Vande Mataram by Bankim Chandra Chatterjee in various languages

bônde matorom
shujolang shupholang
shoshsho shêmolang
bônde matorom

shubhro jotsna
pulokito jaminim
phullo kushumito
shumodhuro bhashinim
shukhodang bôrodang
bônde matorom

vande mataram devnagari, vande mataram hindi, bankim chandra chatterjee, national song of india, indian independence day

Urdu Transalation (May not be exact):

Tasleemat, maan tasleemat
tu bhari hai meethe pani se
phal phoolon ki shadabi se
dakkin ki thandi hawaon se
faslon ki suhani fizaaon se
tasleemat, maan tasleemat
teri raaten roshan chand se
teri raunaq sabze faam se
teri pyar bhari muskan hai
teri meethi bahut zuban hai
teri banhon mein meri rahat hai
tasleemat, maan tasleemat
tere qadmon mein meri jannat hai

English Translation (by Aurobindo) :

Mother, I bow to thee!
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
bright with orchard gleams,
Cool with thy winds of delight,
Green 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 swords flash out in 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 saves, arise and save!
To her I cry who ever her foe drove
Back from plain and sea
And shook herself free.

Thou art wisdom, thou art law,
Thou art heart, our soul, our breath
Though art 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 gleems,
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!




Visit Us On TwitterVisit Us On FacebookVisit Us On Google PlusVisit Us On PinterestVisit Us On YoutubeVisit Us On LinkedinVisit Us On Instagram