Come, let us go and see for ourselves the festival of Kartika; Vaikuntha has come near to Pandhari. There is a harvest of invocations; the heavens cannot contain our love; every house in
Pandhari overflows. They go steadily on, bearing images of Garuda; with resolute hearts they clash the cymbals, raise the note of song and beat the drum. Tribes of happy men are gathered there; how they stagger for joy! With stout hearts they move forward, outstripping each other. The nectar of his name is poured out in floods; their senses are all choked up. The army of the Vaishnavas draws near; the forces of Time and Death tremble. Brahma and the rest are filled with desire, when they see the joys of the pebbly shore. “Blessed, blessed are mortal men,” they cry, “how fortunate they are.” One must pass through death to liberation at Benares; Gaya does but pay off the debt which we owe our fathers; but at Pandhari there is nothing left in abeyance, before the feet of Vitthala. Tuka says, Why should we be anxious now? He who gives all gifts in perfect measure, He will never disappoint us.
Pandhari overflows. They go steadily on, bearing images of Garuda; with resolute hearts they clash the cymbals, raise the note of song and beat the drum. Tribes of happy men are gathered there; how they stagger for joy! With stout hearts they move forward, outstripping each other. The nectar of his name is poured out in floods; their senses are all choked up. The army of the Vaishnavas draws near; the forces of Time and Death tremble. Brahma and the rest are filled with desire, when they see the joys of the pebbly shore. “Blessed, blessed are mortal men,” they cry, “how fortunate they are.” One must pass through death to liberation at Benares; Gaya does but pay off the debt which we owe our fathers; but at Pandhari there is nothing left in abeyance, before the feet of Vitthala. Tuka says, Why should we be anxious now? He who gives all gifts in perfect measure, He will never disappoint us.