Tukaram, Poem 1310

The two sticks yield one sound; even so there is no distinction of the qualified and the unqualified. Skilfully the players sway their bodies; they bring their limbs together in time to the music. Not a motion of theirs is lost, for they all obey one leader, making them conscious of himself; the transcendent one, He allows no emulation to creep in. Saints and sages will play with one impulse; watch them, O my brother! Carefully they strike their sticks together; when the two sticks meet together the player feels comfortable. If the rules of religion are broken, all is lost; what avails it then to have adorned your person? He who will not join the enthusiasm of the saints, they shall separate him and cast him out. You need no prescribed forms; cease to be ashamed; cease to doubt and join the game. Those that were ignorant have attained to honour, through the strength of Vitthala’s name. They hoist the flag of streaming hair on their bodies; through the strength of faith they employ their bodies in the game. Tuka says, My throat is choked with half-uttered sounds, because I feel the presence of Vitthala.