These were the verses sung by a fakir as he roamed places far and wide, ate what he received from kind people, wore what they gave him, slept on the bare ground or some place offered by the host at night.
He must be covering many lands remarked some, for his visits were once a year or sometimes longer.
One day the landlord in a village was rebuking a villager for not paying his loan instalment in time, when the fakir appeared.
Why are you shouting at him? asked the fakir.
Why shouldn’t I? He leases the land I own. Gets the seeds that I provide. Uses the water from my pond. Takes my bullock to plough and now says the crop is poor, the rains were poor!!
Okay, but haven’t you given all these on a selfish interest? When the good Lord gifted you with all these riches, did He charge any interest? And who said you own the land. When you die one day, inspite of all the riches that you lord over, won’t that be the day when this land owns you? The land doesn’t belong to you or him. You and we all belong to the blessed land…