Sri Rangaraja Stavam: Purva Satakam
by Parasara Bhattar · Sanskrit · 127 slokams
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Meaning
Parasara Bhattar begins by bowing to his own father and teacher, Kurathazhvan, who bore the name Srivatsanka Misra. His hymns are like the sacred wedding thread tied around the neck of the Vedas: they show that the Vedas belong to, and speak of, Sriman Narayana alone. We meditate on that great teacher and offer him our salutation.
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May Embar, known as Govinda, flourish. He is like the shadow of Sri Ramanuja's feet, never separating from them, and his whole being depends on his teacher. For Bhattar, Embar is the resting place where he finds relief from worldly sorrow.
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Long live the sage Sri Ramanuja. Using devotion to Sri Hari as his instrument, he took away the empty obsession with noisy, false doctrines that the age of Kali loves to play with.
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We meditate on Alavandar (Yamunacharya), the guide to devotion for the Lord. He cleared the Vedic path of the thorns of baseless argument, leaving it smooth and safe to walk.
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I praise Nathamuni, who was like a rain cloud during a drought of devotion. He showered on the world detachment, true knowledge of the Lord, and loving devotion to Him.
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We lovingly serve the sage Nammalwar, who seemed to be a living form of longing for Krishna. He saw and gave to the world the Tamil Veda of a thousand verses, a scripture about Brahman with a thousand branches.
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Salutations to Sri Ranganayaki, the divine Mother of Srirangam. By the mere rise and fall of her eyebrows, this world is divided into high and low, into the Lord who rules and the beings who are ruled.
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I take refuge in the radiant Lord who reclines at Srirangam, the ornament on Sri Mahalakshmi's bosom. He looks like a wish-granting gem that the serpent Adisesha has brought up and laid on his own lap.
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There is a Reality that no description of the form 'it is this, it is like this' can reach. Yet in the blessed temple of Srirangam it can be seen, and it carries one clear mark: the red lac from the feet of Sri Mahalakshmi.
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Sri Mahalakshmi is like a wish-granting creeper, and Sri Ranganatha is like a bee hovering eagerly around its high clusters of blossom. May that royal bee come and play in the lotus of my heart.
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Sri Ranganatha's chest bears the fish-shaped musk designs from Sri Mahalakshmi's bosom, pressed there by her embrace. From that Lord we earnestly pray for blessings that last a hundred autumns.
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Sri Ranganatha always carries his five divine weapons, as if he cannot bear even a moment's delay in protecting those who bow to him. May that Lord of Srirangam protect us.
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The Vedas say that one who thinks he has not grasped Brahman has grasped it, and one who thinks he has grasped it has not. Nammalwar too says that praise of the Lord turns into fault-finding because it falls short of him. Since the Sanskrit and Tamil Vedas declare Sri Ranganatha beyond praise in this way, how could we ever praise him? We simply cannot.
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Suppose Sri Ranganatha were to lend me his own thousand mouths and powers. Even then, like Adisesha with his thousand heads, I would only share in the same failure to praise him fully. My gain would be a share in that glorious inability.
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The Veda itself wonders whether even the Lord knows the full extent of his own greatness. Then it is only fitting that my words, stained with faults, should cover up the supreme glory of Sri Ranganatha rather than reveal it.
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Sri Ranganatha shines after being bathed in the hymns of the Sanskrit Vedas and the Tamil Vedas of the Alwars, and now I soil him with my poor words. Yet who can stop a young elephant that loves to throw dust on itself right after its bath? The Lord welcomes even my humble praise.
Meaning
Why then do I dare to compose this hymn? Perhaps it is the spoilt boldness of a prince born in a royal line of teachers, who crossed the Lord's maya through surrender. Or perhaps the fault lies with Sri Ranganatha and Sri Ranganayaki, who brought me up with such tender affection.
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The Veda says that even the Lord's own knowledge and words cannot reach the far shore of his greatness. If the question is only one of degree, then I too may praise him in my small measure, and so I have set out to praise the Lord of Srirangam.
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When others are praised, people steal the Lord's qualities and give them to someone who does not have them. When the Lord is praised, every word is simply true, because his greatness has no limit. Even the endless Vedas touch his glory only as a raindrop touches the ocean: they become meaningful by being joined to him, not by containing him. In the same way my praise has value too.
