Tukaram, Poem 3656

“My hands are encumbered by shield and sword”: so says some soldier, “and asks how he can fight.” “A coat-of-mail, a sword-belt, a horse, and helmet are burdens; they are a second messenger of death.” “Someone else set me on this horse; how can I run away now?” The weapons of war he calls encumbrances, and cries out, “What can I do?” Tuka says, He is a very Bramha! Fool! He knows not the secret of the saints’ feet.