The hero speaks:
Seven are his worlds and eight his arms;
He of yore decreed my thraldom unto him;
She the gold,
is like His Puliyur;
She who is ever surrounded by her playmates Is now alone on this lofty hill;
This is indeed the work of Fate O mind!
gone is the pain that grieved you.
The hour is come for Gandharva Union.



Of seven arborets is He; of arms eight is He;
Taker mine is He; his is Puliyur auric.
She is of that nature noble. By ananke,
O heart! To sulk in seclusion from the surrounds
Sublime into a privacy, this maid celestial is got.
Hie hence for conjugal bliss with her.