In plain words
Kaṇṇaṉ, says Yaśōdā, you took a young girl with clustered flowers in her hair into a wide grove, lay with her at her pearl-hung breasts, and came home last night only when three times seven nāzhikai of the night [three watches] had passed. People say about you whatever suits them, and I have no strength at all to scold you. My lord, I know you now for what you are [the Lord, not my child]. I am afraid to give you my milk.