Śiva's Mysteries (An Antiphony)

"His form is smeared with ashes white; the snake His strange adornment is;
The secret scriptures utters He: what kind of god, my friend, is this?
"Why talk of ash-smear, holy speech, adornment strange? This only know,
This god, of every living thing is the true nature. Chāḷalō."

"My father and my master, He of all men Lord supreme, is clad
With but a hanging loin-cloth stitched; pray tell me, friend, is He not mad?
"The Vedas four with meaning fraught, the everlasting Śāstras, know
That these are but the threads whereof is wove His loin-cloth. Chāḷalō."

The burning-ground's His temple fine; the tiger's skin His raiment is;
Father or mother hath He none; He's all alone; my friend, see this.''
"Though He no parents hath, no kin, yet should His anger kindle, lo,
The whole wide world would straightway turn to dust and ashes. Chāḷalō."

"Though I am but a cur, yet when I turned to Him who hath no end,
Into a sea of bliss He made me sink o’erwhelmed; see this, my friend."
"Those holy feet that sank thee in the sea of bliss o’erwhelmèd, know,
E’en to the very gods in heav’n they're richest treasure. Chāḷalō."