O Lord, You are worthy of worship. My caste
You know O life-giver.
Still you pushed every one
why did you come
in front of me!
A filled water-pot on my side
I was walking along the field
on a very warm mid -afternoon
I was coming to my house.
You were thirsty and wanted water___
I am a poor woman
how can I offend you,
it cannot be my preference!
I lowered my water-pot and bowed to you
said I , ‘do not make me feel guilty’.
Hearing this, you looked at me conqueror of the world;
you laughed and said O earthen-pot carrier,
wherever there is piety on this earth
filled with beautiful greenery,
pious feet are kissing the ground.
Beauty doesn’t have any caste,
she is always free.
The crimson dawn
dresses her in its own ornament;
the star-filled night
strings her garland
listen to me,
hundreds of water-lilies have no caste.
In the middle of it was revealed heaven’s clean desire
are they impure too.
Where the Creator with his own hands created
daily the entire universe .
With tear-filled eyes you said this
and went away.
I take this fragile pot at day-break daily
I cover it with diverse line of painting.
O powerful one come down
so she could worship your grace.