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A woman who mourns her husband in sorrow, rejoices in his happiness, and dies upon his death—is the true pativratā (devoted wife).
Offering charity to the suffering, worshipping the empty form, and cremating the helpless earns one the merit of an ashvamedha (great sacrifice).
A small offering given with faith to distressed Brahmins yields boundless results—even if the amount is minimal, intention counts most.
None is as sorrowful as I am, and none as merciful as You, Lord. Why then do You not protect me when our positions are perfectly suited?
Even an enemy, if terrified or distressed and seeking refuge, must be protected—this is the duty of the noble.
If a dog appears with moist eyes, or carries dry skin or bones—it's an omen of misfortune or even death.
Though your breasts and hips are moist, you cast off the cloth as if to drink sunlight—poetic eroticism fused with divine metaphor.
As Ambika weaves moonlight into her hair and Ganga flows in Shiva's locks, each divine symbol in the cosmic dance purifies us.
Her feet painted with wet lac—my first chance to fan her face with breath—marks the start of my devotional service.
The wise delight in noble actions, pursue prosperous duties, and never envy what is good—they are truly enlightened.
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