Bāla Kāṇḍa

I bow to Vāṇī and Vināyaka — Sarasvatī and Gaṇeśa — who together are the makers of syllables, of the meanings those syllables carry, of the moods those meanings evoke, of the meters those moods take, and of every auspicious beginning.

I bow to Bhavānī and Śaṅkara — the two who are embodied as faith and trust. Without them, even those who have already accomplished the practice cannot see the Lord who is seated within them.

I bow to the guru who is pure knowing itself, eternal, in the very form of Śaṅkara — by whose refuge even the crooked moon, worn on his brow, is honored everywhere.

I bow to the two lords — of poets and of vānaras — of perfectly refined knowing, who wander in the sacred forest that is the collected virtues of Sītā and Rāma.

I bow to the pollen of my guru’s lotus feet — beautifully fragrant, sweetly perfumed, moist with love. It is a fine powder made of the very root of nectar; it stills the whole household of illnesses that this world brings on.

I bow to the lotus feet of my guru — an ocean of compassion, Hari in human form — whose words are a cluster of sunrays that scatter the massed darkness of great illusion.

I bow to the name Rāma — the name of the noblest of the Raghus — which is the source of fire, sun, and moon; which is threefold as Brahmā, Viṣṇu, and Śiva; which is the Vedas’ own breath; which is beyond attribute and yet the treasure of every attribute.

Knowing the whole world to be filled with Sītā and Rāma, I offer my praṇāma to it, joining both my hands.

The compassionate one, kind to the afflicted, has appeared — the very kinsman of Kauśalyā’s heart. The mother is joyful; the sages’ minds are stolen by that wonderful form; one can only look, and consider.

Dark as a blue lotus, with eyes red-tinged like a newly-opened water-lily — may He who reclines forever on the ocean of milk make my heart His dwelling place.

Abode of all auspiciousness, remover of every inauspicious thing — may he, who once played in Daśaratha’s courtyard, take pity on me.