Vande Mataram as a Mantra

Bankim as Seer... Vision of our Mother..

The third and supreme service of Bankim to his nation was that he gave us the vision of our Mother.... It was thirty-two years ago that Bankim wrote his great song and few listened; but in a sudden moment of awakening from long delusions the people of Bengal looked around for the truth and in a fated moment somebody sang 'Bande Mataram'. The mantra had been given and in a single day a whole people had been converted to the religion of patriotism. The Mother had revealed herself. Once that vision has come to a people, there can be no rest, no peace, no further slumber till the temple has been made ready, the image installed and the sacrifice offered. A great nation which has had that vision can never again be placed under the feet of the conqueror...

CWSA > Bande Mataram > 'Rishi Bankim Chandra' > Page 318

वन्दे मातरम्
सुजलां सुफलां
मलयजशीतलाम्
शस्यशामलां
मातरम् ।

शुभ्रज्योत्स्नापुलकितयामिनीं
फुल्लकुसुमितद्रुमदलशोभिनीं
सुहासिनीं सुमधुर भाषिणीं
सुखदां वरदां मातरम् ।। 1 ।।
वन्दे मातरम् ।

कोटि-कोटि-कण्ठ-कल-कल-निनाद-कराले
कोटि-कोटि-भुजैर्धृत-खरकरवाले,
अबला केन मा एत बले ।
बहुबलधारिणीं नमामि तारिणीं
रिपुदलवारिणीं मातरम् ।। 2 ।।
वन्दे मातरम् ।

तुमि विद्या, तुमि धर्म
तुमि हृदि, तुमि मर्म
त्वं हि प्राणा: शरीरे
बाहुते तुमि मा शक्ति,
हृदये तुमि मा भक्ति,
तोमारई प्रतिमा गडि
मन्दिरे-मन्दिरे ।। 3 ।।
वन्दे मातरम् ।

त्वं हि दुर्गा दशप्रहरणधारिणी
कमला कमलदलविहारिणी
वाणी विद्यादायिनी,
नमामि त्वाम्
नमामि कमलां
अमलां अतुलां
सुजलां सुफलां मातरम् ।। 4 ।।
वन्दे मातरम् ।

श्यामलां सरलां
सुस्मितां भूषितां
धरणीं भरणीं मातरम् ।। 5 ।।
वन्दे मातरम् ।।

Hymn to the Mother 

Mother, I bow to thee!
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleams,
Cool with thy winds of delight,
Dark fields waving, Mother of might,
Mother free.
Glory of moonlight dreams
Over thy branches and lordly streams, -
Clad in thy blossoming trees,
Mother, giver of ease,
Laughing low and sweet!
Mother, I kiss thy feet,
Speaker sweet and low!
Mother, to thee I bow.

      Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands,
      When the swords flash out in twice seventy million hands
      And seventy million voices roar
      Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?
      With many strengths who art mighty and stored,
      To thee I call, Mother and Lord!
      Thou who savest, arise and save!
      To her I cry who ever her foemen drave
      Back from plain and sea
      And shook herself free.

Thou art wisdom, thou art law,
Thou our heart, our soul, our breath,
Thou the love divine, the awe
In our hearts that conquers death.
Thine the strength that nerves the arm,
Thine the beauty, thine the charm.
Every image made divine
In our temples is but thine.

      Thou art Durga, Lady and Queen,
      With her hands that strike and her swords of sheen,
      Thou art Lakshmi lotus-throned,
      And the Muse a hundred-toned.
      Pure and perfect without peer,
      Mother, lend thine ear.
      Rich with thy hurrying streams,
      Bright with thy orchard gleams,
      Dark of hue, O candid-fair
      In thy soul, with jewelled hair
      And thy glorious smile divine,
      Loveliest of all earthly lands,
      Showering wealth from well-stored hands!
      Mother, mother mine!
      Mother sweet, I bow to thee,
      Mother great and free!

Translator’s Note

It is difficult to translate the National Anthem of Bengal into verse in another language owing to its unique union of sweetness, simple directness and high poetic force. All attempts in this direction have been failures. In order, therefore, to bring the reader unacquainted with Bengali nearer to the exact force of the original, I give the translation in prose line by line.

Bande Mataram

(Translation in Prose)

I bow to thee, Mother,
richly-watered, richly-fruited,
cool with the winds of the south,
dark with the crops of the harvests,
the Mother!
Her nights rejoicing in the glory of the moonlight,
her lands clothed beautifully with her trees in flowering bloom,
sweet of laughter, sweet of speech,
the Mother, giver of boons, giver of bliss!

      Terrible with the clamorous shout of seventy million throats,
      and the sharpness of swords raised in twice seventy million hands,
      who sayeth to thee, Mother, that thou art weak?
      Holder of multitudinous strength,
      I bow to her who saves,
      to her who drives from her the armies of her foemen,
      the Mother!

Thou art knowledge, thou art conduct,
thou our heart, thou our soul,
for thou art the life in our body.
In the arm thou art might, O Mother,
in the heart, O Mother, thou art love and faith,
it is thy image we raise in every temple.

      For thou art Durga holding her ten weapons of war,
      Kamala at play in the lotuses
      and Speech, the goddess, giver of all lore,
      to thee I bow!
      I bow to thee, goddess of wealth,
      pure and peerless,
      richly-watered, richly-fruited,
      the Mother!
      I bow to thee, Mother,
      dark-hued, candid,
      sweetly smiling, jewelled and adorned,
      the holder of wealth, the lady of plenty,
      the Mother!