Karpanya Panjika Stotra

Standing in a grove of Vrindavana forest, this wretched person offers his petition at the lotus feet of the Lord and Lady of Vrindavana forest.

I petition you two, whose radiance defeats the beauty of a whole mass of fresh blue lotuses, and whose golden hue devours the very pride of lovely gorocana pigment.

You two, whose shimmering garments mock the beauty of a mass of pure gold, and whose other garment, resplendent, steals away the very rays of the kimshuka flower.

You two — one of whom wears an emerald jewel mounted at the crest of hair befitting the very flower of youth, while the other bears a jasmine ornament crowning her braided hair, envied by all the young girls of the cowherd settlement.

You two, whose forms surpass even the beauty of the forms belonging to Lakshmi's husband and other such principal forms of Godhead, and whose elegance astonishes even the whole company of Vraja's women, brilliant as Lakshmi herself.

One of you, whose fragrance steals away even the celestial Gandharvas' own scent, while the other is maddened by that very fragrance; one who holds the flute that holds Radha spellbound, while Radha herself utterly bewilders the infallible Lord with her own presence.

Krishna, whose restless, roving eyes are the very thieves that steal away the wealth of Radha's composure; and Radha, whose lotus heart is stung by the dark, restless bee that is Krishna's own glance.

Krishna, who is silenced by the sheer mastery of Radha's own secret jesting; and Radha, whose creeper-like body bristles with delight at the playful words of the son of the King of Vraja.

Krishna, who is the very mountain from which rise the rows of divine, transcendental jewel-like qualities; and Radha, whose abundance of qualities is longed for even by the assembled beautiful goddesses headed by Uma.

To you, O Lord of Vrindavana, and to you, O Queen of Vrindavana, glorifying you both with plaintive cries, this lowly person now offers his prayer.

Even though I possess no qualification whatsoever to obtain your mercy, still, since you two are the very crown of all who are supremely merciful, kindly bestow your mercy upon me nonetheless.

Even toward the unqualified and the offensive, you two are seen to be overwhelmed with compassion — ah, you are the supremely merciful ones, worshiped even by the lords of the universe.

I possess not even the faintest semblance of the devotion that is the true cause of your compassion; yet, through your own delight in your great pastimes, be pleased with me even so.

You two, the supreme lords of these great pastimes, are seen, time and again, to be gracious even toward the wicked and the devotionless — ah, my two masters, this has happened many times on this earth.

Even though this creature, base though he is, thinking himself equal to the wise, an ignorant offender though outwardly disciplined, has presumed to consider himself worthy of approaching you —

— still, O my two sovereigns, be pleased sometime with this person who merely mutters your names, for even the faintest semblance of your holy names delivers one from a whole multitude of faults.

Whatever offense might otherwise be unforgivable is forgiven by even a single fragment of devotion to you two, and simply ceases to exist; hoping in this, I offer my prayer.

Ah, though this soul is utterly powerless, he has been driven by sheer desperation to this boldness; again and again he prays, O my two masters — let some measure of your grace overflow upon him.

This sinful creature, weeping loudly, a blade of straw held between his teeth, cries out, "O my masters, my masters!" and sinks down helplessly right here — be pleased with him.

Making cries of "ha, ha," this unfortunate person begs of you: O my two Lords, hear this plaintive cry of mine, hear my plaintive cry!

Sobbing and gasping again and again, overwhelmed with plaintive cries, I beg of you: O you two oceans of compassion, be pleased with this person, unworthy though he is.

Crying out in a voice full of anguish, his thumb placed to his mouth like a helpless child, this person begs: O my two masters, grant, do grant, even the tiniest particle of your compassion.

With a voice full of humility, weeping, this person of exceedingly dull intelligence begs: may your two hearts, so full of compassion, scatter forth even a mere ripple from the waves of that compassion.

Whatever sweet sentiments exist anywhere at all within the heart, sweeter even than all of those, graciously bestow upon me your own sweet love.

O you two gods, today I desire nothing else at all except your service alone; ah, may you both become gracious and favorably disposed toward me.

This alone is my one and only entreaty, O you two who are so affectionately disposed to the protectorless: graciously bestow upon this person your own direct service.

Placing his folded hands upon his head, this humble person begs: let the fulfillment of his cherished desire come to pass, even if only once.

When will your own spotless fragrance, spreading its scent throughout the forest, set my very sense of smell reeling with priceless delight?

When will the charming, gentle tinkling of your anklets, resounding like the humming of swans, delight my very ears?

When, beholding your feet in Vrindavana, marked with the auspicious signs of the wheel and other such emblems, will this person become overwhelmed with joyous madness?

O you two whose lotus feet are worshiped with the very lamp of all beauty's own standard, when will you grant my eyes their most unprecedented festival of seeing you?

When, in this very existence, will you two become directly present before this person's eyes, granting the sight of your lotus feet as the fruit of his long-cherished hope?

When shall I behold you two, so beautifully arisen, sporting together within the recess of a bower in Vrindavana forest, from not too great a distance?

When, through an exchange of secret messages between you both, you two who because of your elders' authority sometimes find it so hard even to glimpse one another, shall I bring you joy?

When, as the two of you search for one another within Vrindavana, shall I unite you together and receive, as my reward, your own joyful gratitude?

When shall I watch the two of you at a game of dice, wagering your own garlands as stakes, your hands eagerly reaching to snatch them from the winner, each of you so proud of your own victories?

When, as the two of you lie together upon a bed of flowers in the forest bower, will this person finally get to massage your feet?

When, within a bower of vines, will you both engage me in restringing your garlands, broken apart in the playful lovers' quarrel stirred up by Kamadeva?

O you two rulers of Vrindavana, when shall I adorn with peacock feathers your hair, loosened and disheveled by the waves of your own playful sport?

When shall I brighten the pair of your foreheads with fresh tilaka, once your own decorations have been undone by the very skill of your amorous play?

O goddess, when, at the very start of your play, will this person adorn your eyes with kajal and your forms with forest garlands, within the pavilion of the bower?

When will this person place, upon your two lotus mouths, other fine betel leaves, gold-hued and fragrant?

Where am I, a doer of such wicked deeds, and where is this kind of petition I make to you two? Yet whom, indeed, does your own sweetness not drive to utter madness?

By that very mercy through which even this unworthy creature has been drawn to dwell in Vrindavana, O my two masters, grant now the fulfillment of my cherished desire.

O you two rulers of Vrindavana forest, may the desire of this creature be fulfilled who, though merely reciting with his voice this very Register of Wretchedness, does so always.