Dhumavati Chalisa

Hail three times to Mother Dhumavati. You are the eternal ordainer who lifts away the seeker's every trouble.

At dawn you take the form of a young girl who gives joy. By midday you appear as a woman in her prime.

At dusk you sit in the form of an aged woman. A garland of skulls hangs at your throat as your ornament.

You hold the skull-topped staff, O Bhavani. With matted locks and a skull in hand, you are the great Bhavani.

A necklace of demon heads is worn as your jewellery. With Bhairava at your side, your divine play remains pure.

You are pleased by offerings of blood and wine, O Mother. You reveal the fearsome form linked with Yama and the buffalo.

You take delight even among broken bones. Your dreadful laughter rings out across the ground.

The sound of your damaru drum booms heavily. You move with ghosts and ride alongside Mahakala.

Your bells ring out with a clanging note. Your Bhairavi form is known across the whole world.

The garland of skulls shines beautifully upon you. You brought about the destruction of the demons Chanda and Munda.

The disc of the moon rests at your left ear. The blazing light of the sun shines at your right.

Stars form a necklace across your spreading matted hair. The skull garland lights up your neck.

You carry a trident in your hand and hold serpents with ease. Dear to Mahakala, you drive away every fear.

Your single oil-anointed braid looks striking. You show yourself mounted upon a donkey.

You dwell in the cremation ground, yet you are Mother of the world. To those who take refuge you grant every spiritual attainment.

Your tongue is red and revels in blood. In the form of Kali, you make your home within the world.

When a great and terrible crisis closes in, worship offered to you bears fruit.

You put an end to great wars, diseases and enemies. Through steady chanting of your mantra, the devotee sees success.

Whoever reads this chalisa with a focused mind gains attainment, and their troubles are turned aside.

O Dhumavati, be gracious and carry us across the ocean of worldly existence. Show mercy to your devotees and bring deliverance in this world.

Here begins the Ashtak Stotram, the eight-part hymn of Mother Dhumavati.

At morning she is a maiden, telling her beads on a rosary of flower buds. At noon she is mature, with a bright face and lovely eyes; and at night she changes again.

At dusk she is aged, wearing a garland of skulls. May that Goddess, deity of deities, mother of the three worlds, Kali herself, protect you.

With the skull-staff bound at its tip and tawny matted locks, she has made a garland of the finest demon heads across her chest, her head crowned with eagle feathers.

Taking in her hand the great horn of Yama's buffalo, brimming with the blood of demons, may Bhairava, who rose rejoicing at the time of dissolution, guard you through the dark night as you worship.

Chewing shards of bone with a loud grinding clatter, gaunt of body, she stands among the ghosts uttering a fierce, echoing laughter.

Ever absorbed in her play, she swells the beat of the damaru and makes her lotus face shine. May this Chandika, wandering and murmuring with a jingling sound, protect us.

She carries a bell that clangs on and on, terrible in her clash of sounds and her hissing, crackling laughter.

With a swaying garland of skulls and a restless flickering tongue, she chews upon Chanda and Munda. May she purify us.

On her left ear the dissolution-worn moon, on her right the disc of the sun, at her neck a garland of stars, and on her terrible piled matted hair a garland of skulls.

On her shoulder she bears the weight of Brahma's skeleton along with the serpent-king's banner. May the auspicious, boon-giving Bhadrakali, who carries this at the time of dissolution, remove my fear.

With one oil-anointed braid, her ears graced by gleaming tin ornaments, she adorns her lotus-lovely feet with a single iron anklet.

Clad in the directions themselves, riding the donkey, with barley-ears as her earrings, she devours this world; raining down and firmly bound, her arms spread wide with a banner, you alone are that Goddess.

In battle she makes weapons of the blood-smeared teeth of warriors, binds a garland of their severed heads upon her head, and with wide-spread arms bearing a banner she enters the cremation ground.

Beheld by the hosts of spirits, broad of hip, girded with the serpent-king as her belt, holding the point of a spear in her busy hand, ever fond of sweet blood, her eyes copper-red through the night.

O Devi, into this fierce fanged mouth of yours the whole world passes in half an instant. At the end of the age, taken up with human blood, you stand amid the flood upon the smoke-grey earth.

You are Kali, the Kapalika who reclines upon a corpse, the Yogini seated in yogic pose, the one who stanches blood; present in the assembly, remover of fear, you are the gracious Chandaghanta.

This holy Ashtakam of Dhumavati wards off every calamity. The seeker who recites it with devotion gains the attainment they long for.

In great danger, in great terror, in great disease, in great war, in driving off enemies, in warding off harm and in confounding hostile beings.

O Devi, whoever recites this stotra becomes blessed with success everywhere; devas, danavas, gandharvas, yakshas, rakshasas and serpents all yield before them.