𝔎𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔦: The virtue of infinite love

Chapter 6

As the sun's glorious orb commenced its descent, it painted the firmament with a palette of vermilion, ochre, and amethyst, as though the heavens themselves were an intricate mosaic of fervent hues. The sonorous clangour of temple bells reverberated through the narrow byways of Srivilliputhur, their brazen tones a clarion call to the devout, summoning them to the evening arati. Yet, amidst this sacred cacophony, a unique and ineffable energy permeated the air—a frenzied sanctity that mesmerized every sentient being within its sphere.

In the sanctum of this hallowed township, amidst the towering gopurams and verdant groves, there existed a sanctity transcending even the most revered of stone-carved shrines—a sacred space demarcated by the graceful movements of Andal, the ethereal poetess, the incarnation of Bhu Devi herself. Her feet, as delicate as the petals of a lotus, traced a path upon the cool temple stones, each step imbued with a cadence that echoed through the hallowed halls like the susurration of a zephyr through autumnal leaves.

Andal's comeliness was of an otherworldly nature, an embodiment of divine aesthetics. Her eyes, vast and deep as the abyssal void of a star-strewn nocturne, shimmered with a luminescence that spoke of an all-encompassing, transcendent amour. Her raven tresses cascaded like a silken cataract, undulating with each graceful motion, while her skin, imbued with the warmth of dawn's first blush, glowed with an inner radiance. Her lips, the colour of crushed rubies, parted to release a voice more mellifluous than the song of a nightingale, a voice that sang not for the profane world but for the singular entity that reigned supreme in her heart—Lord Padmanabha, the sovereign of her sound eyes that mocked the sharpness of spears with their piercing, mesmerizing gaze, Andal's beauty was a force of nature, both alluring and untouchable.

Draped in a sari of verdant silk, as if she were the embodiment of nature's verdure in its most resplendent form, Andal commenced her dance. The fabric swirled about her form like a verdant tendril in a garden of blooming flora, each twirl releasing the heady fragrance of jasmine interwoven in her lustrous hair. Her movements bore the elegance of a peacock in full display, feathers unfurled in a majestic courtship dance, every step a beseeching call to her divine paramour.

Her father, the devout Vishnuchittar, had named her Kothai, a name as tender and pure as the blossoms she wove into garlands for her beloved Lord. Yet, in the minds of those who glimpsed the depth of her devotion, those who were not blind to her reality, she became known as Andal—one who ruled the heart of Govinda himself. It was a name given by the wise, those with a vision that pierced beyond the veil of the ordinary, and since then, her name stuck, a testament to the power of her love and the divine destiny that awaited her.

Her dance transcended the realm of mere performance; it was a dialogue of the spirit, an ecstatic communion between the mortal and the divine. Every movement of her alabaster arms, each sinuous sway of her lithe frame, conveyed the profundity of the love that coursed through her veins. Her feet, adorned with anklets that chimed like the soft ringing of celestial bells, struck the ground in a rhythm that was both whimsical and solemn, akin to the clandestine language of lovers murmured in the crepuscular hours.

Andal's mellifluent voice, suffused with the fervour of her devotion, reverberated through the sanctum, each note suffused with a depth of feeling that bordered on the ineffable. Her song, born of a love so intense it defied the bounds of reason, revealed her soul's innermost longings:

To me, everyone else is mad; To everyone else, I'm mad; There's no point in discussing this; Hailing you as cow-herd, Lord of Thiruvarangam, I'm completely mad for you, my Lord!

These verses, fraught with the paradoxes of divine love, encapsulated the essence of her devotion—a love so pure, so all-consuming, that it verged on the brink of divine madness. In the eyes of the world, she was a madwoman, enraptured by a fantasy spun from the gossamer threads of her imagination. But to Andal, it was the world that was ensnared in madness, oblivious to the truth that blazed so brightly in her heart.