Tukaram, Poem 2691

My mother grew weary of carrying me in the womb, so she delivered me; but she took no care that the spot was undefiled. She suffered agonies of heat and thirst and hunger,—why should she put me to her breast? The stake was on my own shoulders, I was on the road to death, yet even then I committed grievous crimes. Then, says Tuka, this was what happened to me: He embraced me with his hand and set me behind his back.