Tukaram, Poem 1156

With their straining eyes and painted features, they dazzle the beholders; they tell their disciples they have attained union with God; it is all a false uproar, they are cheating them. They light lamps and close the room about them; they convey their instructions in the night time. They adorn the floor of the yard with pictures and spread a clean covering, and describe their mystic figures; they hang up a curtain and set lamps in the four corners; they sit in quaint postures and go through motions with their hands. He says, “You must offer the gods a dish of rich food, many kinds of delicacies; the discourse is over; eat now a morsel.” They rinse their mouth with liquor instead of water. He has made his living by his false doctrine; he ruins the faithful; he calls upon them for a vow, and bids them cry, “O teacher, O teacher.” The pure truth he has drowned; the noble character of a teacher he makes a means of self-indulgence. He has extinguished all the rules and drowned the Veda; the admonitions of the Sastras he has swept away. He practises not the concentration of yoga, nor control of the breath; he abandons all rules of conduct and austerities. He has done away with renouncing the passions, and confounded the worship of Hari; degenerate wretch, he has increased sin. Tuka says, He and his office descend into hell; he brings his ancestors down into the pit.