Evening had settled in, calm and radiant. The sea at the edge of Kodikkarai lay still, its waves subdued and resting. Fishing boats and rafts drifted gently toward the shore. Birds that had ventured out over the ocean in search of prey were now returning home. A stretch of white sand extended along the coastline, and beyond that, for a great distance, the forest spread thick and wild. The branches of the trees did not sway; not a leaf stirred. Silence reigned in every direction. The red-gold sun hastened downwards, toward the place where sea and sky merged. Clusters of clouds, trying to veil the sun’s crimson rays, caught his light and glowed with borrowed brilliance.

At the water’s edge, a small boat floated on the sea. The gentle ripples of the ocean rocked the boat as softly as a mother might rock a jeweled cradle for her child. In that boat sat a young woman. At the sight of her, we are reminded of the way Sendhan Amudhan once described his uncle’s daughter. Yes; this must be Poonguzhali. True to her name, a petal of the fragrant thazhampoo flower adorned her hair, shining with delicate beauty. Her long, dark tresses curled and cascaded down, adorning her well-shaped shoulders. She wore ornaments fashioned from the shells and conches that the waves had cast upon the shore. Yet, it was not these ornaments that lent her beauty; rather, it was her beauty that gave these ornaments their charm. When beauty itself takes form, what jewel can further enhance it?

Poonguzhali reclined gracefully in the boat and sang. It seemed as though the sea had stilled its waves just to listen to her song! As though the wind, too, had ceased to blow and crept softly, not to disturb her melody! Even the distant forest trees appeared to stand motionless, listening intently to her voice, not a leaf stirring. The sky and the earth seemed entranced by her song, pausing in silent wonder. Even the sun, it seemed, hesitated at the horizon, reluctant to plunge into the ocean and vanish, drawn by her melody.

Let us lend our ears for a moment to that song, sweet as honey, floating through the air:

“When the waves of the sea are stilled, Why does the ocean within me surge?” When Mother Earth herself lies in slumber, why does my heart alone throb restlessly? The birds that dwell in the forest have all sought their nests! The hunters and bowmen have returned homeward; The sky and the earth are sunk in deep silence— Yet why does a tempest rage within the heart of a doe-eyed maiden? While the ocean lies still and the breeze creeps softly, Why does a whirlwind stir within the soul of this dark-haired girl?

Who can say what sorrow has made its home in the heart of that young maiden? Who can tell what mingled bliss and anguish tremble in her melodious voice? Or perhaps, when the song was first composed,