Verse 1

¹Coming up to Anarta, to those prosperous lands that were his own, he sounded the best of conches, as though quieting their sorrow. ²That conch, white-bellied, shone even so with the redness of the wide-strider's lip as he blew it, held in the cup of his lotus hands, like a bright swan crying out over a stretch of lotuses. ³Hearing that sound, which is fear to the world's own fear, all the people came out towards him, longing for the sight of their master. ⁴There they brought their offerings, held in reverence as a lamp is brought to the sun: to him who takes his pleasure in the self, whose desires are full, always, by his own having.

⁵Their faces opened with love, they spoke in voices breaking with joy, as children speak to a father, the friend of all, their protector.