IT IS NIGHT. The travellers spread their mats on the ground under the banyan tree. A gust of wind blows out the lamp and the darkness deepens like a sleep into a swoon. Someone from the crowd suddenly stands up and pointing to the leader with merciless finger breaks out: 'False prophet, thou hast deceived us!' Others take up the cry one by one, women hiss their hatred and men growl. At last one bolder than others suddenly deals him a blow. They cannot see his face, but fall upon him in a fury of destruction and hit him till he lies prone upon the ground his life extinct. The night is still, the sound of the distant waterfall comes muffled and a faint breath of jasmine floats in the air.
I.112. sunta nahi dhun ki khabar HAVE YOU NOT heard the tune which the Unstruck Music is playing? In the midst of the chamber the harp of joy is gently and sweetly played; and where is the need of going without to hear it? If you have not drunk of the nectar of that One Love, what boots it though you should purge yourself of all stains? The Kazi is searching the words of the Koran, and instructing others: but if his heart be not steeped in that love, what does it avail, though he be a teacher of men? The Yogi dyes his garments with red: but if he knows naught of that colour of love, what does it avail though his garments be tinted? Kabir says: 'Whether I be in the temple or the balcony, in the camp or in the flower garden, I tell you truly that every moment my Lord is taking His delight in me.'
