COME, let us go and see for ourselves the festival of Kartika; Vaikuntha has come near to Pandhari. There is a harvest of invocations; the heavens cannot contain our love; every house in Pandhari overflows. They go steadily on, bearing images of Garuda; with resolute hearts they clash the cymbals, raise the note of song and beat the drum. Tribes of happy men are gathered there; how they stagger for joy ! With stout hearts they move forward, outstripping each other. The nectar of his name is poured out in floods; their senses are all choked up. The army of the Vaishnavas draws near; the forces of Time and Death tremble* Brahma and the rest are filled with desire, when they see the joys of the pebbly shore. “ Blessed, blessed are mortal men,” they cry, “how fortunate they are.” One must pass through death to liberation at Benares; Gaya does but pay off the debt which we owe our fathers; but at Pandhari there is nothing left in abeyance before the feet of Vitthala. Tuka says, Why should w T e be anxious now ? He who gives all gifts in perfect measure, he will never disappoint us.