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May I bathe in the Kaveri, whose pure, overflowing waters wash away the karma, afflictions and impressions that block our enjoyment of the Lord. Like the river Viraja that ends a soul's journey to Paramapada, the Kaveri with its waving waters embraces Srirangam in this world to remove our bondage.
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The Kaveri thinks: 'The Milky Ocean is the father and I am the mother, Sri Ranganayaki is our daughter and Sri Ranganatha our son-in-law. What fitting gifts can I give?' So with the hands of her waves she brings fans, camphor, sandal, gems and pearls. Serve that river.
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The golden Kaveri purifies even holy waters, nourishes the temple gardens, sprinkles the streets, carries water for the Lord's bath, worship and drinking, and makes holy those who bathe in her. On her sandbanks she displays the dark Lord, the secret of the Vedas, and with her foam she seems to laugh at the Ganga, whose only claim is that she flows from Vishnu's foot. May she destroy our sins.
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Like Sri Ranganatha's compassion, the Kaveri nourishes everything, moving and unmoving, without counting merits and faults, even those who cannot repay her. She flows as the mother of the world, cool, sweet and deep. May she purify us.
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Bees sleep in the blossoms of the trees on her banks, gently rocked by her small, light waves. Her waters are rich with the nectar of coconut and areca flowers. May that golden river cast away my sins.
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Between the two arms of the Kaveri, the daughter of the Sahya mountain, lies the island of Srirangam, thick with plantain, vakula, rose-apple, areca and mango trees. The trees are so dark and dense that they look like rain clouds coming down to drink the river. Let that island be worshipped.
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The Vedas describe the supreme abode of Vishnu as beyond darkness and beyond all impurity, shining on the far side of the river Viraja, the goal of the liberated. That same holy place now shines before us as the sandy island in the middle of the Kaveri. May I behold it always.
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May I live in the pure groves and gardens along the banks of Srirangam, served by the Kaveri. They ring with the recitation of the Vedanta, they are the goal Sri Vaishnavas long to reach, and they remove the weariness of many births.
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In the groves of Srirangam, leaping fish strike the coconut clusters, and the coconut water flows into channels that feed the trees. The areca, jack and plantain trees grow so dense that the gardens look dark. May these lovely places give me unbroken joy.
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The Vedas speak of a city beyond this world, named Ayodhya and Aparajita, filled with nectar. That same royal city of the Lord now shines on the sandbank of the Kaveri as Srirangam, visible even to our ordinary eyes of flesh.
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The rows of mansions in Srirangam rise so high that they seem to join this world of births with the divine world, turning even this earth into a heavenly abode. With its jewelled floors, the royal city of Sri Ranganatha shines supreme.
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On festival days the city of Srirangam spreads the light of its jewelled festoons like nets and raises its long flag-banners like arms, as if trying to catch the deer in the moon as a new plaything for Sri Ranganayaki. May that shining city bring us joy.
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I bow to Kumuda and the other leaders of the Lord's hosts, with their weapons, attendants and vehicles. They stay ever awake to guard the city, the land and the island set between the rivers.
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The servants of the Srirangam temple are no ordinary workers. The elders say that they are eternal servants of the Lord whose natural servitude has never been lost, liberated souls, or seekers living their final birth, who have taken human, animal or even plant form to serve here. Salutations to them all.
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With devotion we worship the divine temple of Srirangam on this earth. Embraced on every side by its many gopurams and walls, it looks like Garuda spreading his wings on both sides and holding the Lord close with many bodies.
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Mother Earth herself seems to have come to serve the Ranga Vimana. Her continents have become the courtyards between the walls, her oceans the open spaces, and her gem-filled mountains the mandapas. In that form she stands as the temple.
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In Srirangam, Thirumangai Alwar (Parakala) built the jewelled mandapas and walls using the golden images he took from non-Vedic shrines, as if turning them into Vedic offerings. We bow to those walls and halls.
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I bow to Chanda, Prachanda and the other guardians who hold office at the four gateways of the temple. With smiling faces and lotus eyes they purify those who bow down, and with tusk-like teeth, maces and frowns they drive away the enemies of the Lord.
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May I reach the blissful thousand-pillared hall described in the Vedas. Though the Lord's assembly includes all souls, the hall is so vast that it can never be filled.
