Classic Poem

Of course, Pari's city of Parampu is a miserable place!
Even if you three with your great royal drums should all
besiege it, four crops flourish there with no need of farmers!
For the first—from bamboo, with its tiny leaves, a rice springs up,
and the second, with its sweet pulp, is the ripening jackfruit,
and third, thickly growing, is the valli root with its luxuriant vine,
and the fourth is honey, with its lovely darkness pouring out,
the color overwhelming the peak of the tall mountain dense with vines!
Like the sky is his mountain and in that sky the springs
are like stars! Though you have your elephants tied up
to every tree there, though your chariots are spread across
every field, he will not be overcome through any
of your efforts! Swords will not force him to yield.
But I do know how you can capture his land! If you should just
play on a small yal with its tensed, polished strings
while your women of the caste of bards, with their rich, fragrant hair,
follow you, and you come dancing and singing,
he will yield his country to you then and his mountain!