மாசிக்காய் மருவெடுத்து மலரப் போட்டு
மாசாதிக் காய்த்தோலை மழித்துப் போட்டு
காசிக்காய் உளவெடுத்தே யூசிக் காயின்
கருவூல மாங்கருவி லூறப் போட்டு
நாசிக்கா நேசிப்பாள் வேசிப் பெண்தான்
நவநாத சித்திதரும் நடனக் காரி
காசுக்கா சொல்லிவைத்தேன் யோசித் துள்ளே
கங்காளி முசுமுசுக்கே கருது வாயே
Maasikkaai maruvedutthu malarap pottu
Maasaathik kaayththolai mazhiththup pottu
Kaasikkaai uLaveduththe yoosik kaayin
Karuvoola maangaruvi loorap pottu
Naasikkaa naesippaaL vaesip peNthaan
Navanaatha siththitharum nadanak kaari
Kaasukkaa sollivaiththaen yoosith thuLLae
KangkaaLi musimucukkae karuthu vaayae.
Taking the “māsikkāy”, drawing it close / extracting it, set it so it “blooms”;
shaving off the rind/skin of the “māsādi” fruit and putting it aside;
taking out the inside of the “kāsikkāy”—and (likewise) of the “yūsikkāy”;
putting it so that it oozes/seeps within the “māṅkaruvi” (mango-instrument) of the storehouse/treasury/womb;
that courtesan/prostitute-woman is the one who “loves the nāsikā” (nose/nostril);
she is the dancing woman who grants the siddhis of the Nine Nāthas;
I have stated it as “for a coin” (as a hint/price)—think within;
O Kaṅkāli, with a low “musu-musu” murmur, keep it in mind / consider it (and speak).
Peel away the outer covering, take only the inner essence, and place it in the concealed vessel so it can “ooze” (ripen, melt, distil, or drip). The text then shifts from recipe-language to yogic code: the “woman” who is called a courtesan and a dancer is a figure for a power that is not easily possessed—often read as Śakti/Kundalinī or the roaming mind—approached through nāsikā (nostril) work (breath-control). When that power is steadied and “loves” the practice, Nātha-type siddhis manifest. The poet warns that the instruction is given only as a deliberately veiled clue: contemplate inwardly and repeat/whisper the mantra (or inner sound) softly (“musu-musu”), O Kaṅkāli (skull-bearing ascetic / disciple).
This verse is built as a double (or triple) register.
1) Outer/alchemical-technical register: A sequence of actions—peeling, extracting the inside, placing in a “karuvi” (apparatus/tool), letting it “ooze”—fits Siddhar rasavāda (alchemy) and kaya-kalpa medicine. “Skin/rind” commonly encodes the gross, impure, or inert portion; “inside/pulp/seed” encodes rasa (essence), vīrya (potency), or the subtle extract. “Karuvūlam” can mean treasury/storehouse, but also resonates with “karu” (womb/embryo), suggesting a sealed chamber (crucible, retort, sealed vessel) where transformation occurs through time/heat/fermentation.
2) Inner/yogic register: The sudden appearance of nāsikā (nose/nostrils) and a “dancing woman” who grants Nātha siddhis strongly points to prāṇāyāma and the awakening/movement of inner power. In Siddhar idiom, “woman/courtesan” imagery often codes something that cannot be morally “owned” by ordinary desire: the mind that runs after objects, or Śakti that will not be constrained by ego. When disciplined through breath and inner attention, that same force becomes the giver of siddhi (capacity, perfection).
3) Pedagogical/ethical register: “I said it for a coin” can be read as self-protection and critique—true instruction is not to be traded cheaply, and the poet will not disclose it plainly. Hence the injunction to “think within.” The final “musu-musu” suggests either (a) mantra-japa done under the breath, (b) a humming/undertone linked to prāṇa, or (c) secrecy—knowledge transmitted in murmurs to the qualified.
Across these layers, the verse preserves Siddhar strategy: a practical-sounding recipe hides an inner discipline, and sexual/social figures (courtesan, dancer) function as masks for breath, mind, and Śakti.