ṣaṭtriṃśannavamallikāstavaḥ

Thirty-six verses to Tripura, every one of them ending on the same line — I bow to Tripura, made of the higher and the lower, for the awareness of my own bliss — so that the hymn works as a litany on a single refrain. It follows her up through the body: at the lotus of the root, on the seat called Kamakhya, as Bala with the light of moon and sun and fire; at Oddiyana, slender as a lotus fibre and bright as a thousand lightnings, setting the breath to work. It then lays out what the schools have each called her — wisdom, being, emptiness, the unborn, inertness, and by others simply that brahman which is everything — and gives her the offices of grace and of concealment, of creation, maintenance and dissolution alike. The final verse calls the poem a garland of thirty-six fresh jasmines strung on the thread of insight.