Tukaram, Poem 1318

O God, who can keep up the whirl of the game with You? The six Sastras, the eighteen Puranas, the four Vedas faint away in Your praise. In spite of his thousand mouths, the serpent is fatigued in reciting it. With Your chendu you leaped into the Jumna; You mastered and overwhelmed Kali. You drank the impure milk in Putana’s breast and showed no mercy; you destroyed your mother’s feigned sister. You destroyed the household of Ravana, with his wife and children. You are known to us as He who killed his uncle. To play with him is utter destruction; Tuka’s Lord is a master of the bow.