Well … I’ve been staying away from this very nice discussion only fearing that my participation here also would be equated with Medusa’s curse. However, I’m stepping in just to share my thoughts about a few things. 

1. The translation of the Purananuru poem #101 quoted here, especially the translation of the last two lines, sounds a bit odd. 

///aruntēmānta neñcam
varunta vēṇṭā;

“(My heart is, that is) I am satisfied, having eaten my fill. I can’t eat any more!” /// 


2. I stand by my grammatical analysis of aruntēmānta < arunta + ēmā(r)nta. 

Even the traditional commentators (such as U.V.S and Auvai D. Pillai) did not interpret the phrase aruntēmānta as arunti + ēmānta. 

3. One does not have to accept my grammatical analysis, but one could study the whole poem in the context of its theme and situation such as tiṇai and tuṟai. 

3a.The theme is 'praising the donor (pāṭāṇ)' and the context is 'asking for a gift (paricil kaṭānilai).' In that kaṭānilai (begging/wanting situation) a bard asking for gifts would never say that he has had his fill). 

4. The essence of the phrase varunta vēṇṭā which follows aruntēmānta neñcam [neñcam  here is an address form to the bard’s heart] seems to have been neglected in the translation. 

4a. The phrase varunta vēṇṭā does not mean “I can’t eat more.” It means “do not worry/despair.” 


++++++++++++ 

Translation is not an easy task, especially if it’s from totally different languages such as from Tamil to English. Translators have to make a lot of sacrifices and negotiate between the concerned languages. I understood this gimmick when I helped A.K.Ramanujan for his translation work (Poems of Love and War) and David Shulman when he translated a section of the Tevaram [http://www.amazon.com/Songs-Harsh-Devotee-Cuntaramurttinayanar-Pennsylvania/dp/0936115076)].

In my view, translations are wonderful but they are just gateways to access the original texts with no guarantee of 100% accuracy. 

++++++++++++ 

Regards,
Rajam


On Feb 25, 2014, at 12:51 AM, Tieken, H.J.H. <H.J.H.Tieken@hum.leidenuniv.nl> wrote:

Dr Palaniappan,


Even if a final a is sometimes elided, it is not an a which is elided in aruntēmāntaquoted by you. It is an i here, in the verbal participle arunti. For many days the bard speaking in the poem enjoyed the hospitality of the king. In Hart's translation: “Not for one day did we go to him, not for two days did we go to him,/ but though we brought many along with us and stayed for many days,/ he seemed as eager to welcome us as he was on the first day! ...” The bard concluded:


aruntēmānta neñcam

varunta vēṇṭā,


“(My heart is, that is) I am satisfied, having eaten my fill. I can't eat any more!”


And now I stop. I feel I am up against Medusa.


Herman  


Herman Tieken
University of Leiden
The Netherlands
Van: palaniappa@aol.com [palaniappa@aol.com]
Verzonden: dinsdag 25 februari 2014 3:35
To: Tieken, H.J.H.; indology@list.indology.info
Onderwerp: Re: [INDOLOGY] Kuruntokai 106

Dear Dr. Tieken,

In Kuṟuntokai 106, there is no problem with sandhi in maṇanta + aṉaiyam > maṇantaṉaiyam. See V. S. Rajam's grammar, p. 73-74. Rajam gives the example arunta+ēmānta > aruntēmānta (Puṟam 101.9)

In Kuṟuntokai 164, there is no need for Eva to explain pulakkum aṉaiyē (m), since from the publisher Cāminātaiyar onwards, everybody reads it as pulakkum + aṉaiyēm. Having pulakkum as a finite verb as you suggested does not make sense in terms of grammar and poetic convention. In that case, 'taṇ perum pavvam aṇaṅkuka tōḻi' will hang there by itself separated from the conditional 'maṉaiyēm makiḻnaṟku yām āyiṉam eṉiṉē' by the sentence 'maṉaiyōḷ maṭamaiyiṛ pulakkum'. Moreover, the other woman is never referred to as maṉaiyōḷ by others in the entire Classical Tamil corpus. Nor does she ever calls herself maṉaiyam or maṉaiyēm in other poems where she speaks. That is why, as shown in the attachment, Cāminātaiyar's manuscripts had pulakku maṉaiyē but he published the text with split sandhi as pulakkum aṉaiyē. All other commentators accepted that. All commentators interpreted pulakkum aṉaiyēm as an adjectival participle too. 

Hope this helps.

