sunkan
April 7th, 2009, 10:10 PM
70. Brahma, the God born out of Lotus,
Afraid of the nails Of Shiva,
Who killed the Asura called Andhaka,
Which has clipped of one of his heads,
Praises with his four faces,
Your four pretty , tender hands,
Resembling the lotus flower stalk,
So that he can ask for protection for his remaining four heads,
By use of your four merciful hands at the same time.
71.Oh Goddess Uma,
You only tell us ,how,
How we can describe,
The shining of your hands,
By the light of your nails,
Which tease the redness of freshly opened lotus?
Perhaps if the red lotus mixes,
With the liquid lac adorning,
The feet of Lakshmi,
Some resemblance can be seen.
72.Our Goddess Devi,
Let your two cool breasts,
Which have faces that always,
Give out milk,
And are simultaneously drunk deeply.
By Skanda and the elepahant faced Ganesha,,
Destroy all our sorrows.
Seeing them and getting confused,
The Herambha* feels for his two frontal globes,
To see whether they are there,
Making you both laugh.
73.Oh, Victory flag of the king of mountains,
We never have any doubt in our mind,
That your two breasts divine,
Are the nectar filled pot made of rubies,
For The elephant faced one,
And he who killed Crownchasura*,
Even today do not know the pleasure of women,
And remain as young children.
74.Oh mother mine.
The center place of your holy breasts,
Wear the glittering chain ,
Made out of the pearls,
Recovered from inside the head of Gajasura,
And reflect the redness of your lips,
Resembling the Bimba fruits,
And are coloured red inside.
You wear the chain with fame,
Like you wear the fame of our Lord.
Who destroyed the three cities.
75.Oh daughter of the king of mountains,
I feel in my mind,
That the milk that flows from your breast,
Is really the goddess of learning, Sarswathi,
In the form of a tidal wave of nectar.
For , milk given by you ,who is full of mercy,
Made the child of Dravida*,
The king among those great poets,
Whose works stole one’s mind.
76.Oh daughter of the mountain,
The God of love who is the king of the mind,
Being lit by the flame of anger of Shiva,
Immersed himself in the deep pond of thine navel.
The tendril like smoke emanated from there,
And mother, people think,
That this is the line of hair,
That climbs from your navel upwards.
77.The mother of universe who is Shiva and Shakthi,
In the narrow part of the middle of your body.
The learned men seem to see a line,
Which is in the shape of a small wave of the river Yamuna,
And which shines and glitters, and appears like the sky ,
Made very thin by thine dense colliding breasts,
Entering your cave like navel.
78.Oh daughter of the mountain,
Is your navel a whirl pool in river Ganga,
Which looks very stable!
Or is it the root of the climber,
Of the stream of your hair line,
Which has two breasts of yours as buds,
Or is it the Homa fire,
Where the fire is the light from cupid,
Or is it the play house of Rathi, the wife of God of love,
Or is it the opening to the cave,
In which Shiva’s tapas gets fulfilled,
I am not able to make up my mind!
79.Oh daughter of the mountain,
You who is the greatest among women,
Long live your pretty hips,
Which look fragile,
Which are by nature tiny,
Which are strained by your heavy breasts,
And hence slightly bent,
And which look like the tree,
In the eroded banks of a rushing river.
80.Oh Goddess mine,
Placed just below your shoulders,
By Cupid , the God of love,
Tearing your blouse which is attached ,
To your body by the sweat,
When you think of the greatness of your Lord,
And resembling pots of Gold,
Your breasts appear to be tied by him,
Securely three times,
By the three creeper like folds*.
TO BE CONTD
Afraid of the nails Of Shiva,
Who killed the Asura called Andhaka,
Which has clipped of one of his heads,
Praises with his four faces,
Your four pretty , tender hands,
Resembling the lotus flower stalk,
So that he can ask for protection for his remaining four heads,
By use of your four merciful hands at the same time.
71.Oh Goddess Uma,
You only tell us ,how,
How we can describe,
The shining of your hands,
By the light of your nails,
Which tease the redness of freshly opened lotus?
Perhaps if the red lotus mixes,
With the liquid lac adorning,
The feet of Lakshmi,
Some resemblance can be seen.
72.Our Goddess Devi,
Let your two cool breasts,
Which have faces that always,
Give out milk,
And are simultaneously drunk deeply.
By Skanda and the elepahant faced Ganesha,,
Destroy all our sorrows.
Seeing them and getting confused,
The Herambha* feels for his two frontal globes,
To see whether they are there,
Making you both laugh.
73.Oh, Victory flag of the king of mountains,
We never have any doubt in our mind,
That your two breasts divine,
Are the nectar filled pot made of rubies,
For The elephant faced one,
And he who killed Crownchasura*,
Even today do not know the pleasure of women,
And remain as young children.
74.Oh mother mine.
The center place of your holy breasts,
Wear the glittering chain ,
Made out of the pearls,
Recovered from inside the head of Gajasura,
And reflect the redness of your lips,
Resembling the Bimba fruits,
And are coloured red inside.
You wear the chain with fame,
Like you wear the fame of our Lord.
Who destroyed the three cities.
75.Oh daughter of the king of mountains,
I feel in my mind,
That the milk that flows from your breast,
Is really the goddess of learning, Sarswathi,
In the form of a tidal wave of nectar.
For , milk given by you ,who is full of mercy,
Made the child of Dravida*,
The king among those great poets,
Whose works stole one’s mind.
76.Oh daughter of the mountain,
The God of love who is the king of the mind,
Being lit by the flame of anger of Shiva,
Immersed himself in the deep pond of thine navel.
The tendril like smoke emanated from there,
And mother, people think,
That this is the line of hair,
That climbs from your navel upwards.
77.The mother of universe who is Shiva and Shakthi,
In the narrow part of the middle of your body.
The learned men seem to see a line,
Which is in the shape of a small wave of the river Yamuna,
And which shines and glitters, and appears like the sky ,
Made very thin by thine dense colliding breasts,
Entering your cave like navel.
78.Oh daughter of the mountain,
Is your navel a whirl pool in river Ganga,
Which looks very stable!
Or is it the root of the climber,
Of the stream of your hair line,
Which has two breasts of yours as buds,
Or is it the Homa fire,
Where the fire is the light from cupid,
Or is it the play house of Rathi, the wife of God of love,
Or is it the opening to the cave,
In which Shiva’s tapas gets fulfilled,
I am not able to make up my mind!
79.Oh daughter of the mountain,
You who is the greatest among women,
Long live your pretty hips,
Which look fragile,
Which are by nature tiny,
Which are strained by your heavy breasts,
And hence slightly bent,
And which look like the tree,
In the eroded banks of a rushing river.
80.Oh Goddess mine,
Placed just below your shoulders,
By Cupid , the God of love,
Tearing your blouse which is attached ,
To your body by the sweat,
When you think of the greatness of your Lord,
And resembling pots of Gold,
Your breasts appear to be tied by him,
Securely three times,
By the three creeper like folds*.
TO BE CONTD