Jai Sri Ram,
The beauty of a gem, a ruby and a pearl does not catch the eyes as it should long as they are borne on the head of a serpent, the top of the mountain and the crown of an elephant respectively, The charm of them all is enhanced when they adorn the diadem of a king or the person of a young lady, even so, the wise say, the outpouring of a good poet originate at one place, in the mind of poet, and exercise their charm elsewhere, on the mind of admirer,
Attracted by the devotion, Goddess Saraswati, the goddess of poetry, comes with all speed from the abode of Brahma, the topmost heaven, at his very invocation, the fatigue occasioned by the long journey cannot be relieved by millions of devices unless she takes a dip in the lake of Sri Rama's exploits,Realizing this in their heart, poets and the wise men chant the glory of Sri Hari alone, which wipes away the impurities of the Kali age, the wise liken the heart of poet to the sea, his intellect to shall containing pearls and goddess Saraswati to the star Svati, if there is a shower in the form of beautiful ideas, lovely pearls make their appearance in the form of poetic effusion,
If the pearls are pierced with skill and strung together on the beautiful thread of Rama's exploits, and if noble souls wear them in their innocent heart, grace in the form of excessive fondness is result,Those who are born in the kali age, who though akin to the crow in their doings have put on the garb of a swan, who tread the evil path, abandoning the track of Vedas, who are embodiment of falsehood and repositories of sins of the kali age, imposter by nature claiming to be the devotee of Rama, though slaves of mammon, anger and passion, and unscrupulous, hypothetical and foremost among intriguers, I occupy the first among them,
Were I to recount all my vices, their tale, will not be limited to describe here, hence mentioned a few, entering in the spirit of my manifold prayer, none should blame me, those who raise objections, even then are more stupid and deficient in intellect than myself, Am not a poet, sing the glories of Rama, according to my own lights,My intellect that wallow in the world, is poor match for unlimited exploits of Rama, tell me, what account is cotton in the face of the strong wind before which even mountains blown away, realizing the infinite glory of Rama, my mind feels very diffident in proceeding with the story,
Jai Siya Ram
