rakṣā prārthanā

Eighteen verses of plain asking, and the least ornamented Bala text in this group — no viniyoga, no seed syllables, no concealment clause, only a person in trouble addressing the mother of the worlds. Guard me always from petty snares and from sins, says the first, calling her the one mother of every world and the giver of every wished-for fruit. The second piles the same word four times over — you who are the good of the world, the eye of the world, the mother of the world, who are made of the world — and asks to be guarded from the world's own net of misfortunes. The last verse drops even the asking and simply describes the person doing it: fallen into the sea of becoming, frightened, without protector, poor in mind; lift him and set him at your lotus feet.