Tiruppāvai – Pāśuram 22
When a Single Glance Is Enough
அங்கண்மா ஞாலத்து அரசர் அபிமான
பங்கமாய் வந்து நின் பள்ளிக்கட்டிற் கீழே
சங்கமிருப்பார் போல் வந்து தலைப்பெய்தோம்
கிங்கிணிவாய்ச் செய்த தாமரைப்பூப் போலே
aṅkaṇmā ñālattu arasar abhimāna
paṅkamāy vantu nin paḷḷikkaṭṭiṟ kīḻē
saṅkam iruppār pōl vantu talaippeytōm
kiṅkiṇivāy ceyta tāmarai pūp pōlē
Āṇḍāḷ begins this pāśuram by placing a striking image before us.
She speaks of kings — rulers of the wide and beautiful world — who once stood tall in pride, yet arrive shedding that pride completely. They come not as conquerors, but as supplicants, standing beneath the very bed of the Lord.
Andal says: we have come like that too.
Not with entitlement.
Not with confidence.
But with heads bowed, as those who know they have no claim.
Their approach is quiet, almost hesitant — like a lotus just beginning to open, its petals still trembling. The image is deliberate. This is not a demand. It is a plea shaped by humility.
செங்கண்சிறுச் சிறிதே எம்மேல் விழியாவோ
திங்களும் ஆதித்தியனும் எழுந்தார் போல்
அங்கணிரண்டும் கொண்டு எங்கள் மேல் நோக்குதியேல்
எங்கள் மேல் சாபம் இழிந்தேலோரெம்பாவாய்
ceṅkaṇ ciṟu ciṟitē emmēl viḻiyāvō
tiṅgaḷum ādittiyanum ezhundār pōl
aṅkaṇ iraṇḍum koṇḍu eṅgaḷ mēl nōkkudiyēl
eṅgaḷ mēl śāpam iḻindēlōr empāvāy
Now comes the heart of the pāśuram.
Āṇḍāḷ does not ask Krishna to rise, speak, or act.
She asks only for his glance.
“Will your reddish eyes not fall upon us — just a little, just gradually?”
Why gradually?
Because divine grace is overwhelming. Andal knows that too sudden a flood can shatter fragile hearts. What she seeks is not spectacle, but mercy measured to human endurance.
She compares his eyes to the rising of the moon and the sun — not for brilliance alone, but for balance.
The sun burns away what cannot remain.
The moon cools what needs healing.
When both eyes fall together, she says, something extraordinary happens:
the śāpam — the accumulated weight of error, fear, and bondage — simply dissolves.
No argument.
No penance.
No justification.
Only the glance.
Why Pāśuram 22 Matters
This pāśuram marks a deep inward turn.
Until now, there has been movement — walking, calling, awakening, assembling. Here, everything becomes still. Nothing more is done. Nothing more is offered.
The companions (sakhis / companions) stand exactly where they are — powerless, emptied of pride, emptied even of effort.
They no longer ask what Krishna should give.
They ask only to be seen.
Āṇḍāḷ teaches something subtle and enduring here:
that surrender is not dramatic. It is quiet.
That grace does not always arrive with thunder — sometimes it arrives as a softened gaze.
And that when pride collapses fully, even a single glance is enough to transform a life.
This is not desperation.
This is trust at its most refined.
Āṇḍāḷ Thiruvadigalai Sharanam
We take refuge at the sacred feet of Andal.
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