காஷாயங் கொள்ளுவதேன் கச்சா யந்தான்
கண்ணாக வந்தகஷா யத்தைச் சொல்வேன்
பாஷாண மவைவேண்டாம் பலதும் வேண்டாம்
பாம்புகடித் தாலந்த விடத்தை நீக்க
வேஷாதி வேடிக்கை விறலு மேனோ
விட்டகுறைத் தொட்டகுறை விதிகள் ஏனோ
ஓஷாதி பலவுண்டே யுயிரைக் காக்க
ஓடத்தால் மாய்கடலைக் கடக்க லாமோ?
Kaashaayang kolluvathen kacchaa yanthaan
Kannaaga vanthakashaa yaththai solven
Paashaana mavaivendaam palathum vendaam
Paambukadith thaalantha vidaththai neekka
Veshaathi vedikkai viralum meno
Vittakurai thottakurai vidhigal yeno
Oshaathi palavunde yuyiraik kaakka
Odaththaal maaykadalai kadakka laamo?
Why take a kāṣāyam (decoction)—is it only a “kaccāyam” (a raw/crude one)?
I will speak of the kāṣāyam that came before (my) eyes / that appeared as an “eye” (a direct remedy).
No need of pāṣāṇam (mineral/stone drugs), no need of many (other) things,
(to) remove the poison that has entered when a snake has bitten.
Are disguises and entertainments, and feats of bravado, of any use?
Why the “leave-a-little, touch-a-little” regulations and measures?
There are indeed many medicines to protect life,
but can one cross the ocean of Māyā with a small raft?
What is the point of relying on mere decoctions—especially crude, half-made ones? I will indicate the decoction that is truly “seen,” the one that functions like an eye: a direct, effective antidote. To neutralize the poison of a snakebite, you do not need elaborate mineral preparations or a pile of substances. Mere show—costumes, sectarian displays, theatrical feats—does not cure. Nor do fussy half-measures and rule-bound tinkering. Yes, there are many medicines that can preserve the breath and body; but even that cannot by itself ferry one across the vast ocean of Māyā.
On the surface the verse reads like a practical Siddha critique of overcomplicated treatments for venom: the poet says that for “poison that has entered” after a snakebite, one need not depend on pāṣāṇam—an important term in Siddha/Rasa practice referring to mineral ‘stones’/toxic substances that require purification and skillful processing. Instead, he hints at a specific, directly efficacious kāṣāyam.
Yet the closing question—crossing the “ocean of Māyā”—pushes the reader beyond emergency toxicology. In Siddhar idiom, “poison” (viṣam) often doubles as the inner toxins of ignorance, desire, fear, and karmic residue; “snake” can signify both literal serpents and the serpentine force (kuṇḍalinī) whose mishandling can feel like ‘venom’ in the body-mind. Against this backdrop, the poet attacks externalism: theatrical religiosity (“disguises,” “performances”), sectarian show, or merely procedural correctness (“leave a little, touch a little” half-measures and rule-fetish) cannot deliver true cure.
Thus two layers stand together without cancelling each other: 1) a medical/alchemical layer: prefer a direct, well-chosen remedy over hazardous mineral complexity and careless dosing; 2) a soteriological layer: bodily life may be extended by medicines, but liberation—crossing Māyā’s ocean—requires a different ‘vehicle’ (inner discipline, insight, grace), not just pharmacology or display.