Jwala Mata Chalisa

I bow to you, Mother Jwala. You shape the fortune of the poor and the sorrowful.

Your flame burns bright and steady; at the sight of it all darkness runs away.

You are the form of all nine Durgas, and you light up every one of the fourteen worlds.

Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva stand at your door, and all of them call out, 'Victory to the Mother!'

Your home rests high on the mountains, and your temple is unlike any other in the world.

You are Kali, Lakshmi and Saraswati, and in one single form you are Mother Parvati herself.

Riddhi and Siddhi wave the fans over you, and Lord Ganesha comes to sing songs of blessing.

I come to bathe in the Gauri Kund so that every stain of my mind may be washed clean.

May I be granted the sight of Gorakh Dibbi, and may I honour Baba Balak Nath.

Your divine play is a story that never dies. How can an ordinary being like me ever describe it?

King Daksha arranged a great fire sacrifice and prepared the grounds at Kankhal in Haridwar.

He insulted Lord Shiva, and Parvati blazed with anger at the offence.

'Why was my husband not invited?' she cried, and she let the whole sacrifice be undone.

Fixing her mind on innocent Shiva, the Mother leapt into the sacrificial fire.

Laying Gauri's body across his shoulder, Lord Shiva strode forth in a towering rage.

Understanding the whole play, Lord Vishnu sent his discus and lifted the burden from Shiva.

Wherever her limbs fell upon the mountains, temples of the Mother rose on those very spots.

Fifty-two are the sacred sites of the Mother, and we travel to each of them to worship.

Her tongue fell at Kangra, and there an undying radiance took shape as the eternal flame.

The tongue turned into the sacred stone form, and the cow Anusuya appeared at that place.

The Mother came in her own form and drank the milk, and the cowherd was left bewildered.

He recognised the Mother's divine play and found his true refuge in that spot.

He told the whole secret to the king, who then had the temple of Jwalaji built.

The Chandi Path was recited in her honour, and an offering of halwa and chickpeas was placed before her.

The people of this dark age worshipped you, and you gave the fruit of liberation to them all.

Sixty-four Yoginis dance at your gate, and fifty-two Bhairavas sway lost in devotion.

The flame receives its offering, and milk and sweets are placed before it as bhog.

Drums and the shehnai sound out, damarus and cymbals ring, and songs of celebration are sung.

Tughlaq and Akbar both put the flame to the test, yet no one was able to put it out.

Akbar dug a channel and brought water, and even poured it over the flame.

An iron sheet was hammered over it, but the flame only spread wider and shone brighter.

With all the darkness of the mind lifted away, he came to your door to offer a golden canopy.

The Mother takes as her own everyone who seeks her shelter, and she makes their life blessed.

I lay down my body, mind and wealth for you, and with open hands I beg at your feet, Mother.

Troubles have closed in around me, Mother, and lust and anger have made their home in me.

May I see your shrine every single day, and again and again may I bow my head before you.

Victory, victory, victory to Jagdamba Jwalpa! You alone will watch over this child.

The devotee Dhianu sang your glory, and you made his life truly blessed.

In this age of strife you grant every boon; forgive me for my foolishness.

Take to your heart all who fall at your feet. Victory, victory to Mother Jwala!