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We go to the Chandra Pushkarini pond, whose lilies serve Sri Ranganatha and Sri Ranganayaki in their play as parasols, ornaments, exchanged garlands and flower-arrows. Its banks also remove the tiredness of the sages who play in lotus-like minds with the Lord.
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The moon himself is said to have become nectar-rayed by bathing again and again in this pond, the waters of the sin-removing hymns. By bathing in the Chandra Pushkarini, I too will cool the three kinds of worldly suffering.
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To the east of that pond sit the ten first great souls, the Alwars led by Nammalwar. Like the pond, their hearts are generous, deep, clear and cool, and the Lord Himself bathes in them. May they show mercy to me.
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I praise the abode of Srirangam, which rests on a firm, layered base. At the bottom is the Lord's supporting power, then primal nature, then the divine tortoise, then Adisesha with the earth on his hoods, then the ocean on the earth, and the lotus on the ocean, where the temple stands.
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Beyond heaven, in a golden city, stands the treasure-house of Brahman called Aparajita. May I see that same uncreated king of vimanas here on earth, under the name of Sriranga.
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We take refuge in the Ranga Vimana, which is as rich as a hundred Vedas. Like the Vedas, it is without beginning and free from human faults. It grants people their various wishes, yet its heart is set on granting final union with the Lord, and it is the place where the Lord is perceived without doubt or error.
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The vimana should be white, since Adisesha who lies within it is white. But it is filled with the tender emerald-green rays of the Lord who reclines inside, darker than a cloud that has drunk all the oceans. That purifying vimana thrills our eyes.
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I praise the Narasimha form shown above the temple tower. Out of love for his devotee, the Lord who pervades everything made his vast form as small as a hoof-print, and yet he overflowed every limit in his fury at the enemy of Prahlada.
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Above the gopuram of Srirangam a single light shines without break, human in one part and lion in another. It seems to call out to the suffering: 'I am enough for you; lean on me.'
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On the Lord's left, to the north, are the shrines of the acharyas, set in a row like the Lord's own gracious glances. With their pure, lovely looks they cleanse even me and offer me to the Lord. May I go around them and stay near them.
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We sing of the punnai trees by the temple pond. Sri Ranganatha bends their branches with his hand, and Sri Mahalakshmi picks their flowers with her own hands for her ears. Watered by the constant recitation of Nammalwar's thousand verses, they have a divine fragrance of their own.
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Vishvaksena, commander of the Lord's hosts, takes charge of guiding the whole world of conscious and unconscious beings so that Sri Ranganatha may enjoy himself with Sri Mahalakshmi. He rules everything with only his signet finger. Turning away from all other help, we take refuge in him.
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I take refuge in Mother Sutravati, the beloved companion of Vishvaksena. Her slender arms shine with the marks of her service to Sri Mahalakshmi, coloured by the red lac from Sri's feet.
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May Gajanana, Jayatsena, Kalaprakriti (Kala) and Simhamukha, the chief attendants of Vishvaksena, give us happiness. They are like forest fires that burn up every obstacle in the way of devotees, and day and night they guard Srirangam in every direction.
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We take refuge in Garuda, whose very form is the Veda, who sits before the Lord of Srirangam with a face smiling in joy and humility. He is like an auspicious jewelled mirror in front of the shrine, in which Sri Ranganatha, who reclines there, happily sees his own form, nature, qualities and glory.
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I worship Rudra and Sukirti, the consorts of Garuda, as dear to him as his own wings. Through their recommendation Sri Mahalakshmi may glance at seekers and give them tears of joy and a good name.
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We praise the five divine weapons of the Lord, who move about here in human form, their weapon shapes shining on their crowns. With a raised finger they silence even the gods, saying 'No noise', so that the Lord may sleep. Their eyes are red from staying awake while their Master rests.
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I take refuge in the Sudarshana discus, foremost of all weapons. It dances with delight, as if drunk on the nectar of the Lord's glance. Its body is darkened from cutting down demons, and it carries circling garlands of flame.
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May I belong to Hanuman and Vibhishana. Here on earth they set aside even liberation. Sri Rama gave them Sri Ranganatha, the treasure of Srirangam, as a reward, and they delight in serving Him.
