Forget it. There’ll be no more conversation with you. One hears you assume a gross form to grant vision to your devotees. Scores of devotees are gratified by your vision. Even I desire to behold you in your gross form. Give me your darshan (direct vision) once. Well, I agree, I am not a devotee. Nevertheless, I have been trying to hold fast to chanting your name for a long time. Since last year you also snatched away my mantra. I do the japa that you have given me. So many things have come and gone in the meanwhile, but you did not come. Sometimes when I look at the state of my body, I feel that time is running out. But then if I must depart without seeing you, I will have to come back again. I am unable to wait any longer – please come!

As I write this, you’re approaching me from behind, closing my eyes with your palms, and asking me: “Guess, who is it?” And I answer, “You’re my most beloved!” How wonderful is that! I clasp your hands tight. Sometimes I place these butter soft hands on my heart. Sometimes I place them upon my head.

Well, tell me something, if you happen to come face to face with me, where will I make you sit? You will sit on your royal throne; there’s some food, you could have it. After a while, I will go ahead, hold both your feet and repose them on my heart. I’ll not stir, I will not speak, I’ll just sit down still.

Ah! Who are you talking to? Who’s listening to you? Does this mean all that I said was vain blabbering? Well, if it were so, why am getting goose bumps?

No matter how much you kick me away, how far you go, I am not going to leave you under any circumstances. I don’t have the strength to abandon you. If I leave you, with whose support will I manage to live? In one way or the other, either through writing about your divine sport, or reading it, through chanting your name or adhering to japa or worship, I will endeavour to remain devoted to you – that is my only recourse and exclusive resort.

Though this is my delirious raving, I have nonetheless gained your touch and that makes this raving my intimate friend. By writing this rambling and getting you to hear it, a transformation has come over my being.

O Hari! O Mukund, the vanquisher of Mura! Tell me, for how long shall I wait in your anticipation? Drench me in the showers of your Mandakini (the holy river of heaven)! May the pure, sacred mellow octave from your lotus feet drop onto my head and sanctify me. May that blessed stream reach the deepest recesses of my heart, through the sushumna channel, and washing away the blemish of crores of my past births, consecrate me. May my body, speech and mind be purified! Ma! O dweller and reveller in the lotus feet of Hari! The sacred water of the heaven, rescuer of the lowly and redeemer of the fallen! O Mother! My Ram has turned his face away from me, show compassion upon me. Grant me firm devotion in the feet of Sri Ram. I’ve heard O Mother, that by your glance, your touch, the chanting of your name, even a great sinner is purified. The breeze from your body dispels every atom of sin.

O Mother! I am an extremely sinful one, bereft of any austerity, worship or devotion. I live on your banks, bathe in your waters, gaze at you, and I am perpetually sustained by the air that is replete with the drops of your water. O Mother, please forgive my sins! Confer single-minded devotion upon me!

O Ever-blissful Mother! Please cast a glance at me once. I am but your child. If you fail to endear me now, who will I go to? Whose refuge shall I seek? It is true I have committed thousands of offences, but you are a mother, if you too begin to count my sins, there will be no recourse left for me. Mother! O Ever-blissful Mother! Be pleased with me. Touch me once. With your lotus-like hands which destroy all sins, please cleanse the blemish from my body!

Mother! O my dear Mother! I have no other recourse Ma! I cannot still my mind and call upon Ram. I become restless in the throes of happiness and sorrow. I am elated at the slightest of praise. Even an iota of criticism makes me pick up arms. When I am engaged in activities, I am unable to cognize that praise and censure, honour and disgrace, are not the doing of human beings. You are the one who thins out my good and bad deeds by enacting these but I end up putting the blame on human beings. Please forgive me mother! Grant me devotion to Ram!

I’ll tell you something very amusing. Mother, listen! When people hail me as a holy man or a great soul, I am very thrilled. But in the heart of my hearts, I am the lowliest of the low, a vermin. It does not become of me to revel in this eulogy; however, I make no attempts to disown it, on the contrary, through indirect gestures, I desire to accede to the praise of being a holy man or a great soul.

Leave alone censure, even if anyone tries to mention the faults in my person, with shrewd speech, I make considerable effort to establish that these, far from being faults, are great virtues. Tell me Ma, is there anyone more wretched than me! Mother, your wretched child is worthy of your grace. Please have mercy on me. Give me devotion to your feet.

Ok Mother! Why don’t you tell me who you are! From the expression on your face, I feel you love me a lot, it feels as though your eyes are raining compassion. I keep gazing at you with longing, insatiate eyes. Tell me, how can the form inscribed in a photo be so alive? How can it be so exceedingly beautiful?

Oh! How beautiful are the feet, there’s so much tenderness in these feet. Ma! Your feet fill me with longing. They look splendid when they are adorned with anklets, studded with gems and so many other kinds of jewellery. I meditate upon them.

Ma! Ma! Please install these pair of feet, anointed with deep red holy unguent, resembling the colour of the sun, and decked with charming jewels, in my heart. I will forget myself in entirety and be lost in thy feet. Ma! You neither appear in my sight nor touch me, but my mind fantasises your arrival and your touch, and yearns for you.