The green earth is so choked with grass that the paths can no longer be distinguished, like holy books obscured by the wrangling of heretics.
On all sides there is a lively croaking of frogs, like a party of Brahman students repeating the Vedas. All the trees put forth their new leaves, like pious souls that have come to matured wisdom. The dhak and jassisa plants lose their leaves: as in a well-governed realm the schemes of the wicked come to nought. Search as you like, the dusty footpath is no longer to be traced; like as when religion is put out of sight by passion. The earth rich with crops makes as goodly a show as the prosperity of the benevolent. The fireflies glitter in the darkness of the cloudy night, like a mustered band of hypocritical pretenders. The ridges of the fields are broken down by the heavy rains, like women ruined by too much license. The diligent cultivators weed their lands, like philosophers who root up ignorance, vanity and pride. The chakwa and other birds are nowhere to be seen, like virtue that fled at the coming of the iron age. However much it may rain, no grass springs upon barren ground; so lust takes no root in the heart of Hari’s worshippers. The earth gleams with swarms of living creatures of every kind; so the people multiply under good government. Here and there weary wayfarers stay and rest, like a man’s bodily senses after the attainment of wisdom.
On all sides there is a lively croaking of frogs, like a party of Brahman students repeating the Vedas. All the trees put forth their new leaves, like pious souls that have come to matured wisdom. The dhak and jassisa plants lose their leaves: as in a well-governed realm the schemes of the wicked come to nought. Search as you like, the dusty footpath is no longer to be traced; like as when religion is put out of sight by passion. The earth rich with crops makes as goodly a show as the prosperity of the benevolent. The fireflies glitter in the darkness of the cloudy night, like a mustered band of hypocritical pretenders. The ridges of the fields are broken down by the heavy rains, like women ruined by too much license. The diligent cultivators weed their lands, like philosophers who root up ignorance, vanity and pride. The chakwa and other birds are nowhere to be seen, like virtue that fled at the coming of the iron age. However much it may rain, no grass springs upon barren ground; so lust takes no root in the heart of Hari’s worshippers. The earth gleams with swarms of living creatures of every kind; so the people multiply under good government. Here and there weary wayfarers stay and rest, like a man’s bodily senses after the attainment of wisdom.