1078. That day, He was born as Kannan in the cowherd clan, With Nappinnai, soft as a young creeper, by His side, And with Mahālakshmi, born from the finest lotus bloom. Boundless in love, yet never showing mercy to the cruel asuras. This Lord stands at Thirunaṛaiyūr, rich with sacred waters and blooming groves, Sits in majesty at Thiruvāli, lies in restful grace at Thirukkudandhai, and once walked the earth at Thirukkovilur. Where does He eternally dwell now? At Thirunīrmalai, the great and glorious hill.

1079. As Indra, king of the gods, stood watching, He burned the famed Kāṇḍava forest in blazing wrath to satisfy Agni's hunger. Long ago, in the Bhārata war, He removed the earth’s burden, And struck down the broad chest of Hiraṇya with His claws, Rising fierce as Narasimha, blazing in fury. He once came as the small Vāmana, then rose as Trivikrama. Where does such a Lord dwell now? At Thirunīrmalai—the great and glorious hill.

1080. With His radiant form adorned in divine ornaments, He holds the blazing disc and fierce plough in hand, and lifts the curved conch that shatters fear. Beside Him stands Bhūmidevī, wearing pearl garlands, as He lifts the weight of earth from Her. In the Mahabharata battle, He hurled His disc and its flame outshone the midday sun to strike down kings in Mahābhārata’s field. This Lord who rules the worlds, has made His home on the noble hill: Thirunīrmalai, the sacred peak.

1081. As fierce Narasimha, He rose—unmatched, unstoppable by any foe—and in wrath, tore down Hiraṇya the asura, ending his tyranny. With their husband slain, the flower-wreathed women of his palace (wives), fell into the roaring fire, consumed by grief and fate. Later, in the Mahābhārata war, He stood with the five Pāṇḍavas, loyal and loving, and brought down the hundred Kaurava kings. He upheld Draupadī’s honor in that relentless, world-shaking war. This Lord, ever the guardian of dharma, has made His home on the sacred hill—Thirunīrmalai, the eternal peak.

1082. When Rāvaṇa held the upper hand after taking Sītā, Rāma built a bridge from mountain peaks across the swelling sea to reach Lanka’s far shore. Lanka, with its tall, grand forts that touched the moon, met its destined end as the Lord struck down Rāvaṇa’s ten crowned heads with the Brahmāstra. After victory, the Lord took His seat in Ayodhyā, and now dwells like a dark, stormy cloud upon the great hill—the sacred Tirunīrmalai.

1083. At the time of deluge, He consumed all—the wide earth, the cold and mighty mountains, the oceans, the sun and moon—yet stood saying, “This is not enough for Me.” Such is our Lord’s vastness. To rid the world of its burden, He came as Paraśurāma, and struck down the proud Kshatriya kings. But when He met Rama, the warrior prince, even the fierce sage bowed and said, “There is none equal to You.” This Lord, called Nīrvaṇṇan, the One of water-hued form, now resides on the great hill—the sacred Tirunīrmalai.

1084. Taking a radiant and fierce form, He grew angry at the arrogant Hiraṇyanyakshan and destroyed him, so that even his name and fame would vanish without trace. His cities were laid to ruin, his life force consumed. Not just that—Hiranyakashipu, armed with a sword, refused to bow at His feet or utter even one of His thousand names. For the sake of Prahlāda’s words, and in just fury, the Lord tore open that asura’s chest. This great One, who cannot bear defiance from the wicked, now dwells on the noble hill— Thirunīrmalai.

1085. In this world, there are those who hold peacock-feather fans in hand, who roam like ghostly women—shameless and unafraid—feeding on the dead. Disgusted by their ways, I turned instead to the Lord, offering fine and fragrant flowers, yearning for Him deeply, praying: “May Yama never come near me—grant me this mercy!” To those who remember Him with such love each day, He grants His grace unfailingly. And He dwells on the great and noble hill—Thirunīrmalai.

1086. This greatness of the Lord’s nature cannot be spoken of fully, O people! Before skeptics mock or question, come, listen well. These divine truths, when heard, destroy the sins of those who bow in devotion. These truths alone are the means for our liberation. But the foolish chase pleasures of the five senses, their minds worn down, they wander aimlessly, never reaching the One who is beyond all reach. That Lord, who cannot be attained by the unfaithful, dwells where bees hum in fragrant groves, drawn to the fresh scent on opened blossoms. His sacred abode is the noble hill: Thirunīrmalai.

1087. The ever famous Thirumangai Azhwar, chief of the fertile land, and the one who crushed battle-maddened elephants, has sung these ten pasurams in beauty and rhythm on the great Lord who dwells at Thirunīrmalai. Whoever recites them with care and faith, their heavy karmas will fall away at once. If they so desire, even the higher worlds—heaven and beyond—are within easy reach. And in the end, they will rule this earth beneath moon-like white umbrellas, and ascend to SriVaikuntam to serve at His lotus feet.