A marvelous poet saint, born in a place called Muddanur in Karnataka, his name was Dasimayya.
He was such a fine weaver, once he gave himself to make an unusually large turban cloth with very intricate and fine designs in it, which took him months to make. He made this, and then, because this is his livelihood also, he took it to the market. The cloth was so fine and so big nobody even wanted to ask the price – it should be too expensive. He could not sell his cloth.
Then, he was walking back with his fine turban cloth. There, an old man was sitting and shivering. He looked at Dasimaya and asked him, “I’m shivering like this. Can you give me that cloth?” Dasimayya took the cloth and gave it to him. That man opened up the cloth, tore it into pieces. One piece he tied it around his head, another piece around his waist, another piece, two piece small pieces around his feet, another two around his hands. He tore it into many bits, and he sat there. Dasimayya just looked on. When the man, the old man looked at him, “Is there any problem?” Dasimayya said, “No. The cloth is yours, you can do whatever you want.”
Then, Dasimaya also took the old man home to feed him. But there was nothing much at home, so his wife struggled. “You brought a guest there’s not even enough to feed you. You brought a guest. What to do?” He said, “You cook whatever is there and serve him. We will see later.”
Then the old man was Shiva himself. He came into his real form and produced a handful of rice and put it into their granary in the house. So that became akshaya. Never was this granary ever empty in his whole life. He used this to feed innumerable number of people all his life.
This is Dasimayya. His devotion, his poetry and his magnificent presence, which transformed any number of people. People started calling him Devara Dasimayya – Devara means one who belongs to God.