Regards,
Palaniappan


-----Original Message-----
From: Tieken, H.J.H. <H.J.H.Tieken@hum.leidenuniv.nl>
To: palaniappa <palaniappa@aol.com>; indology <indology@list.indology.info>
Sent: Mon, Feb 24, 2014 2:12 am
Subject: RE: [INDOLOGY] Kuruntokai 106

Dear Dr Palaniappan,

As to your interpretation of maṇantaṉaiyam as consisting of the adjectival participlemaṇanta plus aṉaiyam, how about sandhi?
Furthermore, before you present what you think is a example of such a construction, you should look more carefully at it. You refer to the sequence pulakkum aṉaiyē(m)from Kuṟuntokai 164, assuming that pulakkum is an adjectival participle. The relevant lines of the poem read:

taṇ perum pavvam aṇaṅkuka tōḻi
maṉaiyōṇ maṭamayiṟ pulakkum
aṉaiyē makiḻnaṟkiyām āyiṉam eṉiṉē.

As you might have noticed Eva Wilden is silent about the construction pulakkum aṉaiyē(m). Clearly she did not know what to do with it, as is shown by her translation:

“When they say we have become such (aṉaiyēm) for the delightful man,
that she of the house is vexed (pulakkum) in her inexperience,
may the cool great ocean trouble them, friend.”

I for one fail to understand the situation underlying this translation. Why would this speaker wish that the roaring sea drowns the loud gossip about her affair with a married man? If that is because the gossip is a torture to her, this does not become clear from Wilden's translation. Apart from that, on closer consideration pulakkum is not a participle at all, but a finite verb. Wilden failed to recognize the Sandhi here. When two m's clash, as in anaiyēm makiḻnaṟkiyām one of them may be dropped. This has also happened in the sequence pulakkum manaiyēm. The passages means: “if, as they say, I have indeed become his “housewife”, I in my turn will suffer from a housewife's foolishness as well (have to live with my "husband's"infidelities)”, or something like it.

We have strayed far from Kuṟuntokai 106. I think we should call it a day.

H   

Herman Tieken
University of Leiden
The Netherlands
Van: palaniappa@aol.com [palaniappa@aol.com]
Verzonden: zondag 23 februari 2014 20:19
To: Tieken, H.J.H.; indology@list.indology.info
Onderwerp: Re: [INDOLOGY] Kuruntokai 106

Sorry, in the post below, 'dock rock' should really be 'dark rock'.

Regards,
Palaniappan


-----Original Message-----
From: palaniappa <palaniappa@aol.com>
To: H.J.H.Tieken <H.J.H.Tieken@hum.leidenuniv.nl>; indology <indology@list.indology.info>
Sent: Sun, Feb 23, 2014 1:13 pm
Subject: Re: [INDOLOGY] Kuruntokai 106

Dear Dr. Tieken,

In Puṟam 191, the question is how come the poet has no gray hair in spite of being many years old. The answer should really address the past. It is because of the past good behavior of his family members and servants that he does not have gray hair today. That is why he uses the past forms inmāṇt-, nirampi-, and kaṇṭ-. But the past behavior of people involved continues in the present too. This is what the poet chose to show in the case of the king kākkum. Grammatically, the servants were of the same nature the poet has intended all these years. 

maṇantaṉaiyam means literally 'we are of the same nature (the hero) united.' That we are talking about an adjectival participial construction can be seen in pulakkum aṉaiyēm in Kuṟuntokai 164.5-6. That is why Eva is right. 

Coming to the roots of iṟṟi looking like a waterfall, I have attached a picture showing a miniature version of what Kapilar might have seen. The Ficus variety is possibly different but the behavior of the roots seen here clearly show what we are talking about. If one focuses on the roots and rock, they just look like a white waterfall on a dock rock. The roots of the tree are behaving just like a creeper. They attach themselves to the rock and spread. The roots grab the rock surface and also get into any crevices and ridges. That is why they follow the horizontal line between stones in the photo I sent yesterday. With such a creeper-like behavior, I do not know how anybody steeped in Tamil culture can think of the roots of iṟṟi with the hero. Even a lay Tamil just listening to film songs will associate a creeper with a female as in the film song below. 
That Cōmacuntaraṉār, in spite of his own description of iṟṟi as attaching and spreading which is clearly the nature of creepers, associated the roots with the hero shows the cascading (:-)) consequences of interpreting ney as ghee.

If a big tree has to survive on a rock, one can only imagine how strongly  the roots should be attached to the rock. That is the whole point Kapilar is making. The heroine has already made love to the hero and has united in love with him like the roots of iṟṟi attached to the rock.

