The merciless difficult path is strewn with pebbles.
The devotee marched on, behind him the stout and the lean,
The young and the senility-stricken,
those who govern the earth
And those who - in exchange of half-starving - till the soil.
Some were exhausted, with bruised feet,
some angry, some suspicious in their heart,
They counted every step and enquired : "How far is it ?"
In reply, the devotee went on singing.
On listening to it they frowned though they could not turn back,
The pressure of the moving mass of people
and the goading of a hope not so very pronounced
Pushed them onward.
They started sleeping less, they shortened their siesta,
Eager in the contest of surpassing each other
They feared of being losers with their delay.
Day after day went on.
Horizon after horizon appeared,
The call of the unknown incited with invisible gestures.
Their face grew increasingly hard
And their censure vehement ever more.