Reflections on Andal’s 14th Thiruppavai Paasuram – “UngaL Puzhakkadai”
Aandaal’s fourteenth paasuram is delightfully human as it is not abstract or philosophical but begins right at our doorstep—quite literally, at the 'puzhakkadai', the backyard entrance of a gopi’s house.
With the onset of dawn, the vows have begun and promises have been made, of getting up and waking others and yet the Gopi who promised to wake others is still fast asleep. She is no ordinary girl. She is articulate, confident, perhaps even a little boastful. The kind who speaks beautifully, promises grandly and assures everyone, “Don’t worry, I’ll wake you all up first.”
But when the moment arrives, she is nowhere to be seen.
So the other gopis gather at her house, not in anger, but in playful affection. What follows is one of the most vivid and lively conversations in the entire Thiruppavai.
They point out the unmistakable signs of dawn - In the backyard pond, red lotuses have bloomed, while blue lilies that open at night have closed. Nature itself has awakened. Saffron-clad sages, with radiant white smiles, are already on their way to the temple to blow the conch shells and conduct the morning worship.
How much clearer can dawn be they ask ? And yet, Aandaal and her companions face resistance from inside as the sleeping gopi argues back questioning whether the flowers truly signal morning, teasing the others about their eyes and mouths, engaging them in witty debate instead of getting up.
At this point, the gopis lovingly but firmly call her out:
“Nangaay! ezhundhiraay! naaNaadhaay naavudaiyaay!”
Wake up Nangaay ! Stop being boastful about yourself . The scene , a gentle mockery carrying truth , once again maybe playful but Andal is doing something profound here.
But when the moment arrives, she is nowhere to be seen.
So the other gopis gather at her house, not in anger, but in playful affection. What follows is one of the most vivid and lively conversations in the entire Thiruppavai.
They point out the unmistakable signs of dawn - In the backyard pond, red lotuses have bloomed, while blue lilies that open at night have closed. Nature itself has awakened. Saffron-clad sages, with radiant white smiles, are already on their way to the temple to blow the conch shells and conduct the morning worship.
How much clearer can dawn be they ask ? And yet, Aandaal and her companions face resistance from inside as the sleeping gopi argues back questioning whether the flowers truly signal morning, teasing the others about their eyes and mouths, engaging them in witty debate instead of getting up.
At this point, the gopis lovingly but firmly call her out:
“Nangaay! ezhundhiraay! naaNaadhaay naavudaiyaay!”
Wake up Nangaay ! Stop being boastful about yourself . The scene , a gentle mockery carrying truth , once again maybe playful but Andal is doing something profound here.
Her call is not just about waking up from sleep but about waking up to responsibility, integrity, and devotion.
The gopis remind their friend of her broken promise. Andal tells us that in life words matter but only when you live up to them and back them with action. Eloquence without commitment is empty.
How often do we speak beautifully about faith, service, or discipline yet delay when it is time to act?
The gopi Nangaay is gifted with speech which Andal does not condemn but redirects towards consciousness of keeping up promises. The tongue is not meant for boasting or clever excuses it is meant to sing the names of the Lord.
What a powerful reminder for all of us who write, speak, teach, or lead. Aandaal and her companions never say, “Stay asleep; we will go without you.” Instead, they insist again and again that they will go together and she must join them.
Devotion, Andal reminds us, is not solitary pride. It is shared humility, walking together towards the Divine.
The pasuram culminates in the vision of Kannan, the lotus-eyed Lord, holding the conch and discus, 'sanghu and chakram' waiting to be praised.
All talents, all conversations, all awakenings must finally turn toward Him.
This pasuram gently asks us some uncomfortable questions:
• Do my actions match my promises?
• Am I using my talents in service or merely for self-display?
• When the call of devotion comes, do I wake up or argue that it’s “not really morning yet”?
Andal does not scold. She smiles, teases, nudges and awakens.
Perhaps that is why Thiruppavai feels so timeless. Each pasuram feels less like scripture and more like a loving knock on the door of our own hearts.
So when dawn comes tomorrow , when duty calls, when devotion whispers, when conscience stirs let's not argue like the sleeping gopi. Let's rise, join the others,
and sing together:
“Pangaya kaNNaanai ppaadElOr embaavaay.”
Paasuram 14
"UngaL puzhakkadai thOtaththu vaaviyuL
Sengazhuneer vaay nekiLndhu aambal vaay koombinakaaN
SengaR podikkoorai veNbal thavaththavar,
ThangaL thirukkOil sangiduvaan pOkinRaar
EngaLai munnam ezhuppuvaan vaay pEsum
Nangaay! ezhundhiraay! naaNaadhaay naavudaiyaay!
Shangodu sakkaram Endum tadakkaiyan
Pangaya kaNNaanai ppaadElOr embaavaay."
The gopis remind their friend of her broken promise. Andal tells us that in life words matter but only when you live up to them and back them with action. Eloquence without commitment is empty.
How often do we speak beautifully about faith, service, or discipline yet delay when it is time to act?
The gopi Nangaay is gifted with speech which Andal does not condemn but redirects towards consciousness of keeping up promises. The tongue is not meant for boasting or clever excuses it is meant to sing the names of the Lord.
What a powerful reminder for all of us who write, speak, teach, or lead. Aandaal and her companions never say, “Stay asleep; we will go without you.” Instead, they insist again and again that they will go together and she must join them.
Devotion, Andal reminds us, is not solitary pride. It is shared humility, walking together towards the Divine.
The pasuram culminates in the vision of Kannan, the lotus-eyed Lord, holding the conch and discus, 'sanghu and chakram' waiting to be praised.
All talents, all conversations, all awakenings must finally turn toward Him.
This pasuram gently asks us some uncomfortable questions:
• Do my actions match my promises?
• Am I using my talents in service or merely for self-display?
• When the call of devotion comes, do I wake up or argue that it’s “not really morning yet”?
Andal does not scold. She smiles, teases, nudges and awakens.
Perhaps that is why Thiruppavai feels so timeless. Each pasuram feels less like scripture and more like a loving knock on the door of our own hearts.
So when dawn comes tomorrow , when duty calls, when devotion whispers, when conscience stirs let's not argue like the sleeping gopi. Let's rise, join the others,
and sing together:
“Pangaya kaNNaanai ppaadElOr embaavaay.”
Paasuram 14
"UngaL puzhakkadai thOtaththu vaaviyuL
Sengazhuneer vaay nekiLndhu aambal vaay koombinakaaN
SengaR podikkoorai veNbal thavaththavar,
ThangaL thirukkOil sangiduvaan pOkinRaar
EngaLai munnam ezhuppuvaan vaay pEsum
Nangaay! ezhundhiraay! naaNaadhaay naavudaiyaay!
Shangodu sakkaram Endum tadakkaiyan
Pangaya kaNNaanai ppaadElOr embaavaay."
R.Vimala, IAS,
Resident Commissioner & Secretary,
Government of Maharashtra &
PhD Scholar at IIT Bombay
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