I have suffered greatly in worldly life, dwelling in the womb of a mother, wandering through eighty-four lakh forms of birth, becoming a beggar and a supplicant. My existence is dependent on others. I am bound tightly by the ropes of accumulated karma. Fate, destiny, and ongoing actions are my companions; they spin me around by their own authority. My belly is never full, there is no rest. There is no settled home, no village, no sovereignty that does not change. The soul writhes in this broken vessel. Ages have passed in this manner, and I know not how many more lie ahead. There is no end to this repeated cycle; not even at the end of time will I be freed. Who will remove my sorrow? On whom shall I place the burden of my load? Your name is the raft that carries one across the ocean of worldly existence; You rush to the aid of those in trouble. Now rush to me, O Narayana, for the sake of this poor, lowly one. Says Tuka, do not weigh my virtues against my faults; I plead for compassion.