Vande Matharam

 Bankim Chandra Chatarjee

Vande maataraM

sujalaaM suphalaaM malayaja shiitalaaM  sasyashyaamalaaM maataraM ||  

Shubhrajyotsnaa pulakitayaaminiiM 
pullakusumita drumadala shobhiniiM 
suhaasiniiM sumadhura bhaashhiNiiM 
sukhadaaM varadaaM maataraM || 
 
 
 
 KoTi koTi kaNTha kalakalaninaada karaale 
koTi koTi bhujai.rdhR^itakharakaravaale 
abalaa keno maa eto bale 
bahubaladhaariNiiM namaami taariNiiM 
ripudalavaariNiiM maataraM || 
 
 
 

Tumi vidyaa tumi dharma 
tumi hR^idi tumi marma  
tvaM hi praaNaaH shariire 
 

Baahute tumi maa shakti 
hR^idaye tumi maa bhakti 
tomaara i pratimaa gaDi 
mandire mandire || 
 
 

TvaM hi durgaa dashapraharaNadhaariNii 
kamalaa kamaladala vihaariNii 
vaaNii vidyaadaayinii namaami tvaaM 

  ShyaamalaaM saralaaM susmitaaM bhuushhitaaM

dharaNiiM bharaNiiM maataraM || 

 

Tranlated by Sri Aurobindo

Mother, I bow to thee!   
Rich with thy hurrying streams,   
bright with orchard gleams,   
Cool with thy winds of delight,   
Dark fields waving Mother of might,   
Mother free.   

Glory of moonlight dreams,   
Over thy branches and lordly streams,   
 Clad in thy blossoming trees,   
Mother, giver of ease   
Laughing low and sweet!   
Mother I kiss thy feet,   
Speaker sweet and low!   
Mother, to thee I bow.   
   

Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands   
When the sword flesh out in the seventy million hands   
And seventy million voices roar   
Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?   
With many strengths who art mighty and stored,   
To thee I call Mother and Lord!   
Though who savest, arise and save!   
To her I cry who ever her foeman drove   
Back from plain and Sea   
And shook herself free.   
     

Thou art wisdom, thou art law,  
Thou art heart, our soul, our breath  
Though art love divine, the awe  
In our hearts that conquers death.  
Thine the strength that nervs the arm,  
Thine the beauty, thine the charm.  
Every image made divine  
In our temples is but thine.  
 
 

Thou art Durga, Lady and Queen,  
With her hands that strike and her  
swords of sheen,  
Thou art Lakshmi lotus-throned,  
And the Muse a hundred-toned,  
Pure and perfect without peer,  
Mother lend thine ear,  
Rich with thy hurrying streams,  
Bright with thy orchard gleems,  
Dark of hue O candid-fair