There is a city on the bank of the Bhima, whose name is Pandharpura; the Patil there has four arms, and sixteen thousand wives. Let us go dancing to play at that town; he will give us joy and rest. Our predecessors have grown bold, they will describe for us their goal of joy. He is mighty above the mighty, ruler over kings; the age of evil cannot enter his dominion. The Patil Pundalika has established a farm, he has escaped from the sorrow of the world; the saints and sages have opened shops there, you can buy what you will. You can buy liberation there for nothing; for nobody wants it! Both markets are thickly crowded; there is an endless stream of pilgrims; they say, “We care not for Vaikuntha, for we have seen Pandhari; I hoped for it long, now by toil I have won it.”
Tuka says, O saints, it is through your merits that I have reached his feet.
Tuka says, O saints, it is through your merits that I have reached his feet.