How many sons of Vaishakh
Have themselves worshipped,
Their forms and qualities never being one,
Yet they keep applying sandalwood to themselves.
With flowers, leaves, and foliage,
They keep having themselves worshipped,
And in their praise,
They keep making people sing the most beautiful songs.
They create such an aura
That no one points out their shortcomings.
People praise them to their faces,
But laugh at them behind their backs.
Even though their intellect is dull,
They consider themselves scholars.
They think they know everything,
And regard knowledge as something easy.
The Son of Vaishakh feels happy
Seeing the field completely cleared,
Thinking, “I have eaten all the grass,”
And takes pride in his bravery.
He speaks foolish things
And beats the drum of his knowledge,
Never caring at all
For the dignity of other people.
He looks for faults in others,
Keeps pointing out their mistakes,
Mocks them and makes sarcastic remarks,
And keeps tormenting them silently within his heart.
“Ah! What beauty! Ah! What a voice!”
Such words are spoken of camels and donkeys;
Before them,
No one else has any worth at all.
Our surroundings are filled
With such ignorant people,
While a society of truly learned people
Stands right before them.
— Vidya
vidus 
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