RAIDAS, THE sweeper, sat still, lost in the solitude of his soul, and some songs born of his silent vision found their way to the Rani's heart,the Rani Jhali of Chitore.
Tears flowed from her eyes, her thoughts wandered away from her daily dudes, till she met Raidas who guided her to God's presence.
The old Brahmin priest of the King's house rebuked her for her desecration of sacred law by offering homage as a disciple to an outcaste.
'Brahmin,' the Rani answered, 'while you were busy tying your purse- strings of custom ever tighter, love's gold slipped unnoticed to the earth, and my Master in his divine humility has picked it up from the dust.
'Revel in your pride of the unmeaning knots without number, harden your miserly heart, but I, a beggar woman, am glad to receive love's wealth, the gift of the lowly dust, from my Master, the sweeper.'

THEY EXPECT thanks for the banished nest
because their cage is shapely and secure.

FROM TRIUMPH to triumph they drove their chariot over the earth's
torn breast.
Round them Time's footsteps were muffled and slow, and birds'
songs lay gathered in the bosom of Night.
Drunken of red fire their torch spread its glare like an arrogant
lotus floating upon the blue with stars above as bees enchanted.
They boasted that the undying lights of the sky fed the flame they carried till it conquered the night and won homage from the sullen silence of the dark.
The bell sounds.
They start up to find they had slept dreaming of wealth and
pollution of power and the pillage of God's own temple.
The sun of the new day shines upon the night's surrender of love.
The torch lies shrouded in its ashes, and the sky rings with the
rejoicing voice,
'Victory to the earth! Victory to the heaven!
Victory to the all-conquering Light!'