Even if anyone makes his way to it undergoing so much hardship, he is forthwith attacked by ague in the shape of drowsiness. Benumbing cold in the shape of stupor overtakes his heart, so that the unhappy soul is deprived of a dip even after reaching there. Finding himself unable to take a plunge into the lake or to drink from it, he returns with a feeling of pride. And if anyone comes to inquire about the lake, he tries to satisfy him by vilifying it. All these obstacles do not, however, deter him whom Ýr¶ RŒma regards with overwhelming kindness. He alone reverently bathes in the lake and thus escapes the threefold agony feet of Ýr¶ RŒma never quit this lake. Let him who would bathe in this lake, brother, diligently practise Satsa˘ga (association with saints). Having seen the said MŒnasa lake with the mind’s eye and taken a dip into it, the poet’s intellect got purged of all its dross. The heart was flooded with joy and alacrity and a torrent of love and rapture welled from it. Thence flowed a stream of beautiful poetry, carrying the water of Ýr¶ RŒma’s fair renown. Sarayµu is the name of this river, which is the very fountain of pure bliss. The secular view-point and the view-point of the Vedas—there represent its two charming banks. This holy stream, issuing as it does from the beautiful MŒnasa lake, uproots in its course all the impurities of the Kali age, whether in the form of tiny blades of grass or of mighty trees. (1—7)