Shiva Bhujanga Stotram

This opening verse does not address Shiva directly. It salutes Ganesha, the curved-trunk son whose cheeks stream with the flow of his temples, around whom bees hover, who guards the three worlds and breaks calamities before they land. Shankara opens with Ganesha, as tradition asks, because he is pure love for Shiva packed into one elephant-headed form.

Here the hymn turns to Shiva himself, without beginning or end, the first cause, pure consciousness, the fourth state beyond waking, dream and sleep. Even Vishnu and Brahma search for him, the verse says, because this light called Shaiva sits past the reach of mind and word alike.

Shiva sits enthroned on his own Shakti, a seat built from every power there is, his limbs strung with jewels that would turn any onlooker's head. Ganga and the crescent moon rest in his matted hair alongside a garland of bone, and the verse bows to this five-faced form paired forever with the highest Shakti.

Those five faces and six accompanying limbs are said to hold all thirty-six tattvas, the categories classical thought uses to describe reality. Yet the verse asks plainly, if Shiva exceeds even that full list of principles, who could truthfully claim to know him.

One half of this jeweled body glows red like fresh coral, the other half is the deep blue-black of a rain cloud lit from within. Shankara pictures Shiva quite literally here, limb by limb, and says that calling this image to mind turns danger into fortune.

Gods and demons alike arrive to serve Shiva, their crowned heads bent low, mandara blossoms slipping from their hair as they bow at his feet. Shankara salutes those same feet as the one boat able to carry a person across the ocean of worldly existence, a boat Parvati herself is said to contemplate.

A direct, almost breathless address follows: Lord of the universe, my own Lord, Gauri's husband, kind to whoever surrenders, healer of the broken. The verse ends by repeating salutations three times, which reads less like formality and more like someone who cannot stop bowing.

Shankara runs through several of Shiva's names here, Virupaksha, Vishvesha, Tryambaka, Shiva, treating each one as a separate door into the same request: be gracious, remember me, protect me, carry me toward freedom, and forgive whatever needs forgiving.

Simply pronouncing names like Mahadeva or enemy of Kama is itself an act of remembering Shiva, this verse says, and that remembering is reason enough for his mercy to follow. It reads like a small bargain a devotee strikes: I will keep saying your names, so please keep being gracious.

No other refuge exists for someone who has already surrendered, Shankara insists, so the least Shiva can do is remain close and burn away his devotee's misery through simple remembrance. He even adds a gentle nudge, failing to do so would put Shiva's own reputation for kindness at risk.

Life itself, this verse suggests, is the occasion for giving, and the devotee is the fitting recipient since Shiva is the only true giver there is. What Shankara actually asks for is not wealth or comfort but unwavering devotion, calling himself fulfilled the moment that gift is granted.

Even if Shiva looks at his devotee and sees only an unenlightened animal, the verse points out, he has still chosen to ride a bull. Even if the crescent moon on his head carries a visible flaw, he wears it anyway, and the two-tongued serpent around his neck becomes an ornament in his company, proof that whoever Shiva accepts is blessed regardless of their shortcomings.

Shankara admits he cannot manage to harm anyone, so he genuinely does not understand what pleases Shiva, since Shiva is famously gracious even toward people who have wronged their own family. It is a self-deprecating turn, perhaps having no great sins to forgive is itself a kind of disadvantage here.

Not fully knowing how to praise, meditate on, or worship Shiva properly, Shankara leans on him anyway, the way a child leans on a parent before it understands why. He recalls young Markandeya, whose life Yama came to claim, and how Shiva's feet alone stopped death in its tracks to save the boy.

This verse lists ailments the way a physician would, headaches, heart trouble, colic, fevers, piles, the wasting of old age, hiccups, poison, and names sacred ash as the one medicine strong enough for all of them. Shiva himself is called the first and original physician here, asked simply to lighten a body worn down by disease.

Poor, broken, grieving, exhausted, dejected, Shankara lists his own condition almost in a single breath, then makes the real complaint. Shiva, who lives as the inner self of every being, still seems not to notice this particular anguish, and the verse asks him plainly to protect him.

Wherever a sidelong glance from Shiva's eyes happens to fall, even briefly, the earth and Lakshmi are said to choose that spot for themselves, arriving with crowns, swaying chowries, parasols, garlands and fine cloth. Royal fortune, the verse suggests, simply follows where Shiva's attention lands.

A series of salutations pairs Shiva with Parvati under different names, Bhava and Bhavani, mother and father, Mridani and her lord who destroys sin, closing with a direct bow to Tryambaka, the three-eyed one. The repetition itself functions as worship, naming the divine couple from every angle.

