He asked, "Who is the mother?" Bhavananda did not answer but sang on:
With silver moonbeams smile her nights
And trees that in their bloom abound
Adorn her; and her face doth beam
With sweetest smiles; sweet's her sound!
Joy and bliss she doth bestow;
To such a mother down I bow.
"It is the country and no mortal mother"—cried Mahendra. "We own no other mother," retorted Bhavananda; "they say, 'the mother and the land of birth are higher than heaven.' We think the land of birth to be no other than our mother herself. We have no mother, no father, no brother, no wife, no child, no hearth or home, we have only got the mother
Who with sweetest water o'erflows
With dainty fruits is rich endowed.
Mahendra now understood the song and asked Bhavananda to sing again.
He sang:
Hail thee mother! To her I bow,
Who with sweetest water o'erflows
With dainty fruits is rich and endowed
And cooling whom the south wind blows;
Who's green with crops as on her grow;
To such a mother down I bow!
With silver moon beams smile her nights
And trees that in their bloom abound
Adorn her; and her face doth beam
With sweetest smiles, sweet's her sound!
Joy and bliss she doth bestow;
To such a mother down I bow.
Resounding with trumphal shouts
From seventy million voices bold
