ചര്ചാ സ്തവഃ

May they triumph in Tripurā — these [eyes of the Goddess], born of the dazzling wonder of beauty, wish-trees fulfilling the longing for sovereignty over the worlds, which cause the waterlilies of poetic inspiration to bloom, O Tripurā!

O Goddess, even Bṛhaspati (Vācaspati) and the other masters of eloquence, when they apply their intellect to the task of praising you, become dull and speechless. Since I am by nature dull — how much more so am I helpless before you?

O Mother, yet even so, the one who takes up the helm of the great ocean of praises in order to cut through the fierce heat of saṃsāra — that one, O Bhavāni, dares to praise you. Such is the grace of your devotees' boldness.

O Bhavāni, you create the worlds; you sustain them; you are wakeful for their dissolution. You pierce through delusion; you bestow supreme radiance. Who else is there in all the three worlds?

On whomever you bestow even the slightest glance — your glance white as a fresh lotus petal, O Gaurī, sweet with grace — in that person, Kāmadeva's arrows of desire find their mark perpetually, and the world becomes their dominion.

Even the status of emperor of kings born of the Udayana lineage — whose footstool is kissed by the bowing Vidyādharas — that exalted imperial sovereignty is easily won by one who merely takes refuge in the dust of your lotus-feet.

Those great poet-kings of keen intellect, who have accumulated merit by prostrating at the pollen of your lotus-feet — they become like the moon of the Milk-Ocean: a full moon whose nectar-light illumines all speech.

O Bhavāni, I seek you daily — you who are worshipped with diverse offerings fashioned from the blooms of the wish-tree, you who are invoked through songs flushed red with love — grant me the constant awareness of your presence.

The perfected mantra for the work of bringing Lakṣmī under control, for the procedures of attracting desired ones, for piercing through the dense darkness of delusion — that mantra is none other than the name of Bhavāni.

O Goddess, the rays born from the gems in the nails of your feet, glowing with the luster of fresh pearls, bring joy to all who behold them. Through the repeated act of bowing in service, this very sight fills the devoted heart with bliss.

Her crown blazing with the cold radiance of the moon; her forehead adorned with the crescent in the middle, multicolored as divine weapon-rays; her heart-lotus kissed [by devotees' meditation] — this form of the Goddess is to be contemplated.

Whoever meditates on your form — white as the shimmering rays of the moon — perceiving you, the presiding deity of speech, as dwelling in the crown chakra — for that person endless streams of ambrosia pour forth in the form of beautiful verses without bound.

Whoever for even a moment sees — the sky as if sprinkled with masses of vermilion dust, and the earth as if bathed in your crimson brilliance — for that devotee's vision, the world itself becomes the Goddess's red radiance.

O Mother, whoever remembers even for a moment your form — deep red as the spreading threads of lac-dye — that person becomes the beloved of those who meditate on you with single-pointed mind. They are sought after by the great.

This moon that shines as the jewel of the ocean of space, this ancient Puruṣa who is the guru of gods and demons — this left half, O Goddess, is yours alone. Yet you contain them both within your single being.

O Saṅkarṣiṇī (the drawing-in power), when you take him up and bear him — having infused him with qualities that match your will, of surpassing fullness — he [Śiva] becomes the singular guru of the three worlds, the Lord of lords.

O Haimavati (daughter of the Himālayas), whoever meditates on you with a mind pure and spotless as a garland of moonbeams — for them, without delay, the faultless, infinite nature of reality is revealed as their own Self.

O Goddess, for those who practice the restraint of the root-breath (prāṇāyāma) — in whose hearts your blazing form resembles the quality of a lotus tinged with vermilion — you bestow the highest liberation.

Those who meditate on your form — golden-red as fresh yāvaka barley-paste, dwelling in the center of the red orb of the sun — for them, Kāmadeva's flower-arrows never miss their mark, and all desires are fulfilled.

O Bhavāni, those who behold you like the digit of the moon above the forehead-region, illuminating the vast sky — those wise poets instantly become overflowing with exquisite verse.

O Śarvāṇī, whose lotus-feet all beings worship, whose eye-beauty surpasses the glory of lotus petals, O delight of the pure-hearted — bestow upon me the clarity of mind and the true vision of reality.

O Tripurā, beautiful as refined gold — purify my mind; mow down the forest of long-accumulated sins; release me from the prison-house of the body with its chains and constraints. Take me to the other shore.

The wise call you Vyāpinī (the Pervader), Sumanā (the Well-minded), Kuṇḍalī (the Coiled); you Kāminī (the Passionate), Kamalā (the Lotus-born), Kalāvatī (Full of kalās); you Mālinī (the Garlanded) — and many more names. In all these names, one reality shines.

The supreme lotus of the highest purpose of Kāma (liberation), whose blazing brilliance dispels the six modifications (birth, etc.), who is poised like a lion to crush the great elephant of delusion — I take refuge in that Goddess.

Praised by Gaṇeśa and Vaṭuka (Bhairava), attended by Rati and Kāma, enthroned on the seat of the enemy of Kāma (Śiva), armed with flower-arrows — she who is Anaṅgakusumā and other attendant deities: I meditate on this divine assembly.

O Rudrāṇī, those who contemplate you — of unique reddish splendor, like a statue made of coral — you come to them at the final hour and grant them your supreme blessing directly.

The eyes becoming bound by love for seeing your form alone; the ears tinged with longing to hear only your qualities; the mind ever remembering you; the lips always uttering your name — grant that all the senses be devoted to you, O Goddess.

Whoever meditates on the imperishable divine seed of Kāma in your form — red as the blossoming pomegranate flower — that person, even if physically unlovely, is made irresistible by Kāmadeva himself.

To her who is saluted by Brahmā, Indra, Rudra, Hari, the thousand-rayed Sun, Skanda, Gaṇapati, and Agni — O Vāgīśvarī, mistress of all three worlds, to you be salutation; bestow your grace upon me.

Whoever recites this auspicious hymn to the Goddess daily, or hears it recited — for them, all desired fruits ripen; kings become favorable; poetic genius (Sarasvatī) dwells permanently in their speech.