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I approach the noble staff of the doorkeeper, which seems to say: 'Outside, your five senses run outwards. From here on, turn them inward. Draw them back from passing things to the Lord, who is to be enjoyed for his own sake.'
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We approach the two pillars of the inner hall, called the 'pillars of joy'. Devotees grab them like a support so that they are not swept away by the rushing flood of nectar from the eyes of the Lord who lies on Adisesha.
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May we see the inner sanctum of Srirangam, which looks like Sri Mahalakshmi's jewel box opened up. Inside are the shining Adisesha, Sri Devi and Bhu Devi, and the lovely bridegroom, Sri Ranganatha.
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We praise the maidservants who gently press the Lord's lotus feet. In their fingers they hold the things he uses: a playful creeper, a small sword, a water vessel and a spittoon. Their ear ornaments hang down to their breasts.
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I take refuge in Vimala and the eight other attendants. They hold one hand joined in worship above their heads and wave a white fan with the other. They look like a calm night with closed lotuses and moonlight.
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Here Sri Ranganatha is like a lake full of blossoming lotuses. On his right is Sri Mahalakshmi, like a royal swan delighting in play, and on his left is Bhu Devi, who shines like her very shadow.
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O my eyes, drink in this sight. Before you stands a lake of blooming lotuses called Sri Ranganatha. See Sri Mahalakshmi moving in it like a royal swan, and Bhu Devi beside her like her reflection.
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Let us plunge into the clear lotus lake that is Sri Ranganatha. It is cool with his gentle approachability, and the waves of his boundless mercy flood everyone. It is naturally vast and deep, it goes down to reach the lowly, and Sri Mahalakshmi's fragrance fills it.
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Sri Ranganatha sits on the throne with Sri Devi and Bhu Devi to bring the whole world under one royal umbrella. He is our very life. May I taste the youthful beauty that he gained when Sri Mahalakshmi chose him as her husband.
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From his feet to his jewelled crown, every part of Sri Ranganatha shines with a grace in which two waves rise together: his complete freedom as Lord and his warm friendliness. That grace wins friendship in every heart. May we gaze at him without blinking.
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Sri Ranganatha is a wish-granting parijata tree. The creepers Sri Devi and Bhu Devi playfully twine around him, and his fresh youth spreads in all ten directions. He bends low with the fruits of all the boons his devotees seek. May he remove my weariness.
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With a gentle smile that wins everyone and with sweet looks, Sri Ranganatha seems to speak to us. His four arms are adorned with divine weapons like flowers, and he is supremely generous. I take refuge in him, the auspicious support of my mind.
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His arms holding the conch, mace and discus say: 'These arms are here to keep you safe.' His raised hand of protection says: 'O people, these two feet are your refuge, your freedom from fear and your welfare.' His smiling face seems to explain this. May Sri Ranganatha, who bears everything, carry my burden.
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Each part of the Lord's body eagerly tries to give itself to the devotee first, proud of its fragrance and fresh youth. He is like a parijata tree with a hundred ever-new branches. How can we ever meditate fully on Sri Ranganatha?
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O beauty of Srirangam, your loving glances, your faint smile that shows you are the Master, your gentle words, and your form that is the target of Sri Mahalakshmi's heart. Your expressive movements and every youthful mood of yours flood our hearts. What more is there to want?
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We worship Sri Ranganatha, whose lotus feet we hold. He has a tall crown, a bright upright mark on his forehead, eyes that reach his ears, and ears that need no ornament. His chest is broad, his arms hold weapons and his waistband is fine.
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His lotus feet rest on a lotus, his silk garment suits his fine waist, his posture hints at dance, and his smile is free and natural. His crown touches his lotus face, and his divine weapons rest on his arms. May we see Sri Ranganatha, Sri Mahalakshmi's companion, here and there in Srirangam for a hundred autumns.
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Garuda in front, Adisesha behind as his bed, and Sri Devi and Bhu Devi at his sides drink him in with their eyes and are never satisfied. With his smiling face and with hands that hold the raised hand of safety, the mace, the conch and the discus, he stands as the refuge of the whole world. We who have no other refuge worship Sri Ranganatha.
Meaning
He is the shelter of the distressed, a wish-granting tree for those who seek wealth, as patient as the earth with offenders, and a wish-granting cow for those who take refuge. He is everything to those who seek him and our own treasure. Let us take refuge in the Lord of Srirangam, the life of Sri Devi and Bhu Devi. May he make us happy in Srirangam for a long time and give me his service.
