In plain words
The poet, to the Lord at Kuṭantai: O Kēśava, may all be well with you! Is it that your feet are sore from walking [when you measured the worlds]? Or that your body is jolted and weary from digging up the Earth [goddess], as a boar, when she trembled with none to save her? Rise up and tell me why you lie so in Kuṭantai, on the bank of the Kāviri, whose wide streams have crossed the great mountains and wild tracts that stood in their way.