Kapilar's knowledge of the mountainous landscape and his skill in weaving this multi-layerd picture are simply amazing! In my opinion, Eva got the essence of the poem right, Comacuntaraṉār missed the mark.

Regards,
Palaniappan

-----Original Message-----
From: Tieken, H.J.H. <H.J.H.Tieken@hum.leidenuniv.nl>
To: palaniappa <palaniappa@aol.com>; indology <indology@list.indology.info>
Sent: Sun, Feb 23, 2014 5:42 am
Subject: RE: [INDOLOGY] Kuruntokai 106

Dear Dr Palaniappan,
Thank you for the other instances of the construction. Especially Puṟanāṉūṟu 191, line 4 is interesting: yāṉ kaṇṭaṉaiyar eṉṉ il̥aiyar, literally, “My kumāras see what I see” (in Hart's translation: “My servants do what I wish”). Here there is a change of subject between the respective clauses: I see, they (act) like that”. This offers an explanation for tām in tām maṇantaṉaiyam: “To enjoy a more intense love-making they (tām) first reject the lover. We women operate in that way.”
By the way, I fail to see why maṇantaṉaiyam should be analyzed as maṇanta (an adjectival participle) plus aṉaiyam, as suggested by Eva Wilden.
If you don't mind, I stick to my interpretation of the phrase “'receiving' a person like fire into which ghee/oil is poured”.
Herman


Herman Tieken
University of Leiden
The Netherlands
Van: palaniappa@aol.com [palaniappa@aol.com]
Verzonden: zaterdag 22 februari 2014 23:34
To: Tieken, H.J.H.; indology@list.indology.info
Onderwerp: Re: [INDOLOGY] Kuruntokai 106

Dear Herman,

maṇantaṉaiyam < maṇanta + aṉaiyam

Compare 
yāṉ kaṇṭaṉaiyar in  Puṟ. 191.4
cūr nacaintaṉaiyāy in Kuṟ. 52.2

The meaning of etirkoḷ is the opposite of what you have indicated. See Tamil Lexicon entry below.

எதிர்கொள்(ளு)-தல் etir-koḷ-
, v. tr. < எதிர்³ +. [T. edurkonu.] 1. To advance or go towards a guest or great person to meet, welcome and receive him; வரவேற்றல். வேனில் விழவெதிர்கொள்ளும் (கலித். 36). 2. To accept; ஏற்றுக்கொள்ளுதல். எஞ்சொ லெதிர்கொண்டு (பு. வெ. 9, 32).

The scenario you envisage will not apply here.

Regards,
Palaniappan


-----Original Message-----
From: Tieken, H.J.H. <H.J.H.Tieken@hum.leidenuniv.nl>
To: indology <indology@list.indology.info>
Sent: Sat, Feb 22, 2014 2:18 pm
Subject: [INDOLOGY] Kuruntokai 106

I had another look at Kuṟuntokai 106, discussed earlier by Palaniappan and Hart:

…
tīti ṉeñcattuk kil̥avi namvayiṉ
vantaṉṟu vāḻi tōḻi nāmu
neypey tīyiṉ etirkoṇṭu
tām(/tāṉ/taṉ) maṇantaṉaiyam eṉa viṭukan tūtē.

As I see it, the real problem of the poem consists of the construction of two verbal participles, or absolutives, etirkoṇṭu and maṇantu, followed by aṉaiyam “we are like that”. The construction is rare but I found one other instance in Naṟṟiṇai 179, lines 6-7 (vīṅkuvaṉal̥ vimmi nerunalum aṉaiyal̥) about a spoilt girl who refuses to drink the sweet milk her mother gave her, sobbing (vimmi, a verbal participle) and clamouring for more extravagant sweets (vīṅkuvaṉal̥, a participial noun). Only yesterday the girl behaved like that (aṉaiyal̥) but just now she ran away with a unknown – and poor – fellow. No more sweet milk for her!
If this is how the construction works, the situation underlying our Kuṟuntokai poems may be described in the following way. The woman speaking had sulked, her lover had fled away and sent a messenger telling that he does not understand why she was angry at him. She replies that sulking is just part of the play: making love (maṇantu) after a quarrel (opposing the lover's avances, etirkoṇṭu, flaring up like fire into which ghee/oil is poured) is special. Compare Sattasaī 522 in the translation by Peter Khoroche and me (Poems of Life and Love in Ancient India. Hāla's Sattasaī, p. 115): “After every quarrel, it's true/The pleasures of love taste new.

Herman

Herman Tieken
University of Leiden
The Netherlands
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