Meaning
We bow and take comfort in Adisesha, the swinging cradle of Sri Ranganatha. Adisesha's spread hoods shine with gems like rows of lamps, and his soft, fragrant body makes a fine bed. As he breathes in and out slowly in his joy, the Lord gently rocks.
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He lay on a banyan leaf, in Devaki's womb, in the Upanishads, on Sri Mahalakshmi's bosom and in Nammalwar's words, and now he lies in the temple of Srirangam. May I worship that Supreme Person, the giver of boons, with long arms and long eyes and a noble form, who removes the sorrows of those who bow to him.
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The Supreme Person seems to have forgotten the Milky Ocean and Paramapada and lies in the abode called Srirangam. His sleep is only a change from his play with Sri Mahalakshmi. His eyes flutter with the rise and fall of Adisesha's breathing. May he think of us.
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I bow to the dark Lord who lies on Adisesha in the dark sanctum, with lotus-like feet, hands and eyes. He looks like an ocean swallowed by a cloud, like a mountain laid down in the sea, or like an elephant sleeping in a mountain thicket.
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Sri Ranganatha lies here with lips, feet and hands red as coral, rocked by the wave-hands of the Kaveri. He looks like a wondrous, deep child of the ocean being fondled by its mother. May he bring us happiness.
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Sri Ranganatha is like a cool dark rain cloud resting on a hill at Srirangam because it is so full of the water of compassion. Sri Mahalakshmi is its lightning, and the sparkle of his jewels is its rainbow. May he shower his mercy on people like us.
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From the fish-shaped jewel on his crown down to his feet, each limb of Sri Ranganatha, who lies on Adisesha, rises in beauty one after another. We drink him in with our eyes. Our mind feels as if it were looking at a flood of nectar flowing toward it.
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For Sri Mahalakshmi, Sri Ranganatha is a pleasure garden. His feet, hands and face are its lotuses, the glow of his body is its dark tapiccha grove, and his lips are its red bandhujiva flowers. In this way she always delights in the moon of Srirangam.
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The Lord's divine garlands, garments, ornaments and sandal paste are matchless in beauty, and each makes the others more lovely. Because they are conscious beings serving him, they seem to thrill at his touch, and they add even more to his splendour.
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A flood of light from the emerald-dark Lord who lies on Adisesha, mixed with gold, is like an ocean into which a golden mountain has melted. Its waves crowd over one another, each wanting to be first. It bathes this devotee and drives away his darkness.
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The Lord of Srirangam's fragrance grows stronger with the scented breath of Adisesha and carries the scent of supreme lordship that comes from Sri Mahalakshmi's constant closeness. It spreads to the ends of every direction and drowns our minds in a wealth of joy.
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Sri Ranganatha's tenderness is beyond words and thought. It is so delicate that even our looks seem to leave rough marks on it. That is why he is called 'Pushpahasa', the one who smiles like a flower.
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O my weak eyes, do not worry and ask, 'Endless beauty is sunk in each single limb, so how will I ever see the whole?' The overall loveliness of Sri Ranganatha's body, which binds all his limbs together like loving brothers, will carry you across to the whole.
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Sri Ranganatha's youth is the first spring blossoming of the coral tree of his body. It is a honey that intoxicates the bees, Bhu Devi and Sri Mahalakshmi, in all their senses. It is the full bloom of the garland of his beauty and a cup of the wine of delight. It always adds fragrance to his charm.
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The splendour of Sri Ranganatha's moon-like face rises upward in waves. The rows of gems on his crown seem to announce that he is emperor of the universe.
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We meditate on the jewelled crown of the Lord of Srirangam. It shines with its crest-gem and has fish-shaped ruby ornaments on every side. It is tall and full, like the favourite playground of the royal glory that rules over all conscious and unconscious beings, the crest-jewel and the very hill on which that glory sits.
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May the face of Sri Ranganatha play in my heart. It shines with curls on the forehead and the bright upright mark. Its pure and innocent gentle smile humbles a nectar pond, the moon and the lotus.
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Sri Ranganatha's face is a lotus. The three lines of the upright mark rise above it like a three-pointed stalk, the forehead marks with pearls are like its filaments, and his curls look like a swarm of bees flying toward the honey.
