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A section from the journey

Andal, Who Married God

Among the twelve Alvars there was one girl. Her name was Andal. She loved the god Vishnu the way a bride loves her bridegroom, and she refused to marry any mortal man. Her two poems, the Tiruppavai above all, are sung to this day, especially in the cool dawns of the Tamil month of Margazhi. The tradition tells that in the end she was joined to her Lord.

The Alvars, we said, came from every kind of doorway. One of those doors opened on a girl. She is the only woman among the twelve, and her name is . Of all the Alvars, she may be the most beloved.

Here is how the tradition tells her story, and we will tell it from within, the way it is cherished. A man named , himself one of the twelve, found a baby girl one day beneath a sacred tulsi plant in his garden. He took her in and raised her as his own daughter, in the love of God.

As she grew, Andal gave her whole heart to the god Vishnu. And she made a choice that startled everyone. She would not marry any mortal man. The Lord himself would be her bridegroom, and no one else. To her this was not a strange idea but the simplest truth of her heart.

This way of loving God has a name. We call it bridal love. The soul is the bride, and God is the groom she longs for. It is the most tender and the most daring of the moods of devotion, and Andal is one of its great voices. Her love is not cool or careful. It yearns.

She left two poems. The most loved is the , thirty short verses. In them, a band of young girls rise together in the cold dark before dawn, in the Tamil month of , the coldest and most sacred month. They bathe, and they go from house to house, and at last they go to wake the Lord himself with their singing, as you would gently wake one you love.

Picture that: a winter dawn, bare feet on cold ground, a circle of girls singing a sleeping God awake. It is a vow-poem, a promise kept together at the year's quiet turning. To this day, in the month of Margazhi, you can hear the Tiruppavai sung in the early dark, one verse for each day.

Her other poem, the Nachiyar Tirumozhi, is more openly aching. In it the longing is sharp and grown, the cry of a heart that wants only one thing and will not be comforted with less. Andal does not pretend her love is calm. She lets it burn on the page.

And the ending the tradition keeps is tender. It tells that Andal was at last joined to her Lord at the great temple of , taken into the very God she had loved her whole short life. She is honoured now not only as a saint but as a form of the Goddess herself.

Andal woke a sleeping God with singing, in the cold before dawn, alongside her friends. Is there something you have loved so plainly that you would rise in the dark for it? And does it feel different to long for something with others beside you, rather than alone?

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