Arunachalam

As if she lives like how her grandma lives. Full feku lady who is a successful marketeer ( ofc everyone allowed) but acting holier than thou

[WHOSE MURUGAN?] Once upon a time in a land known as Tamilakkam, there lived a deity that was red in color, wielded a spear (vēl), and rode a peacock (sometimes rooster). We know this because Tamil archeology is littered with pre-Sangam iconography of vel and rooster, both closely associated with this deity. What did they call him? We don’t know because we’re talking pre-Sangam period when people didn’t write down much. Sure there was some epigraphy, but all secular (land grants, trade notes, etc.). Then comes the Tolkappiyam. Now we’re in the 2nd century BC, at most 3rd. Here, the name Ceyyon (செய்யோன்) is used for the first time in reference to a guardian deity of the hills (verse 5, chapter 1, section 3, Tolkāppiyam in English by Dr. V. Murugan): māyōṉ mēya kāṭu urai ulakamum, cēyōṉ mēya mai varai ulakamum, vēntaṉ mēya tīm puṉal ulakamum, varuṇaṉ mēya peru maṇal ulakamum, mullai, kuṟiñci, marutam, neytal, eṉac colliya muṟaiyāṉ collavum paṭumē. “The forest region belongs to Māyōṉ; the dark mountain region belongs to Cēyōṉ; the fertile riverine plains belong to Vēntaṉ; the great sandy seashore belongs to Varuṇaṉ. These are designated, respectively, as Mullai, Kuṟiñci, Marutam, and Neytal.” Cey (செய்) and cem (செம்) are both Tamil for “red.” Does this conclusively prove that the Ceyyon of Tolkappiyam is also the deity represented by earlier epigraphy? Not really. Every parallel between the two is incidental, circumstantial. Rooster motifs occur in Iron Age South India, but by itself, rooster doesn’t automatically indicate Ceyyon. The association is suggestive, not demonstrative. Similarly suggestive is the vēl of Iron Age South India as a Ceyyon emblem. It’s just an iron spear and we’re talking Iron Age. Of course there’s gonna be spears. They’re the most ubiquitous weapon humanity has fashioned out of iron. Any association with a specific deity can only be speculative. But scholarly Dravidian consensus exists that the parallel exists, so we’ll just go along with it. We will work on the assumption that some kind of a Ceyyon cult existed long before the Sangam era and that Tolkappiyam was only referencing something that had already existed at the time rather than inventing something new. At any rate, the Sangam era is a period of Ceyyon’s universalization. This is when his cult expands beyond hill tribes into towns and kingdoms, and Ceyyon slowly evolves from a local hill god into a more universal warrior deity. Part of Sangam literature is Akananuru, an anthology of some 400 poems composed by multiple authors across mutiple generations between the 1st century BC and 3rd century AD. This is where Murugan makes his debut as a name for Ceyyon. More than 500 years after Akananuru comes Tirumurukarruppatai. This is where Murugan switches rides from rooster to peacock at least in recorded history. That’s right. There’s no Murugan and no peacock in Tolkappiyam. In fact, there’s no rooster or spear in Tolkappiyam either. But why? Answer lies up North. Rigveda mentions the word “kumara” for the first time in 5.2.1: kumāram mātā yuvatiḥ samubdhaṃ guhā bibharti na dadāti pitre, anīkam asya na minaj janāsaḥ puraḥ paśyanti nihitam aratau. “In secret the young mother carries the child who is hidden; she does not give him to his father. His face is not one that changes; the peoples see it in front, set down in the circle of spokes.” Here, “kumara” seems less a proper noun and more a common noun. A young boy, if you will. Generic. But if you read it as a metaphor, kumara becomes someone more specific. Vedic texts often blend mundane physical actions with deep metaphysics. In this case, that physical action is the rubbing of wood to spark fire. And in this metaphor, the hidden boy represents nascent fire...fire that is still hidden within embers or wood before it bursts into a bright, consuming flame. In sum, Kumara is Agni. At least in this context and only allegorically. Nothing to do with Shiva. In fact, there’s no Shiva in all of Rigveda. There are Rudras (plural) but that’s a whole other conversation. Toward the Late Vedic period we get another scriptural work titled Shatapatha Brahmana. In 6.1.3.18, a charcter named Kumara makes his second debut: tānyetānyaṣṭāvagnirūpāṇi, kumāro navamaḥ saivāgnistrivṛttā. “These then are the eight forms of Agni. Kumara (the boy) is the ninth: that is Agni’s threefold state.” There is no reason to confidently read Kumara as a proper noun here either, but that’s immaterial. Of import is the fact that he’s Agni. Again. Another couple of centuries and we run into the Upanishads. Chandogya