Zarine Taraporevala andEdited by Dr. Indira Kher,Ex. Oh,You inconceivable one. You with an immeasurable belly.

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You are the mistress of the realm of words; Because of your existence, All worldly transactions are carried on. You are the deity revered by all authors; You are eternally the pride of this nation; Your infinite power prevails everywhere. You are the Supreme Spirit and beloved of the saints! You, who control the world like a puppeteer with his strings, You are omnipresent; All the sciences and sacred books are still delving To plumb the essence of your nature.

Only the saints understand you Others remain baffled. To you, my obeisance, Respectful and with my whole body prostrate in veneration before you. Hail, Hail to you, Sainath, Redeemer of sinners and merciful one!

I lay my head down at your feet; Now give me your protection. You are the whole world, the abode of bliss; You, yourself, are Vishnu, the paragaon among men; One whose wife is Uma! You are also that enemy of Cupid. You are God in human form!

You are the sun in the sky of knowledge! You are the ocean of kindness! You are the anti-dote for worldly maladies! You are the divine purifer Ganges river for your devotees! You are the raft for those drowning in worldliness! You are the refuge of the timid. You are the very cause of this creation! You are not born! Death also does not affect you! This is the final conclusion Which one arrives at, after thoughtful search.

Birth and death, These concepts are born of ignorance! From both you are free Oh, Lord, of course! If water appears as a spring, Does it imply that its source is there? It existed already, full and flush, Merely sprang up from within the earth. Water that springs up in a hollow Is, therefore, so described or named; A "spring" becomes its proper name. Without the water, it is only a hollow.

To spring up and to dry up and disappear, This is not the nature of water; Because the water of the spring Has no importance for the hollow it fills. It is only the hollow that is mistakenly proud Of itself, rather than the water that filled it. Therefore, when the water dries up The hollow becomes impoverished. The human body is really like the hollow water bed; The spirit pure energy is like the pure clean water of the spring; Although there are innumerable such hollows The essence is the same in everyone.

Until now, who are without a beginning, I say to you, merciful one, To destroy the mountain of ignorance Please become the thunderbolt of Indra! Until now, such hollow beings Have existed in large numbers, on this earth. Many more exist even now, And, in the future, as time goes by, many more will come.

Each such hollow being Is given a separate and different name and appearnce; That is how, in this world, They are identified. Water latent in the clouds Is all the same; But when it descends upon the earth, It assumes different forms. That which falls in the Godavari bed Is known as the sacred River Godavari; That which falls into a well Does not have the same worthiness or prestige. Saints are the river Godavari, And, you are the water in it We are the puddles, wells and lakes; That is the difference between us.

For the fulfilments of our lives We must surrender to you, Always, with folded hands, Because you are the embodiment of piety. The bed of Godavari That is considered as truly sacred, Owes all its sanctity To the quality of the land through which it flows The water latent in the clouds Does not alter that part of the earth on which it falls; Yet, that very part of the earth, Is called Godavari or pure by the scholars of the sacred books.

Where the water has fallen elsewhere, It has acquired the qualities of the soil on those places; Contaminated, bitter, salty it becomes Though originally sweet. Therefore saints are Godavari So full of grace; Amongst all the beings Your place is the highest! From the beginning of creation Godavari has been in existence; It has been full of water And it has never lacked it till today.

The bed alone remains the same, The water have flowed into the ocean, The sancity is eternal Of the river - bed, to this day. A century is like a year. The sages of that century Are like the flowing waters While the great souls are like the waves on the water. Thus, many came the present time In each of the centuries of the past; The floods came repeatedly, Which I am unable to recount. Therefore at your divine feet I make obeisance; Maharaj, of my faults Take no notice, I plead. I am a poor, wretched, ignorant man, The greatest of sinners; Ridden with vices, But do not cast me off!

The inherent defects of iron Are ignored by "parisa" The small streams of the village, Lendi and ohol Are not rejected by the Godavari. I am full of vices within. By your merciful glance, Do, do quickly destroy them.

A child always commits mistakes, But a mother does not scold; Remembering this, Grant me your grace. You are the means for crossing this worldly ocean, you alone are so - undoubtedly.

You are the sun in the sky of knowledga, You are great mine of virtues! Oh, you are the ladder to heaven! Oh, pious, purest one, Oh, embodiment of peace and bliss, Oh, the Supreme Self, Oh, the non-dual one, the ocean of knowledge; Oh, incarnation of the Supreme wisdom, the best among men, Oh, abode of forgiveness and peace, Oh, refuge of devotees, Bless me, bless me!

The knowledge about your caste and creed You do not reveal to anybody. But these superficial differences Would interest only pedagogues; But for those devotees desirous of knowledge They are of no consequences. Caste and creed have no relevance to you; You are the Guru Supreme! You are the creator of this world!

You are beyond caste and greed, You are Brahman, the essance of Truth; You are That, verily, You are beyond human conception! Giving free rein to surmises and conjectures, Arguments have flourished about you.

There, my insignificant Words, how will they prevail? But when I behold you, I cannot remain silent; Because, for encomium, words Are normally the only means. Therefore, by means of words, Whtaever description is possible, That I will always proffer, With your grace. Saints, I reckon Higher than gods; For distinctions such as mine and thine Find not a place in their proximity.

On the contrary, the king was delivered from the material world And was immortalised; Such is the prowess of the saints, It is indescribable! Saints are the Sun, Their grace is illuminating; Saints are as pleasing as the moon, Their benignness is as gentle as moonlight. Saints, towards the good and the bad, Are the same, definitely. On the contrary, their love for the sinners Is immeasurable.

In the waters of the Godavari, Only the soiled clothes come to be cleaned; The clean ones;in a trunk, Remain far from the Godavari banks. Even that which remained in the trunk, came once, To be cleaned throughly On the Godavari banks.

Oh, Samarth, and purify me! You are the cool, shady tree, with abundent foliage; We are the travellers, really, Suffering from the scorching sun-rays Of the three-fold calamities of Life. The benign grace of your cool shade Is extraordinary! Sitting under a tree, If one feels the heat of the sun, Then, who will call that tree The shade-giving tree? Be endowing it with forms, The saints have reduced the importance of the formless!

Knowing the prowess of saints, Jagjivan laboured by carrying water. There is no need to speak more. To save the sinners, You came to Shirdi; Pouring water into earthen lamps, You made them burn. The wooden plank of absurdly small measures You turned into your bed, truly; Thereby displaying to the devotees Your amazing yogic powers! The barrenness of many women You have completely dispelled; The disease of many You have cured with the "Udi"! TO ward off worldly difficulties Is not impossible for you.

The weight of an ant, Does the elephant consider as a burden? I surrender at your feet, Do not turn me away. For the worship of other deities.

The ritual is as prescribed. But, for your worship, There is nothing worthy of you! All my talk is a philosophical statement, For I have not experienced its truth. I have spoken without experience, A meaningless maze of words. Mostly with the help of my imagination only Will I worship you.

That worship itself, oh, compassionate one, Do accept from this slave. Now with my tears I bathe your feet; The sandlewood of true devotion I make into paste and apply. I place on you, sincerely; This garland of adoration, I place round your neck. The incense of vileness I burn before You, truly; Though it is of impure composition Even then, there will be no foul-odour from it.

Elsewhere, than before the Sadguru, If incense is burnt, What happens to that incense Is like this When the incense is put on the fire, The moment it actually touches it The fragrance from the incense Leaves it instantly. The throne of pure faith I offer you as a seat; On receiving it Accept the offering "naivedya" of devotion. You partake the offerings of devotion, Give me the essence; Because I am your child I have a claim on your milk.






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