śrīsubrahmaṇyabhujaṅgastotram

May that auspicious form, though ever a child, the destroyer of mountains of obstacles; Though bearing the face of a great elephant, revered by the five-faced Lord; That Ganesha, sought by Brahma, Indra, and all others, Bestow prosperity upon me.

I know not words, nor their true sense, I know not verse, nor flowing prose. Yet, the one Six-faced Awareness shines in my heart, And wondrously, words flow forth from my mouth.

I worship the protector of the worlds: Mounted on a peacock, in great sayings deeply hidden, Whose form captivates the mind, the abode in vast consciousness, The God of the earth-gods, the very spirit of the great Vedas, The son of Mahadeva.

When mortals attain my presence, They instantly cross the ocean of rebirths. Thus declaring, He who dwells on the ocean's shore, Him I adore, the pure Son of Parashakti.

Just as the ocean's towering waves subside and disappear, So too do misfortunes vanish for me, his devotee. As if showing these very wave-rows to all mankind, I ever contemplate that Guha in my heart's lotus.

Those who ascend the mountain, my sacred dwelling, Then they shine, themselves exalted on the mountain of splendor. As if proclaiming this, may that Six-faced God, Seated upon the fragrant peak, always grant me joy.

On the shore of the great ocean, the thief of great sins, Gracious to great sages, on the fragrant mountain, Dwelling in a cave, radiant with his own splendor, Dispelling the suffering of people – in that Guha, we take refuge.

In a gleaming golden abode, fulfilling all human desires, On a ruby couch covered with countless fragrant blossoms, Whose radiance equals a thousand rising suns, I ever contemplate Kartikeya, the Lord of the gods.

O Skanda, may my mind-bee, scorched by the sorrows of worldly existence, always find delight in your lotus feet, resounding with anklets, lovely, intensely crimson, and brimming with the captivating nectar of beauty.

O Skanda, I contemplate Your radiant waist, Shining bright with divine garments of golden hue, Adorned beautifully by a girdle of tinkling bells, And gleaming with a lustrous golden sash.

I bow to your chest, O Tarakari, Which bears the saffron hue from the passionate embrace of the full, high breasts of the Pulinda princess, And is always filled with love for the protection of your own devotees.

Always I seek refuge in your mighty arms, Which mete out justice even to the Creator, Which in sport uphold the cosmic spheres, Which crush the trunks of formidable elephants, Which are the very rod of Death to your adversaries, Which destroy the hosts of Indra's enemies, And are ever valiant in saving the worlds.

If six autumnal moons were ever to exist, Always rising and positioned on every side, Ever full-orbed and entirely free from blemish, Then, O Skanda, I would declare them equal to your faces.

O Son of Ishwara, I gaze upon your six lotus-faces, gleaming with gentle smiles and full of mirth, shining with swarms of bees that are your restless glances, and adorned with nectar-dripping, Bimba-red lips.

O compassionate one, if from your twelve vast eyes, Long as your ears, and ever-streaming with grace, A single, fleeting side-glance were to fall on me, What loss, pray tell, would that occasion unto you?

O Lord of the world, to those crowned and radiant heads, Who bear the burden of the universe, And whom Lord Shiva, with delight, kisses, Reciting six times the mantra: 'You are born of my body, live!' To those heads, my salutations!

Gleaming with jeweled armlets and necklaces, His cheeks shining with the grace of swaying earrings, Clad in yellow on his waist, holding a beautiful spear in his hand, May the son of Shiva ever be present before me.

"Come here, my child!" — so calls Shankara, extending his hands with affection. From his mother's lap, Kumara leaps up to embrace his father, His body held close by Hara. I worship that divine child.

O Son of Shiva, Guha, Skanda, Commander of the army, Wielder of the spear, Rider of the peacock, Beloved of the Pulinda's daughter, Remover of devotees' suffering, O Lord, Foe of Taraka, You always protect me.

When my senses are stilled, my consciousness gone, my body inert, My mouth disgorging phlegm, my frame trembling with fear, When I, the helpless one, am poised for the final journey, O compassionate Guha, swiftly appear before me then!

When Death's fierce messengers, in wrath, threaten me, Crying, 'Burn! Rend! Cleave!' Then, mounted on your peacock, holding the spear, Come swiftly before me, saying, 'Fear not!'

Repeatedly bowing, falling at Your feet, Having sought Your grace, O Lord, I pray again and again: O Ocean of Mercy, I shall be unable to speak at that time, Let there be no neglect, not even a little, at my life's end.

You slew Shura, the lord of a thousand realms, And Taraka, and the lion-faced demon. Yet this single sorrow residing within my heart, You do not dispel, O Lord! What can I do? Where can I turn?

I am ever burdened, sunk beneath sorrow's weight, You are the friend of the meek; from none but You I pray. Destroy swiftly, O son of Uma, this anguish of my soul, Which ever obstructs my devotion, causing constant woe.

Epilepsy, leprosy, consumption, piles, diabetes, Fever, madness, tumors, and all such grave diseases, And all malevolent spirits, O Tarakari, Flee in an instant, beholding your sacred ash.

In my sight, Skanda's form; in my hearing, Skanda's glory. In my mouth, may His sacred tale ever reside. In my hand, His service; my body, His servant. In Guha, may all my emotions be absorbed.

For sages, or for humans who are devout, Gods are everywhere, granting their desired boons. But for the fulfillment of the needs Even of the lowest-born among men, I know no other God than Guha, I truly know no other.

My spouse, my children, my kin, or my animals, Or men or women dwelling within my home, my own; May all of them, O Kumara, ever be Worshipping, bowing, praising, and remembering You.

May the beasts, birds, stinging creatures, and all malevolent ones, And likewise, the diseases and torments that afflict my body, Perish far away, shattered by the sharp point of Your power, O You who crushed Mount Krauñca!

Do not a mother and father bear their own son's faults, O Lord of the divine army? I am but a mere child, and You are the father of all worlds; Forgive all my offenses, O Great Lord.

Homage to the peacock, and to your spear, to You, Homage to the goat, to You, and to the rooster. Homage to the ocean, to the oceanic land, to You, Again, O Skanda-form, salutations to You, again and again.

Hail, boundless bliss! Hail, infinite light! Hail, unfailing glory! Hail, embodiment of joy! Hail, ocean of bliss! Hail, kinsman of all! May You always be victorious, O Son of the Lord who grants liberation!

That person who, having bowed to Guha, recites with devotion this hymn composed in the Bhujanga meter, attains good children, a spouse, wealth, a long life, and ultimately, union with Skanda.