It died away , and the sound of the rain falling on miles of hard ground and grass changed to the muffled drum of water on soft earth . That told its own tale . Never a villager -- not even the priest -- was bold enough to speak to the Bhagat who had saved their lives . They crouched under the pines and waited till the day . When it came they looked across the valley and saw that what had been forest , and terraced field , and track-threaded grazing-ground was one raw , red , fan-shaped smear , with a few trees flung head-down on the scarp . That red ran high up the hill of their refuge , damming back the little river , which had begun to spread into a brick-coloured lake . Of the village , of the road to the shrine , of the shrine itself , and the forest behind , there was no trace . For one mile in width and two thousand feet in sheer depth the mountain-side had come away bodily , planed clean from head to heel . And the villagers , one by one , crept through the wood to pray before their Bhagat . They saw the barasingh standing over him , who fled when they came near , and they heard the langurs wailing in the branches , and Sona moaning up the hill ; but their Bhagat was dead , sitting cross-legged , his back against a tree , his crutch under his armpit , and his face turned to the north-east . The priest said : `` Behold a miracle after a miracle , for in this very attitude must all Sunnyasis be buried ! Therefore where he now is we will build the temple to our holy man . '' They built the temple before a year was ended -- a little stone-and-earth shrine -- and they called the hill the Bhagat 's hill , and they worship there with lights and flowers and offerings to this day . But they do not know that the saint of their worship is the late Sir Purun Dass , K.C.I.E. , D.C.L. , Ph.D. , etc. , once Prime Minister of the progressive and enlightened State of Mohiniwala , and honorary or corresponding member of more learned and scientific societies than will ever do any good in this world or the next . A SONG OF KABIR Oh , light was the world that he weighed in his hands ! Oh , heavy the tale of his fiefs and his lands ! He has gone from the guddee and put on the shroud , And departed in guise of bairagi avowed ! Now the white road to Delhi is mat for his feet , The sal and the kikar must guard him from heat ; His home is the camp , and the waste , and the crowd -- He is seeking the Way as bairagi avowed ! He has looked upon Man , and his eyeballs are clear -LRB- There was One ; there is One , and but One , saith Kabir -RRB- ; The Red Mist of Doing has thinned to a cloud -- He has taken the Path for bairagi avowed ! To learn and discern of his brother the clod , Of his brother the brute , and his brother the God .
He has gone from the council and put on the XXXXX -LRB- `` Can ye hear ? ''
Kabir Red Sunnyasis bairagi fiefs grazing-ground langurs scarp shroud year