In plain words
The poet, of Araṅgam: So that the asuras of the world below [Pātāla] should not sprout again from a root left remaining, he sent out his discus and destroyed them down to the womb: the town of that destroyer of his own people's foes is Araṅgam, where swarms of bees, sweet in music like the yāzh, rub their way in through the petals of the screw-pine, put on its white pollen and set up their humming melody.