O Dweller of Kailash
O dweller of Kailash,
Destroyer of suffering, remover of sorrow —
You are Mother Durga.
Born from the radiance of the gods,
A flame-crowned goddess, armed with many spears;
Worshipped on the blue lotus of divinity,
Matchless in glory,
Sprung of no womb,
Arisen to vanquish the demons.
Beside you stand Ganapati
And the commander of the divine hosts,
Lakshmi and Saraswati;
From Kailash you descend — Mahishamardini,
Mounted on a lion,
Draped in victory and fame,
Destroyer of foes.
Under the clear autumn sky,
The scent of worship drifts;
In the white fields of kasha
The world seems afloat with exultation.
Mother of mothers,
Primal giver of power,
You who preside over the rites
Of the sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth days —
Bedeck the homes of mortals
With clamour and celebration.
Yet when you depart after Vijaya,
O gem of our eyes,
Why do the demons continue to dwell
In the dark corners of society?
Why, O Mother, do you leave them still —
Why do you not destroy them utterly?
