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I am unable to understand the sorrow of the world, nor can I comprehend the glory of the victorious, nor can I grasp the essence of the universe. I am unable to comprehend the immaculate qualities of the great sages like Akalanka, Kapil, and Kanad. I am unable to fathom the vast ocean of Pingala's prosody. I am unable to comprehend the teachings of the Jains, the Buddhists, and the Charvakas. I am like a tree covered in bark, wandering around in the form of a human being. I am unable to understand the difficult Mahapurana, the music of Visahil, or the drama of Bharat Muni. Who can measure the vast ocean? I have not drunk the water of Patanjali's commentary, which is like a beautiful lake for the gods, demons, and gurus. I have not read the pure history and puranas, nor have I been filled with devotion for the works of Bharavi, Bhasa, Vyasa, and others. I have not wandered through the sky like a bee, nor have I been touched by the gentle words of Kalidasa, the four-faced Brahma, the self-born, Sriharsa, Drona, the poet Isana, and Bana. I have not looked into the mouths of the wicked. I have not studied the roots, genders, cases, compounds, verbs, actions, and the rest. I have only dipped my pen in ink.