ABOUT THE POEM:The poem THE MINSTREL’S TALE paints a vivid picture of a wandering musician (minstrel) — a poor bard burdened by hunger and hardship. He roams the land with his yazh (harp) tied to his hand, having no protector or patron to shelter him. His clothes are torn and crudely stitched, and he walks with modesty, trying to hide his poverty. His family, too, suffers in helplessness, yearning for his return and relief.After travelling across the world in vain, the minstrel declares that true hope still exists — in the generosity of King Killi Valavan of the Chola dynasty. Once a mighty warrior who slew elephants on the battlefield, the king now resides in Uraiyur, adorned with blazing ornaments that gleam like fire. He is preparing to march against enemy lands.The poet assures that if one approaches this noble ruler, there will be no waiting or rejection — the king himself will honour the seeker with a golden lotus, a symbol of royal grace and prosperity. The poem thus celebrates the king’s valor, charity, and open-heartedness, contrasting the minstrel’s wretched state with the magnanimity of a ruler who uplifts the destitute.It is both a plea and a praise — a poetic testament to the Chola king’s renown as a patron who never lets talent or poverty go unrewarded.THE MINSTREL’S TALEThe minstrel—with a harp bound by cords upon his hand,his belly hollow with hunger,no patron to guard his song.His garment—patched at the waistwith rough stitches and quiet shame,each step a whisper of pride concealedbeneath worn cloth.His kin—like a body without a soul,wander aimless,yearning,their eyes tracing the road for hopethat never returns.After roaming the breadth of the world,if you should ask me now,I will tell you—listen.Once he stoodin the king’s camp,where elephants fell beneath his song of valor.Now, he dwells in Uraiyur’s courtyards—Killi Valavan in possession of the mighty spear,readying for war in a blaze of gold,his ornaments burning brightlike living fire.Go to him—you shall not wait at the gate.He will place upon youa lotus wrought of gold.Your poverty will fadelike mist before the morning sun.PURANANURU - 69 POET: ALANDUR KILARPATRON: CHOLA KING KILLI VALAVAN, WHO RESTS AT KULLAMUTRAM

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