One tusk gleams upon a vast and mighty face; within that belly the infinite play of all creation is revealed. Victory to Ganapati; we wave the arati before him, his graceful arms adorned with axe and lotus. This earth feels small beneath your dancing, O lord of the dance. In a single whirl you intoxicate the demons. Your anklets ring out, O protector of the devoted; your thousand names bestow both worldly joy and liberation. Beautiful in form, your radiance swallows all other light; what comparison can be offered when nothing else matches? Sun, moon, and stars reside within you naturally; the seeds of all creation are held in your belly. Shesha grew weary trying to describe your play, and the four Vedas fell silent in contentment. You were born from the Linga's navel; formless, you take form for the delight of the devoted. Says Tuka, the universe is your body with its hands and feet and face. Grant us this vision as we dance before you. We wave the lamp of five flames and guard this one who has come to your shelter, playing at your feet.