Saints, the unworthy supplicant
Original Marathi from the Tukaram Gatha · About Sant Tukaram
मराठी मूळ
तुह्मी साधु संत कैवल्यसागर । मोक्षाचे आगर तुह्मां घरीं ॥1॥
तेथें मतिमंद काय बोलों वाणी । अमृताचे धणी पाणी कां घ्या ॥ध्रु.॥
कोटी भानु तेजीं खद्योत बापुडें । तैसा तुह्मांपुढें काय बोलों ॥2॥
तुह्मी अवघे चिंतामणि कल्पतरूचीं वनें । त्यापुढें धांवणें मषकांनीं ॥3॥
वाराणशीक्षेत्र गंगा वाहे कोड । का तेथें पाड कोकणाचे ॥4॥
समुद्राची तृषा हरी ऐसा कोण । जगाची जी तान्ह निववितो ॥6॥
मेरूचा पाठार अवघी ते िक्षति । मषकाचे हातीं मुिष्ट फावे ॥7॥
सिंहापुढें काय जंबूक आरोळी । मोतियांचे वोळी कांच काय ॥8॥
कापुरासि काय लावूनि उटावें । काय ओवाळावें दीपकासि ॥9॥
तैशी तुह्मी निरे ज्ञानाचे भरींव । तेथें म्यां बोलावें पाड काय ॥10॥
कृपानिधि तुह्मीं बोलविलें बोला । सुखें न्याय केला तुमचा मीं ॥11॥
अज्ञान मी वेडें ह्मणवितों बाळ । माझा प्रतिपाळ करणें तुह्मां ॥12॥
बोबडें बोलणें न धरावा कोप । क्षमा करा बाप कृपासिंधु ॥13॥
तुका ह्मणे तुह्मी संत बापमाय । भयें धरिले पाय कृपानिधि ॥14॥
Tukaram Gatha (Marathi Wikisource)
English Translation
You saints are the ocean of spiritual freedom, the storehouse of liberation. Before you, what can a dull mind offer in words? Why should the masters of nectar drink mere water? Before the blaze of a billion suns, the firefly is nothing. What can I say before you? You are all wish-fulfilling gems, forests of wish-fulfilling trees. Before you, what can a fly accomplish by running? You are like the holy field of Varanasi where the Ganga flows in delight. What significance has the Konkan coast beside that? Who can quench the ocean's own thirst, that which slakes the thirst of the whole world? The plateau of Mount Meru covers the whole earth, yet a gnat can grasp only a fistful. Before a lion, what is the jackal's roar? Beside a string of pearls, what is glass? Should one apply sandalwood paste to camphor? Should one wave a lamp before the sun? You are solid blocks of wisdom; what right have I to speak before you? O treasure of compassion, you have made me speak. I have gladly served your cause. I am an ignorant child who calls himself small. It is yours to nourish me. Forgive my babbling; do not be angry. You saints are my mother and father. Says Tuka, in fear I have grasped your feet, O ocean of mercy.
We ask forgiveness for any inaccuracies in rendering Tukaram ji’s original Marathi.
In Plain Words
You saints are the ocean of freedom, the storehouse of liberation. Before you, what can a dull mind say in words? Why should the masters of nectar drink mere water? Before a billion suns, the firefly is nothing; so what can I say before you? You are wish-fulfilling gems, forests of wish-granting trees; what can a fly do by running before you? You are Varanasi where the Ganga flows in joy; what is the Konkan coast beside that? Who can quench the ocean's own thirst, the ocean that slakes the world? Meru covers the whole earth, yet a gnat grasps only a fistful. Before a lion, what is a jackal's howl? Beside a string of pearls, what is glass? Should one rub sandal paste on camphor? Should one wave a lamp before the sun? You are solid blocks of wisdom; what right have I to speak before you? Treasure of mercy, you yourselves have made me speak. I have gladly served your cause. I am an ignorant child who calls himself small. It is yours to nourish me. Forgive my babbling; do not be angry. You saints are my mother and father. Tuka says: in fear I have grasped your feet, ocean of mercy.
What it means
This is a poem of self-abasement before the saints, piling up image after image to measure his own smallness against their greatness. Each comparison sets a tiny thing against a vast one: firefly and suns, gnat and Meru, glass and pearls, a lamp waved at the sun. The point of the cascade is not despair but the right posture of a seeker: he has nothing to offer such people and no standing to instruct them. He even disowns his own speaking, saying the saints themselves have drawn the words out of him. He ends as a frightened child clinging to the feet of those he calls his mother and father, asking only to be forgiven and kept.
The Saints
The character and service of true saints: softer than butter, harder than diamond.
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