லகு ஸ்தவஃ

May Tripurā — holding on the centre of her forehead the radiance of Indra's rainbow, spreading white moonlike lustre over her crown in all directions, dwelling in the heart as the inner heat of the sun, made entirely of light and made entirely of speech — suddenly sever our sins with her three syllables.

We meditate on that mātrā within your first vāg-bīja — ever-present, as fine as the filament of a tender tin-plant creeper — which the wise, exerting themselves in the work of bringing forth the universe, know as the Kuṇḍalinī Śakti. Those men who know this no longer touch the condition of infancy in a mother's womb.

O Varadā, the letter 'ai' spoken involuntarily and without the bindu — uttered as 'ai, ai!' upon suddenly seeing something astonishing — even such a syllable: when your grace swiftly descends upon the one who spoke it, streams of eloquent speech-nectar pour forth from his lotus-mouth.

Rare indeed is the wise man on earth who knows that the second syllable of your eternal Kāma-rāja mantra, which is without division, is called 'sārasvata.' Proof of this is that brāhmaṇas, celebrating the true austerity at every occasion, place this syllable in the position of the Praṇava at the beginning and clearly intone it.

I bow in my mind to your third bīja, bright as the moon, whose immediate power in activating speech has been witnessed by the wise. Even Aurva — associated with Sarasvatī for cutting through the waters of dullness — yet the word 'go' (cow / speech) abides on the mountain, granting siddhi even without yoga.

O Goddess, each of your bījas — sinless, whether combined with a consonant or not, whether standing as a whole, or arranged separately in sequence, or placed in reverse order — whatever desire it is contemplated or recited for, by whatever method, it constantly fulfils all of that entirely for human beings.

Those who do not cultivate you in their minds — you who carry a book and bestow fearlessness on the left, holding an akṣamāla on the right, whose hands are graceful in granting boons to devotees, who are radiant as camphor and jasmine, whose eyes cast a tender glance with the beauty of blooming lotus petals — O Mother, whence can poetic power come to them?

Those who meditate on you — stationed at the crown, radiant with the clustered white lotuses, as if sprinkling the head with streams of nectar — for them, the goddess of speech (Bhāratī) pours forth from their lotus-mouths, tireless, with bold and clear syllables, like the surging, playful waves of the river of the gods.

Those who behold — even for a moment, with undivided mind — this earth that is covered and concealed by the red ochre-dust of your radiance as if submerged in the spread of dissolved lac-juice: deer-eyed women become clearly captivated by them, weary and unsteady with the fever of Love.

Those who fix their mind entirely on you — adorned with gleaming golden earrings and armlets, wearing a girdle of bells — and meditate on you steadily, even for a moment: in their homes, day by day, the goddess Lakṣmī arrives playfully and settles with permanence, swaying like the ear of a lordly intoxicated elephant.

Those who meditate on you — terrifying in bearing, with matted locks adorned by a crescent moon, wearing a garland of human skulls, clad in blood-red garments bright as the bandūka flower, seated on a corpse-throne, four-armed, three-eyed, with full and lofty breasts and a waist marked by three folds — in order to perceive your true form,

Even though born in a family of modest means, among ordinary kings, the illustrious Vatsa-rāja — praised and honoured at the feet of Vidyādhara hosts — rose to the paramount sovereignty of the entire earth, exalted by his splendour. O Goddess, this is the grace that arises from prostration at your lotus feet.

O Caṇḍī, for those whose hands have not become acquainted with the scores of thorns snapping as they gather bilva leaves and other offerings at your feet — how can they be born as kings of the earth with hands bright as lotus flowers, marked with the staff, goad, disc, bow, thunderbolt, śrīvatsa, and fish?

Brāhmaṇas, kings, merchants, and others — honouring you, O Goddess Tripurā, who are both transcendent and immanent, with milk, ghee, honey, and wine in the course of worship — whatever the mind of those with steady intellect desires, that very siddhi do they swiftly attain, with all obstacles rendered harmless.

You are the mother of words in this world; you are known as Vāg-vādinī. From you, clearly, Keśava, Vāsava, and other gods too emerge. At the dissolution of the cosmic age, even they — Brahmā and the rest — merge back into you. Such is you: some supreme Śakti of inconceivable form and greatness, praised as the supreme.

The triad of gods, the triple Veda, the triple fire, the triple Śakti, the three svaras, the three worlds, the triplet metres of the Gāyatrī, the three sacred pools, the triple Brahman (of OM's three sounds), the three varṇas — whatever thing in this world is regulated in threes, including the three human goals — all of that, in truth, attends upon your name 'Tripurā', O Goddess.

As Lakṣmī in the royal court, as Jayā on the battlefield, as Kṣemaṃkarī on the road, as Śabarī in forests haunted by carnivores, elephants, and serpents, as Śabarī on the mountain pass, as the great Bhairavī when there is fear of spirits, ghosts, and goblins, as Tripurā in confusion — and as Tārā in a flood — people cross all dangers.

You are Māyā, Kuṇḍalinī, Kriyā, Madhumatī, Kālī, Kalāmālinī, Mātaṅgī, Vijayā, Jayā, Bhagavatī, Devī, Śivā, Śāmbhavī, Śakti, Śaṅkaravallabhā, Trinayanā, Vāg-vādinī, Bhairavī, Hrīṅkārī, Tripurā, Parāparamayī, Mātā, Kumārī.

From the Aī-syllable expanded, combined in twos and threes in sequence, from the consonants beginning with ka through kṣa, from the vowels in order, from those ending in kṣa combined with their vowels — your names, O Tripurā, that are entirely secret, numbering more than twenty thousand: to those and to you, O consort of Bhairava, homage!

This hymn is to be carefully understood by the wise, fixing the mind entirely on Bhāratī-Tripurā, where the mantra-extraction method — along with its specifics — is encoded in the letter-count of the feet, in the one-two-three-foot sequence, according to authentic tradition.

Whether this is faulty or faultless — what is the point of this worry? Surely those who have devotion to you will recite this hymn. Even after deeply considering my own smallness — which has arisen firmly despite all effort — this has been composed by me too, made eloquent by devotion to you.