Wide and beautiful are her Venkata-eyes, and the Vaijayanti garland gleams at her throat. She wears a sash of yellow silk, and the sandal-paste fragrance adorns her body. The beauteous child has come to the sacred ceremony, a treasure of radiance, a crown-jewel among the graceful. Her splendor eclipses ten million suns and moons. Even Brahma and the other gods cannot fathom her incomparable play. She is dusky-hued and tender, fair; her four arms are resplendent. Her broad chest shines, and a fine pendant glistens above it. Small bells tinkle at her waist in sweet tones, and anklets ring at her feet as she performs an exquisite dance. Her entire form is adorned with the eight ornaments; she is a perfumed mine of beauty, gracious and sweet-spoken. In countless forms she appears, the primal Shakti, Narayani herself. The sacred pot is installed in the great city of Pandharpur; a canopy stretches over the three realms. The ceremony begins on the bank of the Chandrabhaga. She has come for the sake of devotion: Krishnabai, the supreme yogini. Thirty-three crore gods and countless Bhairavas attend, performing worship and showering flowers. Narada and Tumbara sing, and the Gandharvas make music of divine bliss. Says Tuka's brother, I bow to the dust of those feet.