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The sweet, graceful upright mark on Sri Ranganatha's forehead delights the heart. Joined with the half-moon of his brow, it makes one wonder whether it is a stream of nectar flowing up from that moon.
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Over the lotuses of his eyes, the brows of Sri Ranganatha bend like rows of bees that dance in drunken joy above a lotus. They move playfully, as if in graceful dance.
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Above the Lord's eyes rise the two brows like Manmatha's sugarcane bow, which mistakes the eyes for its lotus arrows. They seem to be the school where the Sharnga bow learned its graceful dance.
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Out of supreme mercy the Lord intends to make his whole body all eyes, to watch over everyone. So his two eyes have first stretched out to cover his ears. This is how wise people explain the length of Sri Ranganatha's eyes.
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Stopped by the ears on one side and the nose on the other, his eyes swing back and forth between them. They are wide, full, long, lovely, cool, reddish and white, and they look like two fish quarrelling playfully. May the lotus eyes of Sri Ranganatha, who loves Srirangam, show mercy to me.
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The glance of Sri Ranganatha flows from the rivers of his two eyes and reaches the very ears, its banks full of the nectar of compassion. It welcomes everyone who bows down and is clear and cool. May that wave upon wave of his look fall on me.
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The nose of the Lord of Srirangam shines like a tender wish-granting creeper. His smile is its fresh flower, and his chin and cheeks glow like young leaves.
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The fish-shaped earrings of Sri Ranganatha seem to have been pierced by the fish of his eyes and caught in the noose of his ears. As if angry, they roll about and give off sprays of light. On the shore of his shoulders, where his fragrant curls lie like water moss, they look like the sea monsters of the nectar ocean that is Sri Ranganatha.
Meaning
Sri Ranganatha's moon-like face is a lake. His lips are its sweet lotus, his ears its loops of lotus stalk, his eyes its fish, his nose its creeper, his earrings its makara fish, and his curls the dark groves on its edge. May that lake stay with me for a long time.
Meaning
May the neck of Sri Ranganatha delight me. It outshines a tall young areca stem and a conch. It bears lines that look like the marks left by the golden bangles of Sri Mahalakshmi and Bhu Devi as their arms lovingly wound around it.
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The arms of the Lord of Srirangam are the supporting pillars of the great machine of the universe, the posts to which the elephant-like Sri Mahalakshmi is tied, and the pestles that crush the elephant herds of his enemies. Adisesha's coils and garlands mingle with them so closely that one cannot tell which is which. May those arms bring me freedom from fear.
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Vibhishana longed to see again how Sri Rama lay on the seashore facing the ocean, so Sri Ranganatha seems to lie that way once more on Adisesha. One arm is drawn up a little under his head and the other is stretched out a little. We worship those two long arms, always eager to give.
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The broad arms of Sri Ranganatha, heavy and relaxed, rest on the crystal-white Adisesha. With their many jewelled rings, golden bracelets and armlets, they outshine the flowering branches of the heavenly wish-granting tree. With their tender fingers like young shoots, they rest there in deep sleep. We praise those two arms.
Meaning
Sri Mahalakshmi chooses the Lord's arms as her pillow and wins them over in many ways. They are devoted to protecting her, wear fine bracelets, are famed for valour, are hardened by the bowstring of the Sharnga, and yet are soft and fragrant with flower garlands. Marked with the patterns of her curls, the arms of Sri Ranganatha are victorious.
Meaning
Sri Ranganatha's lotus hand lies under his head as a pillow. It seems to point suffering souls toward the nectar lake of his face, and his face in turn seems to show that this hand gives boons. Its red colour looks like anger at the lotuses it outshines. I take refuge in that hand.
Meaning
The arm that pillows his head touches his crown and seems to say: 'This crown suits him, for he is Lord over Brahma and Shiva.' The other arm, resting along his body and reaching to the knees, clearly says: 'These two lotus feet are the chief refuge of the lowly.'
Meaning
I worship the chest of Sri Ranganatha, the lovely home of Sri Mahalakshmi. It is smeared with sandal and camphor, has garlands of jasmine for her bed, strings of fine gems for a canopy, and the Kaustubha jewel as its auspicious lamp. It is also decorated with the scars of the tusks of demons.
