For him, he opened hundred doors for plots; two steps he only takes and slips in trot. The Brahmin adorned his idols on arch; in arch bin you placed the Quran as mark.

To Brahmin I say not a useless bloke; since all heavy stones with efforts he broke. It can’t be achieved save with arms might; from stone he carves gods to put his hand right.* * To put one’s right hand; to show one’s will and determination. (for poetic need I reversed right hand to hand right.

A pundit keeps eyes on his own task; he won’t let to know his secret mask. To me he says Give up counting beads; for his own neck feels holy thread’s need.

The Brahmin said leave this white man’s door; from Hindies think not, save good any more. In one mosque two Mullahs may ne’er contain; with magic of gods can live in a fane.