These vermilion-smeared village deities and spirits, who worships them? They themselves cry for their own bellies and beg for scraps of food as offerings. They torment others to fulfill their own desires. What can such beggars ever give? Their wealth is now known: a petty, shallow, short-lived intelligence. Can a slave's guest expect anything? The master gives with his own hand, with kind and proper words. But these are empty, always powerless. What is that puddle-water? It cannot even wet the lips, yet the thirst remains. They labor from start to finish, and anger alone is the fruit of their rituals. They daub faces with paste, carry heavy loads in abundance, and inflict punishment upon themselves. God calls such ones charlatans. Not so is Narayana, who pervades the world, Janardana. Says Tuka, contemplate Him, and all beings will come to bow at His feet.