against thee. I tell you, it will be impossible for you to give. I will not put you to shame, or put myself to shame with a refused boon. My blessing on you!

NAY: You must take a boon from me.

SAN: Already, I have taken your angry words in my ears–a strange gift to a strange guest; that suffices.

SAR: He always speaks in this strain! Why not ask what you desire?

SAN: Will he grant it?

NAY: I will, I will, with my heart's blood, I will!

SAN: You need not bleed, then say you were dead before you could grant it. It is you who kindled that desire–and will it be yourself to fulfill the desire?

NAY: I kindled the desire! The more I am bound to fulfill it! Say it!

SAN: Then give me

NAY: Say, say!

SAN: Then give me, –give me–no! I will not ask

SAR: Swami, Swami!

NAY: Swami, Swami!

SAN: Then give me Nalinai!

SAR: Who?

SAN: Give me Nalinai.

SAR: Oh, our ruin! Oh! Woe, woe, the home!

SAN: Do you hear? What? do you hear! give me Nalinai! You called me villain–for your sake I will make that base falsehood an innocent truth for you.

NAY: Nalinai? who? which Nalinai?

SAN: Who? I know only one, I have seen only one, the only one that I want.

NAY: My dear Nalinai, my wife–my Nalinai?

SAN: Your dear Nalinai–yours! only if you please. If she be so dear to you–do not; and I promise.

NAY: Promise what? She will not.

SAN: I promise I shall go quietly away, with not a word of anger. No curse either, although you deceived me by breaking your word. Will you give me?

NAY: Do you jest? Why do you laugh as you ask?

SAN: I jest! It is you! You bade me ask. I asked. Now you refuse!! Who jests, you or I?

NAY: Are these my ears? Ha! Do you hear what he says? My eyes! Is it his lips that utter this?

SAN: I say again without shame–it is I.

SAR: Oh shame! Shame!

SAN: Silence, girl! or I shall make thee dumb!

NAY: Is it true you ask me?

SAN: I say without shame, will you give me Nalinai–your Wife? Already you have called me profligate and hypocrite. I don't mind your calling me again so. Shall I go home?

NAY: What home have you? You are a profligate indeed–no Sanyasi! The disguise is torn asunder.

SAN: Say so, say so!

SAR: But you have promised us you won't curse us again.

SAN: So, I will bear your taunts quietly.

NAY: Know you not it is unholy?

SAN: Already, I am impure–I have touched her.

NAY: No, No! only you offered the flowers for her locks–you have not touched her.

SAN: The Kunkumam!

NAY: You did not touch her then too, my jealous eyes watched it well!

SAN: Then jealously keep yours as your own. You base wretch, you refuse the boon you so coaxingly urge me to cringe for, then plead that your kick is that of soft golden lotus-feet! How you hatch your excuses! Cursed be me; why did I enter this sinner's house to-night!

SAR: Let him go, father! Papa, let him go.

NAY: Soft, yet, Swami! whoever you be, you have asked this for your own sake. I plead, the blossom once worn must not profane alien tresses. Is this not true?

SAN: But the tree first wears it on its tresses–yet, all puja is with these same flowers!

NAY: They are the tree's own, born from its womb! Take then my daughter here, Sarada!

SAN: I will not see her. Away! My heart is all elsewhere–my eyes all full with her–her image raising the wick and pouring the oil.

NAY: Take this virgin fruit–save us from shame!

SAN: Me, who will save from shame? None can if thus you persist!

NAY: Remember, Swami, did you not say how close Sarada resembles her mamma?

SAR: Speak not to him about me I Drive him from our home!

SAN: Say so, my good girl! say so! I will not lift my tongue against you.

NAY: Silence, Sarada! You will repent it later! But sire, how closely she is like her mother? Take her, if it is beauty that has made the closed petals of thy heart burst today!

SAN: I take a picture? No! Give me the original, the original that has the voice to sing; not a throat that knows the song, but is dumb!

NAY: If she sings that song now,–about Uma–then . . .

SAN: I tarry not! will you grant my boon or no? then, I go? I have not come here leisurely to choose a bride.

SAR: But you have come to take one away!

SAN: If he keeps his word.

SAR: He will give no word for this!

NAY: I give it.

SAR: Go, go, you fool–all your thinking in the forest has not taught you what virtue is. He has never seen a woman before!

SAN: Yes, truly, and the first I saw touched my heart like fire. And look you here, Nayanar, it is that fire that glows through the robes here like the Kashaya!

NAY: Sankara protect me and. forgive me! Sire, I never strayed from my word–nor will I today.

SAN: Then, bring her here. I will lead her home.

NAY: Even in a dream I dreamt not thus–but it has come today–I will yield as though God asked me this.

SAN: Now I am blessed! And you too! Your word shines inviolate, the brightest star in the firmament to-night.

NAY: The twinkling is over–and my purpose shines steady now!

SAR: Woe me! Papa, Papa! what is it you do?

NAY: I know it–he is a Sanyasi! And I must! Not I to fear to keep my word!

SAR: Papa is mad! Papa is mad!

NAY: Call mother here!

SAR: Alas, alas! I won't–I go out!

(EXIT INTO STREET)

(To be Concluded)