In the quiet hours, pound the grain while singing the ovi of Narayana, and the chaff will separate from the grain on its own. Grip the pestle firmly and steady yourself; then strike measured blows. The bangles ring out in the anahata, the unstruck celestial sound; let us sing the songs of our mother's home. While pounding the grain, no share of the labor feels like weariness, not until the sense of "you" and "I" is completely winnowed away. Says Tuka, the form appears in the mirror, and the cooking is done as pure as that reflection.