Nanak

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.

p class="maani"> 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.