Dragging his bent frame forward, the old man past eighty Had gone to the chariot last year too, leaning on his walking stick.
When the deity was lifted from temple to chariot high, Threading garlands of fragrant flowers with devotion's cry, Arranging offerings of many kinds to worship Jagannath, He took the dust from His feet and smeared it on his forehead's path. Then as the chariot began to move, touching the rope with care, "Victory to Jagannath!" trembled on his lips, his soul laid bare.
The year has turned, the chariot day has come once more, Today that old man cannot walk even with his stick for sure. Gone are the days of distant temple visits, garlands to bring, No hope remains to touch the rope when the chariot wheels sing.
The old man's leaf hut sits beside the pilgrim's way, From dawn the chariot pilgrims' clamour fills the day. Calling his son, the old man spoke with feeling deep, "Son, purify the courtyard, smear it with dung, keep It sacred for my Lord Jagannath comes here today, With flowers and offerings we'll welcome Him, father and son together pray."
The son thought this wish was surely doomed to fail, In pain, with gentle voice he asked his father frail, "The Lord's chariot is so far away, how can it come here? Don't worry father, on my shoulders you'll go there, I swear!"
Hearing this, the father said, "Don't misunderstand, son dear, No sorrow weighs upon my mind, what I've said is clear— He rides the chariot and will come to this very yard. Our home shall be a water station, fill the pitchers hard, When summer-weary pilgrims return on their way back, They'll rejoice finding water here, their thirst won't lack, Their hearts and souls today overflow with the Lord's sweet love's track!"
To fulfill devotees' longing, He takes service in each heart's chariot car, The compassionate Lord will come today, crossing paths however far. As many gopis as there were, so many Krishnas became in Vrindavan of old, Today that same divine play in this very courtyard shall unfold.
In as many devotees' hearts, Jagannath dwells the same, I'll take the dust of their feet with devotion's flame. When the neighbor returns, call him over for a while, I'll gather the chariot festival's merit—that bit of grace is my life's smile!
If I can see Him in every human heart's shrine, then why Should I grieve that I cannot walk—why should I cry? What need have I for temples built by human hands? In His created universe-temple, His vision expands!