THUS shall I pray to Thee, O Tripurā,
To attain the fruit of my desires,
In this hymn by which men attain that Lakṣmī,
Who is worshipped by the Devas.
Origin of the world thou art,
Yet hast Thou Thyself no origin,
Though with hundreds of hymns.
Even Brahmā, Viṣṇu, and Maheśvara cannot know Thee.
Therefore we worship Thy breasts, Mother of all Śāstra,
Shining with fresh saffron.
O Tripurā, we adore Thee,
Whose body shines with the splendour of a thousand risen suns,
Holding with two of thy hands a book and rosary of rudrākṣa beads,
And with two others making the gestures
Which grant boons and dispel fear.
With three lotus eyes is Thy lotus face adorned.
Beauteous is Thy Neck with its necklace of large pearls.
O Mother, how can the ignorant, whose minds are restless with doubt and dispute,
Know Thy form ravishing with its vermilion,
Stooping with the weight of Thy breasts,
Accessible only by merit,
Acquired in previous birth?
O Bhavānī, the munis describe thee in physical form;
The Śruti speaks of Thee in subtle form;
Others call Thee presiding Deity of speech;
Others, again, as the root of the worlds.
But we think of Thee
As the untraversable ocean of mercy, and nothing else.
Worshippers contemplate Thee in their heart
As three-eyed, adorned with the crescent moon,
White as the autumnal moon,
Whose substance is the fifty letters,
Holding in Thy hands a book, a rosary, a jar of nectar, and making the vyakhya mudrā.
O Tripurā, Thou art Śambhu united with Pārvatī.
Thou art now Viṣṇu embraced by Kamalā,
And now Brahmā born of the lotus.
Thou art again the presiding Devī of speech,
And yet again art the energy of all these.
I, having taken refuge with the four–
Bhāvas, Parā, and others born of the vāgbhava (bīja),
Shall never in my heart forget Thee, the supreme Devatā,
Whose substance is existence and intelligence,
And who expresseth by Thy throat and other organ
The bhāva appearing in the form of letters.
The blessed, having conquered the six enemies,
And drawing in their breath,
With steady mind fix their gaze on the tip of their nostrils,
And contemplate in their head Thy moon-crested form,
Resplendent as the newly risen sun.
The Vedas proclaim that Thou createth the world,
Having assumed the other half of the body of the enemy of Kāma.
Verily is it true, O Daughter of the mountain and the only World-mother,
That had this not been so,
The multitude of worlds would never have been.
In company with the wives of the Kinnaras,
The Siddha women, whose eyes are reddened by wine
Having worshipped Thee with the flowers of celestial trees
In Thy pītha in the caverns of the golden mountain,
Sing Thy praises.
I worship in my heart the Devī whose body is moist with nectar,
Beauteous as the splendour of lightning,
Who, going from Her abode to that of Śiva,
Opens the lotuses on the beautiful way of the suṣuṁnā
O Tripurā, I take refuge at Thy lotus feet,
Worshipped by Brahmā, Viṣṇu, and Maheśvara;
The abode of bliss, the source of the Vedas,
The origin of all prosperity;
Thou whose body is Intelligence itself.
I shall never forget Her who is the giver of happiness;
She it is, O Mother, who, in the form of the Moon,
Creates the world full of sounds and their meanings,
And again, by Her power in the form of the Sun,
She it is who maintains the world.
And She, again, it is who, in the form of Fire, destroys the whole universe at the end of the ages.
O Mother of the world, such as worship Thee with twelve Verses of this hymn attain to Thee, and gain all powers of speech and the supreme abode.