Chapter 58அதிகாரம் 58 எளிமை Simplicity

It is not the strokes drawn that make the writing; it is the strokes taken away that fill the meaning.

The woman who says one line is enough sees the form; the woman who has drawn a hundred lines sees a line.

Two different women. Drawing more does not mean seeing more: ‘form’ is the whole shape, ‘a line’ one stroke of it.

The carving chisel’s scar is the form; what it took away was the stone’s life.

Of all that lay rich on the threshing floor, the grain, once winnowed, gathers in a small pot.

When paddy is pounded, the husk goes and the kernel shines; words too have a husk that goes, and there is understanding.

Those who have lived by rain do not need poetry about rain; rain itself speaks rain.

The one who has one thing sleeps; the one who has a hundred stands watch a hundred ways and does not sleep.

Food served in a plain bowl tastes sweet; eat from a golden bowl, and the eye eats the bowl.

When the gilded temple crumbles, the stone of the inner sanctum that stood at its heart returns.

Those who have learned a thousand things speak one rare word, as easy as a word a mother spoke.

The Tamil word for ‘rare’ also means ‘difficult’: the word may be rare, or hard-won.