Aware of how vast Shiva is and how small his own effort looks by comparison, Shankara asks only for a compassionate glance and admits, quite openly, that he is not equal to the task of properly praising Shiva's true nature. Whatever fault came from his own limited strength, he asks to be forgiven.

This verse imagines the moment death arrives, when the bell on Yama's buffalo mount clangs in a dying person's ears. Shankara asks that at exactly that instant, Shiva ride in on his bull and simply say, the way one would to a frightened child, do not be afraid.

When Yama's messengers appear at the end, harsh-voiced and frightening, the verse wonders honestly how the mind could possibly stay fixed and steady on Shiva's feet in that state. It answers itself with a bow anyway, salutations to you regardless, Shambho.

Picture someone lying in unbearable pain, tossing, gasping, unable to form words. Shankara asks that in that exact moment, Shiva's matted locks, still wet with the Ganga, become the one place his mind can rest.

As sons and friends gather around a dying person and weep, asking what terrible state this is, Shankara asks for only one thing to keep repeating without pause, salutations to you, Shiva, addressed straight to Gauri's husband.

The instant onlookers realize the breath has finally stopped, that what they were watching was simply a life ending, Shankara asks to be picturing Shiva clearly in that last flicker, ash-smeared, wrapped in serpents, the destroyer of the demon Tripura.

When the body itself becomes a source of doubt, caught between living and dying, and no great confusion about the body remains, the verse asks to recall Shiva's form, cool and pale like the autumn moon, addressing him as the one who conquered Kama.

Death is pictured here as a road with no shade, no water, and no companions to walk it with. Shankara asks that Shiva block Yama's path on exactly that road and hand him something the mind can actually hold onto.

Simply remembering hell-realms like Raurava out of fear is enough to plunge a person into terrible confusion, the verse admits, and then asks the obvious question, who besides Shiva, the crescent-crowned one, could possibly rescue someone that helpless and dependent.

Even though Yama's authority is said to be unmatched, this verse trusts that Shiva's tenderness toward his devotees outweighs it anyway. It ends with a simple, almost stubborn claim, I see no protector besides you, beloved of Parvati, so protect me.

Any moment now, death will come, Shankara names the thought that keeps circling back and admits he is worn down by constantly turning it over. He asks Shiva, the blue-throated refuge of everyone who has nowhere else to go, why this fear of dying should exist at all.

Yama takes the young and the old with the same indifference, and watching that is frightening, the verse admits plainly. Yet Shankara says the grace flowing from Shiva's feet is enough to make him fearless even at the moment of death.

Old age, birth, and the discomfort of life in the womb rank among sufferings a person simply cannot bear alone, this verse says, and asks Shiva to remove them. It ends almost bluntly, without you I have no other refuge, so is the compassionate one even awake, or is there really no compassion here.

The two words Namah Shivaya, this verse explains, carry liberation inside them whenever they are remembered, strong enough to overcome death itself and to express the deepest truth there is. Shankara asks only that this phrase never leave his mind or his speech.

Turning briefly to address Parvati directly, Shankara calls her the one cure for the sickness of worldly existence and asks to be carried, weighed down by every kind of trouble, across the ocean of becoming in the boat formed by her feet.

This verse lingers on the combined form of Shiva and Parvati together, the flicker of the third eye not yet blazing, the shine along one thigh, a snake worn as ornament, the crescent moon overhead, and settles on a simple conclusion, no other deity is needed once this one is seen clearly.

A skull garland at the throat, a snake in place of jewelry, a skull bowl instead of an alms bowl, ash instead of sandal paste, the crescent moon at the crest, one half of the body given over entirely to his consort. Faced with that picture, Shankara says twice, for emphasis, that he considers no one else to be God.

Trident in hand, everything in existence appearing to shine from within him, this verse reaches its philosophical peak, I know no deity apart from Shiva, followed by the fourfold declaration that defines Advaita itself, I am Shiva, I am Shiva, I am Shiva, I am Shiva.

The verse names Shiva as the source from which this whole strange universe arises, the ground it rests on while it lasts, and the point it finally dissolves back into. It describes that same reality as free of karma and self-luminous, before repeating the same fourfold declaration, I am Shiva.

One final description gathers up the familiar images, the moon at the crown, fire on the forehead, a serpent king coiled on the arm, a dark stain at the throat, his beloved sharing his very body, and admits four times over that no equal to this God is known.

Whoever recites this hymn with genuine reverence and arrives at real devotion for Ambikesha, the Lord paired with Ambika, is said to lose all fear of death, the verse promises, because they end up worshipping the one who already sits, quietly, at the center of their own heart.

In the closing verse Shankara names his own composition, built in the gliding bhujanga-prayata meter for Shambho, who loves serpents, and states its fruit plainly: whoever recites this stotra with deep devotion is said to gain good children, long life, health and prosperity.