Neither true Muslims nor Hindus remain, as everyone has abandoned their ancient traditions. People's beliefs are scattered in disarray, and neither Gyarahwin nor Ashtami is observed anymore.

In this witty yet poignant couplet, the poet laments the quiet decay of spiritual devotion and cultural roots in modern times. There is a brilliant play on numbers: the idiom 'teen-terah' (scattered into disarray) is placed against sacred dates like Gyarahvi (the eleventh) and Ashtami (the eighth). It gently mocks how both Hindus and Muslims have drifted away from genuine faith and ancient traditions, leaving behind only hollow identities and collective confusion.