Derge Kangyur/Tengyur e-text, Esukhia/Barom edition — public domain (mechanical reproduction)
The Sragdharāstotra (The Praise of the Flower-Garland Holder) is a devotional hymn addressed to the deity Tārā, attributed to the master Vidyākaraprabha and translated by Kanakavarma. The text functions as a petition for spiritual rescue, framing the practitioner as a destitute and suffering being in need of Tārā's compassionate intervention. It employs a series of vivid metaphors—comparing Tārā to a physician treating a dying patient and the practitioner to a crow in distress—to emphasize the urgency of salvation. The work blends descriptions of Tārā's celestial environment and her iconography, including her hand-instruments and rays of light, with an admission of the practitioner's own wretchedness and lack of merit. By reciting this praise, the reader is committed to a practice of total reliance on Tārā's grace to dispel sins and sever the cycle of existence, moving from a state of contempt and suffering toward a state of joy and spiritual refinement.
Provenance
About this text
A eulogy addressed to the deity Tārā, the Sragdharāstotra (Tibetan: me tog phreng 'dzin gyi bstod pa) belongs to the classical Tibetan tradition. The work is attributed to the Indian author Sarvajñāmitra. It was translated into Tibetan by Kanakavarman and bod kyi lo tsa ba pa tshab nyi ma grags, and is preserved in the Tengyur (vol. ཤ) within the collection of Other Wisdom Tantras, where it extends over nine pages. The text enacts a petition for spiritual rescue, framing the practitioner as a destitute and suffering being in need of Tārā's compassionate intervention. Through vivid metaphors, such as comparing Tārā to a physician treating a dying patient, the work emphasizes the urgency of salvation and the practitioner's own lack of merit. By blending descriptions of Tārā's celestial environment and iconography with an admission of wretchedness, the hymn seeks the dispelling of sins through total reliance on the deity's grace. A scholar or serious reader consults this work today to examine the devotional structures of the Other Wisdom Tantras and the specific linguistic and iconographic renderings of Tārā's compassion as transmitted through the classical Tibetan translation process.
Sanskrit title
Sragdharāstotra
Indian author
Sarvajñāmitra
Tibetan translators
Kanakavarman, bod kyi lo tsa ba pa tshab nyi ma grags
This work is significant as an example of the Indo-Tibetan tradition of stotra (praise), illustrating the intersection of bodhisattva conduct and deity yoga. It demonstrates the use of highly stylized poetic imagery to express the psychological state of the devotee and the perceived efficacy of Tārā as a swift provider of refuge.
Structure
Passages
Section
Description
1-3
Invocation and Petition
Homage to Tārā and an appeal for protection based on the practitioner's ruined fortune and suffering.
4-7
Metaphorical Imagery and Contrast
Use of nature and social imagery, including bees, elephants, and familial abandonment, to contrast worldly suffering with spiritual hope.
8-9
Celestial Description and Iconography
Descriptions of the divine realm, the Pārijāta tree, and the meditative powers and physical attributes of the deity.
10-11
Conclusion and Colophon
A final admission of the practitioner's desperation and a colophon identifying the author and translators.
Themes
Compassion as Medicine (3, 6)
The Suffering of the Practitioner (2, 7, 10)
Divine Iconography and Environment (8, 9)
Liberation from Existence (9)
Summary, significance and provenance note generated by gemma4:31b from the translation and the catalogue record.
In the language of India: Sragdharāstotra. In the language of Tibet: Me tog phreng 'dzin gyi bstod pa (The Praise of the Flower-Garland Holder). Homage to the Venerable Noble Tārā!
O Noble Tārā, refuge for the destitute, the light of the crest-jewels upon the heads of the hosts of deities at your feet strikes with a perfect redness like the glow of the rising sun. It is as if a clear, crimson lac had been freshly applied, not long ago. With my head bowed and palms joined at my crown, I offer this new praise, a garland of flowers, with devotion.
I am one whose body has fallen into the fire of suffering so difficult to cross; I am of ill fortune, wondering what direction to take. Foolish and uncertain of what to do, I am weary, having failed to achieve my purpose even once. Like one with impaired vision walking by the footsteps of others, I look toward the sky with hope for the sun and moon. Like their light, I rely upon you, who subdues the darkness of sin, having learned of you from others.
