Today's worship is dedicated to the awsome and terrifying power of Goddess as expressed through the great Kali.
Victory to you, O Mahakali! Victory to you, O primordial source of all beings! Victory to you, O formidable—looking goddess, who are renowned as the mother of the world!
Victory, all victory to you, O great goddess Mahakalika, of terrible and frightening aspect! Victory to you, O Moon on the locks of Shiva who are ever adored by gods, men, hermits and devotees.
Victory, all victory to you. O consort of Rudra; you are fearsome to look at and prefer a drink of hot blood; you are described as having a sword in your hallowed hand and as one who fills her cranial bowl with the blood of her victims.
Glory, glory to you, O Kali, the bearer of a cranial bowl and a sword in your hands. Victory to you, O terrible Delusion, the might of Rudra and the very death of Death.
O Mother, it is for the slaughter of the demons Madhu and Kaitabha that you appeared from the body of Hari. O Mother, your dark form radiant as the sun looks so splendidly winsome that the god of beauty himself cannot but succumb to its charm.
You are ten—faced with thirty attractive eyes, the crescent moon and a lovely coronet on your head. O Divine mother; who can describe your comeliness and your dark hair like massed clouds?
The beauty of the wreath made of your victims’ skulls looks splendid as do the weapons and missiles in all your ten hands. You carry a cranial bowl, a sword, a three—pronged trident, an axe, a club, a disc, a bow and a conch, all in their proper places.
The beautiful skirt made of he severed arms of your enemies looks so becoming like the sacred ornaments adorning every part of your body. Your ten dread feet are all smeared with blood and your long tongue sticks out, rendering your appearance frightening.
When, O Mother, you laugh aloud, the earth shivers (like one suffering from shaking chills). Blessed are you, O Primordial Energy and foster—mother of the world, you are the presiding deity of Doom (who causes universal destruction).
O Mother Kali! It is your divine feet that made Shiva’s appearance possible in the world; you have long protruding tongue and a frightening look. Blessed, all blessed are you O Mother Kali of Calcutta, who are thousand—armed and who have your abode in Shivapura.
O Kali, as Sita you were instrumental in bringing about Ravana’s destruction and Raghupati’s victory which, appearing became amorous of the Lord’s feet. You assumed manifold forms for the well being peace and happiness of the world.
You manifested yourself in the form of Krishna and let your sword be mysteriously transformed into a flute in his hand. Sometimes you take on the form of Vishnu with his four arms, at other times of one (Durga, for example) having eight arms, at still other one having ten or eighteen arms.
You sometimes appear with thirty—two arms, at other times with just the double this number, and at still others you multiply your arms into a thousand in order to slay your enemies. You are the very power of Hari invoked with prayer at midnight; you have long sharp fangs and a protruding tongue showing your blood—thirsty and fearsome nature.
You are furious combatant with a sword in your hand (you are usually shown on the battlefield or in a cremation ground where you sit on a corpse surrounded by jackals and goblins); you are at once soothing like the moon and fearsome like Rudra and the slayer of the wicked. You are a sublime as a hundred—peaked mountain and a primordial deity of black or dark complexion. You dwell amongst dark, untrodden caverns.
You are the original mother (of all beings) and at the dame time a dread deity with human heads for your garland; you are the very slayer of Kansa and subduer of ghosts and goblins; you are yourself Bhadrakali, a dweller on Kailasha and one who thirsts for the blood of the wicked.
Again and again you strike off the heads of your enemies (with your lashing sword) and fill your cranial bowl with blood (oozing from corpses). You gorge yourself on the demon host one after another and rushing on and on shed their wicked blood.
Blessed, blessed, blessed are you, O Mother Kali, who cause your enemies to lick the dust one after another.
No comments:
Post a Comment