C. R’s interpretation of Andal, agreeing
with “an esteemed friend” of his, published in the September issue of the Triveni,
is indeed a novel and convincing allegorical exposition of the life of that
great poet-saint. But this beautiful allegorical connotation cannot detract
from the historicity of Andal, even as a thousand allegorical meanings
of the Ramayana cannot reduce it to mere legend.
All available evidence on the subject–whether
internal or external–points to the existence of Andal as a separate
personality. Her language has a youthful freshness and is characterised by
gorgeous rhetoric and sensuous imagery. Perialvar also uses imagery to good
effect, but his language has a mature simplicity and the tender sadness of an
aged Father.
Of all saints, Perialvar would be the least
disposed to create a daughter, “varying the familiar trick of the saint
speaking the language of the love-lorn maid.” For this Alvar has not at
all sung of the Lord as His bride in the manner of other Alvars, like
Tirumangai-Alvar or Nam-Alvar. The little literary pose that may be found in
his poems is due to the speeches of the characters in the Krishna Avatara.
The Gopis, for example, praise Lord Krishna as their wished-for Nayaka;
Mother Yashoda pours out her love of the Divine child. How; then, can we
ascribe a conscious attitudinising to a saint who has steered clear of even the
usual conventions?
In the concluding songs at the end of each group of
ten verses, Andal’s name is invariably given as Pattar-Piran Kothai or VilliPuthur-Kothai
and rarely as Kothai, without any adjective. Pattar-Piran Kothai means
Kothai or Andal, daughter of Paltar-Piran or Peri-Alvar.
The rules of sandhi for this compound name are found in the Tolkappiam.
The Great Tamil scholar, Rao Sahib Professor M. Raghava Iyengar illustrates the
general prevalence of these nominal compounds, and clearly explains their
meanings in his “Collected Essays” in Tamil (page 394). It was a
universal habit to mention, at the end of each composition, merely the author’s
own name, or the author’s name clubbed with that of his or her father.
Andal respectfully refers to her father in several
places as “Vishnu-chittar.” “The Great and the Rich one.” she says, “may
disregard me, a poor mortal. But if Vishnuchittar somehow got Him, his
God, I would feast my eyes on Him.” (Nachiar Tirumoli X, last stanza).
Again, “surely, Vishnuchittar would have heard the truthful and solemn
word of the fair Lord of Tiruvarangam. Who can help me if the report
that He loves those who love Him, turns out to be false?”(Ibid XI, last
stanza) In the above verses, Andal is referring to a third person, her father
who, knowing all her sufferings may be able to help her. These poignant
words–the poignancy can best be realised in the original itself–cannot surely
be the result of a mere pose.
We find that Vaishnavite Acharyas who
succeeded Andal’s own life-time invariably talk of her as a separate figure. It
has been accepted generally that the period of the Vaishnava saints is about
the eighth century A.D., and that of the Acharyas one or two centuries
later. Are we to imagine that within a hundred, or a hundred and fifty years,
great men were so gullible as to believe a literary fiction as a sober fact of
history?
The Romance of Andal invites many
allegorical expositions and we must welcome them as substantial additions to
our meagre stock of interpretative literature. These expositions can, however,
be taken only to supplement the infinite personality of the saint, and not to
supplant it.