Anger is the only vice Valluvar treats as a fire that burns the arsonist. Other chapters in the Book of Virtue warn against harm done to others — lying wounds the listener, cruelty wounds the helpless. But anger is different. It is a weapon that detonates in the hand of the one who picks it up. Ten couplets, and Valluvar never once tells you that rage is wrong because it hurts your enemy. He tells you it is wrong because it eats you alive — your laughter, your friendships, your spiritual treasury, your very claim to being counted among the living. The chapter's most devastating move is structural: it opens by defining the only arena in which restraint counts, escalates through a catalog of what anger destroys, and closes with a binary that makes death and immortality turn on a single hinge. Those who master wrath join the undying. Those who surrender to it are already corpses.