Clad in a tiger skin, smeared with the ash of pure consciousness, the cremation ground is your playground, O three-eyed one. Victory to you, Hareshwara, husband of Parvati; we wave the lamp before you, giver of liberation. Rudra is your name for fierce destruction, yet Shankara and Shiva you are called, generous and guileless with all you possess. Offer but water and a bilva leaf and you grant your own abode; you give your servants a place in Kailasa. O pervader of the three worlds, present in the peopled and the desolate, your cosmic form is a beautiful vision for meditation. The Vedas sing your praise, yet even they cannot fathom your greatness. Wondrous is the power of your name in this world; after initiation, sins flee in haste. When the tongue cries 'Hara, Hara,' love surges through the body, the gaze settles at your feet, and one merges into that color entirely. Says Tuka, standing before the Linga with hands joined: let my mind remain unbroken at your feet. I lay myself down in full prostration and ask only for your hand upon my head.