Ride speech

As the medieval whole was going through the circumstances, the holders of public consciousness were the saints, the sphere of culture, new interpretations made possible through them.

I keep reading. Even today's poetry of our time is lost in the saint's poetry. Who is going to pull me in? Voice like a merciless, truthful saint or his springs? Not one for me, the pull of the two has been. When I am losing a poet or a poem from the inside, my instincts naturally move towards eccentricity. Perhaps the poet: Satyashraut: What has been said is that the devotee-saint's poets have a more causal contribution ...

Yes, the saint has no end because he rests on the infinite. His travels are carried out in a single field. All at the price of surrender, to humankind and to God. His darshan - meditation - looks for the yatra of the contemplation, screams, but it is all dependent and fearless. All that would have been welcomed as a wake-up spirit. 'Sahaj Mila Milo Milk' is exactly what happens here. Their creed will be different, but their mission and mission are the same. Worship of the Lord and a righteous, valuable, popular life. All these saints are the same, as well as the torchbearers. Light shines among the darkness, challenging the lie.

These saints who do not even have a spirited heart. From time to time such saints across the country have voluntarily shunned the people, protected the culture, lit up. As the medieval period was going through the worst of circumstances, the holders of public consciousness were the saints, the scope of culture, new interpretations made possible through them. It is seen as dissolving everything of religion, caste and party. All of them, by their own words, were knitting the country and its people in their own words. Female saints were also dominated by male saints. All of this was religiously, in terms of spirituality, in terms of self-preservation; The language was different, but one of the souls, in the words of Pravarasena, was all floral beings.

His poem, the psalmist, has written more from the heart than from writing the verse. He looks at it with two eyes, but receives the touch of all from the inside look. That is why it sounds like a stream flowing from the heart. It has struggles, experiences, observations, special perspectives, and it is 'human' rising above all of the best of caste-husband-nepotism. It has the maturity of circulation and the tolerance of experience, rebellion but understanding, love is the foremost swim of all.

There is Kabir - 'In the same way everything is created. Then where is the race? ' His original question today is still fresh. Gorakhnath and Ramanujacharya glorified the same thing. Ramanand also sang that the bhajans of Hari are all hers. Kashi's Raidas also said that only a handful of men create discrimination. Like his guru, the surveyed saints, from Guru Nanakdev to Govind Singh, misunderstood casteism.

Pipaji of Rajasthan too reiterates the same opinion. Numerous saints like Gnanadev, Eknath, Namdev, Tukaram, Gora Kumbhar, Rice Mela in Maharashtra have also made human beings proud by writing even if they have to face rampant attacks against caste discrimination. All these saints have been in desperate attempt to unite, to unite the society. Narasimha Mehta - Akho - Dadu has worked kindly in Gujarat and in Gujarat. The Dalit saint tradition has also presented this song of harmony in his voice.

Village to village, town to town, province, country - the voice of such unmarried saints is ringing. The goal of all was to take the people from darkness to light. In our day, when the caste husband is raising his head again, wise men have to consume the voice of the saints. Hard-hearted men will have to be reminded of such capable ancestors. Remember Tiruvallur, who is from Tamil and all over India. His borders, like 'Kurul', shape his book, his word as a sea of ​​wisdom. Recall Tukaram, one of his antics, his revolutionary voice, the words of 'majestic light' of the maid's life, of Loyan's 'Nizia Dharma', of Gorakhnath's 'living male worshiper brother!' With words, and panbai - that is, talking to all of us, let the Ganges Sati speak in light of the needle of lightning.

Remember whom and forget whom? Ramdas Swami, Prananath, Namdev, Caitanya, Paisa Sufis, Muenuddin Chisti or Alam Shah? There is a dense tree of these saints. Each leaf becomes a new saint, a new voice, such a mold. The food here - Akho - Bhaan - Morar - Pritam is also countless. This list is not the end.

In today's heterogeneous state, it has become imperative to commemorate such saints, to understand the significance of their speech. The poet's connection with the people, the inner connection with the situation, has to be understood as well. We have to find the elements of our lost faith in these elements. Saints leading up to the 'original' were the guardians of their time. Today's poet reads all of them, but at that time, even more so, the memory of the so-called 'savirani' remains. What would be the reason?