The mother gazes at the child's face, unable to contain the joy in her heart. Blessed is the merit that has ripened today. What a beautiful child, what a beautiful child! One could go on saying it forever; it is dearer to me than life itself. Women and girls gather from every clan, forgetting all sense of the body. They forget their homes, their hungry and thirsty little ones; fear, thirst, and hunger all vanish. Even those who remain at home have their hearts drawn there, making excuses to rush to that place. They abandon all modesty, leaving the comfort of their beds, and run. Young and old, men and women, all are enchanted by this child. The women play with him and forget themselves. Boys and girls lose all bodily awareness; their gaze will not turn away once it falls upon him. There is no enmity, no sense of mine and yours; sorrow, delusion, and suffering all dissolve. Says Tuka, my Lord has made everyone as joyful as himself, playing in the guise of a child for his own delight.