Upanishad in particular. In verse 7.26.2, it drops a name: Sanatkumara. Mahabharata would later call him a son of Anala and the founder of Yoga. The Puranas read him differently. But the same verse also drops another term. Skanda. skanda ityācakṣate taṃ skanda ityācakṣate. Skanda they call him, skanda they call. In simpler terms, Sanatkumara is Skanda. But is this Skanda, the proper noun? Or skanda, the adjective? In the latter sense, the word means “wise.” A revered saintly figure being called wise isn’t unusual. So is this Skanda, the deity? Or just a laudatory epithet for Sanatkumara. Also, while we’re at it, is Sanatkumara the “Kumara” of the Vedas? The jury remains out. If Sanatkumara is Agni and Skanda is Sanatkumara, then Skanda is Agni. If Sanatkumara is a skanda or wise saint, then there’s no Skanda. So far, no sign of Skanda as Shiva’s offspring. After Upanishads, we enter the age of the epics with Valmiki’s Ramayana. This is where Kartikeya shows up for the first time. In fact, Valimi dedicates an entire hymn in Bala Kanda to this character. Here’s a rough summary of the sarga, 1.37: The gods, seeking a commander for their celestial army, appealed to Brahma, who instructed Agni to channel the divine essence of Shiva into the river Ganga. Upon reaching the Himalayan mountains, this potent energy manifested as a radiant child in a reed forest, transforming the surrounding flora into gold. The Krittika stars (the Pleiades) nurtured and suckled the infant, who assumed six faces to draw milk from them simultaneously. Following this display of power, the gods anointed him as Skanda or Kartikeya, the commander-in-chief of their armies. Sage Vishvamitra concluded by telling Rama that devotion to Kartikeya grants longevity, prosperity, and spiritual merit on earth and beyond. At least indirectly, Skanda is presented as a Shiva offspring. Indirectly because, believe it or not, there’s no mention of “Shiva” by name in the entire sarga! Or kanda, but that’s a separate conversation. So by the beginning of the Sangam Era, we have a Skanda/Kartikeya in the North that’s born of Shiva and is a bestower of prosperity. And a Ceyyon in the South who is of undisclosed birth and rules the mountains. See any parallel so far? There is one: Neither has a ride. Unless you still wanna hold on to the rooster for Ceyyon. There’s one more, albeit a bit tenuous: Both originate in the mountains, Skanda in the Himalayas and Ceyyon in the hills of Tamilakkam. No meaningful overlap. This changes toward the end of antiquity. With Tirumurukarruppatai in the South and Kushans in the North. Tirumurukarruppatai is unanimously placed in the 2nd-3rd centuries. As we’ve already noted, this is where Ceyyon or Murugan switches from rooster to peacock. Do note that peacocks are pretty common in the hills of Tamilakam. Up North, in the same centuries, the Kushanas were depicting Skando Komaro on their coins with...an elephant! Although this is still debatable, because some read the character as the Kushan king Huvishka and not Skanda. The peacock entered the northern iconography with the Guptas. By the 5th century AD, Skanda and peacock had already started sprouting in Gupta cave sculptures and temple arts. The association, however, would only crystallize with the advent of Skanda Purana in the 7th-8th century AD, long after the Guptas were gone. In SP’s depiction, an evil demon named Surapadma enters a fight with Skanda. To hide, the demon turns into a mango tree. Skanda then uses his divine spear (the vēl) to split the tree in half. The two halves turned into two creatures. One half became the peacock (Skanda’s ride), and the other half became the rooster. Skanda spares the demon’s life and takes the rooster as the emblem on his battle flag, the kukkutadhvaja. This is the Kartikeya we know today. This is the Skanda we know today. This is the Murugan we know today. This is also the Subramanya we know today. So, two independent cults merged into a common syncretic theology sometime between the 3rd and 6th centuries. Know what else happened in that window? Large-scale migration of Brahmins from the Gupta lands into Tamilakam. Especially under the likes of the Pallavas and Kadambas, many Gangetic Brahmins were invited to settle in the South and granted large land grants called brahmadeya. A couple of centuries before the Pallavas, Samudragupta had conquered large territories in the South during his famous Dakshinapatha campaign. This included kingdoms like Palakka and Kanchi. Three centuries is a very long window for traditions to overlap, coalesce, and morph into something new with parts of both. So who stole what from whom? Feel free to care. Because Murugan doesn’t and neither does Skanda.