|The nation could not care less about Gautama’s message—|
It did not know the price of its unique pearl!
|Poor wretches! They never heard the voice of truth:|
A tree does not know how sweet its fruit is.
|What he revealed was the secret of existence,|
But India was proud of its fancies;
|It was not an assembly‑hall to be lit up by the lamp of truth;|
The rain of mercy fell, but the land was barren.
|Alas, for the shudra India is a house of sorrow,|
This land is blind to the sufferings of man.
|The Brahmin is still drunk with the wine of pride,|
In the assembly‑halls of foreigners burns Gautama’s lamp.
|But, ages later, the house of idols was lit up again–|
Azar’s house was lit up by Abraham!
|Again from the Punjab the call of monotheism arose:|
A perfect man roused India from slumber.
Translated by: Mustansir Mir