Meaning
May we behold the chest of Sri Ranganatha, which rivals the ocean churned by Mount Mandara. His necklaces are its foam, his rays are its waves, his rows of pearls are its spray, gems lie scattered here and there, and the Kaustubha with Sri Mahalakshmi rises from it. It is a wonder of boundless greatness.
Meaning
On his chest the tulasi, Sri Mahalakshmi, the Kaustubha and the Vaijayanti garland clearly declare that the Lord of Srirangam is the master of all. Let that be. But the simple ornament that Yashoda tied on him, with a tortoise shape, a tiger's claw and his five weapons, delights our meditation even more.
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The slender waist of the Lord seems thin from worry, as if he were saying: 'How small a load is this cluster of universes for me!' His navel lotus seems to show the endless line of worlds he still wishes to protect.
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The three folds on Sri Ranganatha's belly seem to count the three kinds of conscious beings and non-conscious things, and so they show his lordship. The mark of the rope that made him 'Damodara' speaks of how he lets his devotees bind him. The silk band around his waist is drawn by both these qualities.
Meaning
Some argue that the three gods are equal, that they are one, or that some higher reality lies beyond all three. The Lord's navel lotus ends these arguments. It is the source of Brahma and of Shiva, and it teaches us clearly that everything else depends on the movement of the Lord's eyebrows.
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The navel holds the endless universe inside it to protect it, and the whirl of its depth seems to want to match that greatness. Then the navel lotus rises up out of the ocean that is Sri Ranganatha, as if lifting the world out so that he can look at it.
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The thighs of the Lord of Srirangam seem to have crushed the pride of Madhu and Kaitabha, and the pride of plantain trunks, the outer edge of the hand and an elephant's trunk, which all claim to be beautiful. With what can we compare those heavy, proud thighs?
Meaning
Sri Ranganatha's yellow silk is held at the waist by a sparkling jewelled girdle and knot that suit the beauty of his hips. It shines like the ruby slopes of Mount Meru touching a great dark cloud.
Meaning
Sri Ranganatha's yellow garment is like a golden halo around the ocean, like evening clouds in the sky, or like a mass of lightning in a rain cloud. It drinks up our minds.
Meaning
The glow of the Lord's body, which had been hidden under the glow of his ornaments, seems to burst out wildly in one place. I think that is what we call the two knees of Sri Ranganatha.
Meaning
The calves of the Lord who lies at Srirangam bristle with thrills of joy when Sri Devi and Bhu Devi stroke them. They look like the two plump, thorny stalks of the lotuses that are his feet, which the goddesses hold for play.
Meaning
I meditate on and praise again and again the lotus feet of the Lord of Srirangam. They seem to have taken their red colour from the garlands on the heads of the gods who bow down and from the lotus-hearts of devotees joined to them.
Meaning
Those feet were skilled in walking through Brindavan, learned to dance to the sound of churning curd, and know the comfort of Sri Mahalakshmi's hands. They outshine the lotus, and in their love for devotees they did not care whether they walked on water or land. They went eagerly as a messenger. May those feet of Sri Ranganatha, the supreme abode of Vishnu, bring us auspiciousness.
Meaning
We bow to the beautiful lotus feet of the Lord who lies at Srirangam. Their jewelled anklets jingle like the Vedas, and their lines form the marks of the thunderbolt, lotus, flag, umbrella, wish-granting tree, conch, discus and mirror. These marks keep announcing his lordship and victories such as those of Trivikrama.
Meaning
Day and night may we bathe in the light of the toenails of Sri Ranganatha. It is like a fresh cluster of shoots on the wish-granting tree of his feet. Each toe seems to say 'I will purify the worlds in many streams', and makes one think of the rushing waves of the Ganga.
Meaning
I bow to the tender feet of the moon of Srirangam. With their blue sapphire anklets they defeat the lotus that has bees on its stalk. Around them are crowded the golden lotuses brought by Sri Rama and Sita, which look like the bowed heads of Brahma and the gods in daily worship.
The text is checked verse by verse against prapatti.com, sanskritdocuments.org, sadagopan.org, Stotra Mala (1949). The meanings are simple ones to help the reader; learn the recitation from an adhyapaka.
These are short introductions to help the reader; the works themselves are best studied under one's acharya.
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