True knowledge - Panatattu

My God is not a chiselled stone, 

Or lime-block, so clear and bright: 

Nor is he cleaned with tamarind. 

Like images of bronze. 

I cannot worship such as these, 

But loudly make my boast 

That in my heart I place the feet, 

The golden feet of God. 

If He be mine what can I need? 

My God is everywhere! 

Within, beyond man's highest word, 

My God existeth still. 

In sacred books, in darkest night, 

In deepest, bluest sky, 

In those who know the truth, and in 

The faithful few on earth; — 

My God is found in all of these, 

But can the Deity 

Descend to images of stone 

Or copper dark or red? 

Whene'er wind blows or compass points, 

God’s light doth stream and shine, 

Yet see yon fool — beneath his arm 

He bears the sacred roil. 

How carefully he folds the page 

And draws the closing string! 

See how he binds the living book 

That not a leaf escape! 

Ah! Yes; the truth should fill his heart, 

But 'tis beneath his arm. 

To him who “knows," the sun is high; 

To this, 'tis starless night. 

If still, oh sinful man, with ash 

Thou dost besmear thy face, 

Or bathest oft, that thus thy soul 

May cast awray its load, 

Thou knowest naught of God, nor of 

Regeneration's work. 

Your mantras, what are they? The Veds 

Are burdened with their weight. 

If knowledge be not thine, thou art 

As one in deep mid-stream, 

A stream so wide that both the banks 

Are hidden from thine eyes. 

Alas! How long did I adore 

The chiselled stone, and serve 

An image made of lime or brass 

That’s cleaned with tamarind.

---

Panatattu (10th Century A. D.) India

Translated by Charles Gover

Source: Folk-songs of Southern India by Charles E. Gover, Higginsbotham & Co., 1871