ELEGY: 1857 (Gayi Yakbayakjo haiwpalat,...) How suddenly the wind has changed, how restless my heart has become: How can I describe this tyranny, so grievously wounded is my breast from sorrow, The people of India are utterly ruined; what cruelties they have not suffered! Whomever the present rulers see, they say: "he is good for the gallows". Has any one heard of such oppression, that people are hanged for no fault at all? And yet the rulers continue to be bitter in their hearts about those who recite the formula of the faith. Delhi was not simply a city - a garden it was. What shall I say of the peace that it had! They have erased all its repute; now it is simply a place laid waste. This straitened condition that all are in: this comes from how Lord' s will works. The spring turns into autumn, autumn into spring. Those who were nourished by flowers day and night, how can they bear the thorns of sorrow? When chains were put on them in prison, they were told: 'This is your garland, in lieu of flowers'. No one buried them in the garden, no one gave them a funeral shroud. They never could get to their native land; nor even leave even a trace of their grave behind. Everywhere there is loud mourning: What can I say, except that such is the turn of Fate? No more is there that crown, nor that throne, nor that ruler, nor that country.