Now hear my proclamation against the corrupt ones without practice of this dark age. Spit upon the face of such a person; cast out and discard the greatness he has claimed. He is a slave to his wife yet neglects his own parents; no beggar finds charity at his door. He wields the weapon of learning only to argue and torment others. He never bows to the village deity; he never serves a priest or a guest. Day and night he indulges in slander and never remembers Govinda even in a dream. He hoards his money and starves his own belly, knowing nothing of charity or righteousness. Says Tuka, he puts on a costume and displays a pose, yet never lets his body bend in genuine devotion.

Ah, brother. My proclamation falls on this man: corrupt in this dark age, empty of all good practice. Spit, spit upon his face. The greatness he has claimed, cast it out, throw it away as worthless. He is a slave to his wife and cold toward his parents. No beggar finds anything at his door. With the strength of his learning he only argues and torments others, setting traps for them. He never bows to the village god. He never serves a priest or a guest, not once. All day, every day, he does nothing but slander. Even in a dream he does not remember Govinda. He hoards his money in a chest and starves his own belly. He knows nothing of giving or of right conduct. Tuka says: he puts on a costume and strikes a pose, but he never lets his body bend in real devotion.