In plain words
On hearing the song he was beside himself with joy, ran home and brought back a basketful of laḍḍus. “Do not bring them to me. Share them out among everyone,” I said. The song became known to everyone. Wherever you looked, people were singing it. Kotte Subbanna's name too spread far and wide. Through publicity of this kind the ‘Bālabhāskara’ medicine sold very well.
After I left Uravakonda, Ramesh and Suresh could not bear being parted from me. Not even one's own parents, sisters and brothers come to feel love so great. Prema of that kind arose in them. When I got on the bus, the schoolchildren did nothing but weep! The boy called Ramesh ran off, fell into a well and died. Suresh went mad. From his mouth came no word but ‘Rāju, Rāju’. His parents took the boy to many doctors. But it was of no use. At last his father came to me and pleaded, ‘Give him darśan just once.’ I went and saw him. He was raving, ‘Rāju, Rāju’. He was not looking at anyone. ‘Suresh! I, Rāju, have come; look,’ I said. He raised his head and looked. He closed his eyes for ever. No one at all can escape death and birth. What is born must die; what dies must be born. That is the way of the world.
Ramesh and Suresh, who had died, were born as dogs and came back to me. When I was in the Old Mandir, an officer from Bangalore brought those two puppies. I named them ‘Jack and Jill’. The two of them were always following me about in the Old Mandir. One day the Maharani of Mysore came. She was very strict in her observances of ritual purity. She would not touch anyone. She would not touch even a thing someone else had touched. To draw milk, one first had to bathe the cow! That was how fussy she was! In those days there was no road to Puttaparthi. So she got out of the car at Karnatanagepalli and came to Puttaparthi on foot.