Chapter Twenty-Four
My honeyed one that Lord of Srirangam—
his beautiful dark curls, his lips, his beautiful eyes
the lotus flower unfolding from his lovely navel
Nacciyar Tirumoli 11:2
Varaji smoothed out three banana leaves and placed half a coconut shell scoop of tamarind rice onto each. The rasaam she ladled smelled light and piquant—black pepper, ginger and jeera—but did nothing for Visnucitta’s appetite. The wheel he had set to turning churned his stomach. Last night, Andal had chosen the darkest, grandest lord, the only one in all of Tamil’s Divya Dassams facing south. Had his daughter bewitched him with her songs? Of course, temple courtesans married gods, but it did not make them immune to the beds of kings and priests. Andal’s idea of wedding Sri Ranganatha transcended the g