Through your compassion, you dwell impartially upon all the paths of sentient beings. By embracing them, you will undoubtedly include those like me among them. Your power is such that even the sun’s form cannot rival it in dispelling the darkness of the sins of all wandering beings. Nevertheless, alas, I am a wretched one, burdened by the weight of my own misdeeds and the darkness of my own ignorance.
Even the rays of the sun cannot dispel the darkness of the mountain valleys and riverbanks of the snowy ranges, where the hollows are choked with snow. In the summer, the jewel islands and their marketplaces are parched.
Within the vast jeweled cave of this mansion, the Blessed One, the sole Mother of the entire world, dwells. Though You act as my protector, I remain without a protector; my fortune is ruined, and I am an object of reproach and contempt. Even a mother grows weary of a son who weeps incessantly for the sake of her breast. Even a father, appointed to seek what is not noble day by day, might be moved to anger. But You are the supreme branch of the great wish-fulfilling tree, the vast fruit of the desires of the three worlds. Though You grant the objects of longing to all, You never possess even the slightest change of expression. "Whosoever is scorched by the fire of the multitude of sufferings, I shall deliver them"—having thus pledged Your vow, grant me, who am submerged in the underworld of suffering, the fulfillment of Your promise. As long as the force of the harsh, overwhelming suffering of living beings increases, so long do those who possess the wisdom of the aspiration for the vehicle of the Perfectly Complete Buddha maintain their compassion. O Sole Mother, when I raise my hands and utter these words of praise in the guise of a loud, resonant cry of lamentation, if even others should not remain indifferent, what need is there to mention one such as You? If others besides You do not find the attainment of the wealth they desire, they are repeatedly scorched by the unbearable ground of internal anguish and constant unhappiness. If I am a sinner, why does this great devotion of mine toward You continue to increase?
Merely hearing or remembering the name of you, the Speaker of Truth, you alone resolutely dispel my sins. Therefore, tell me, how could you possibly abandon the burden of my task? Even if a patient is about to die, would a compassionate physician ever cease the administration of medicine? Since I am like a camel at a guest-house, shared by many parts, and because I am urged by my own base faults such as stinginess and pride, both gradually and all at once, I have not found the opportunity to worship your lotus feet for even a single moment. Therefore, through these words and letters written by one who is wretched and destitute, please grant me the fruit I desire. O Goddess, those who are weak and helpless, weeping with compassion as their boat breaks and sinks in the water, by diligently offering praise to you, will immediately cross over the ocean with ease. The waters, churned by the play of surging waves stirred up by the winds of the end of the eon, will be tossed against the shore; amidst the resounding roar of the crashing waves, they will reach the opposite bank. Those who are lying in their beds inside a house where fire has entered—sparks flying into the sky and smoke swirling within the clouds—by bowing deeply to you with palms joined at their crowns and offering prayers in broken speech, will in an instant be covered by the waves of the clouds, turned red by the grace of flashing lightning.
Both cheeks, filled with the water of rut, serve as a support for swarms of bees; their buzzing sound ignites the flames of anger in the rival elephant. Yet, by remembering you, even that elephant—its body placed upon the high swing of its tusks—dwells as if atop a fortress on a high mountain peak, joyful and repelling the Lord of Death.
In the wilderness, amidst a feast of severed heads from those slain by long spears and offerings upon impaling stakes, the pride of shields and swords is greatly displayed as they are moved by the fingertips of thieves. Those with eyes knit in frowns and crooked, sidelong glances are made into servants; this is the result of your name, the foundation of glory, being inscribed clearly and tirelessly by the pen of contemplation.
With the extremely sharp claws of his feet, like vajras, he strikes the brain of a rutting elephant so violently that it dries up. His matted locks, washed by the profuse flow of blood, are clearly visible and terrifying, covering his neck. The enemy of wild beasts, with a mouth baring sharp tusks, becomes enraged and wishes to seize him from afar; yet, terrified by your skill in satisfying the meaning of your praiseworthy conduct, he turns back and flees.
To fill the mouth of the serpent-like Yama, whose form is like swirling smoke and whose expression is like a puff of air, he opens his mouth wide with a flickering tongue like a rope. Yet, through the power of your merit, he encounters you again and, intent on enumerating your qualities and devoted to you, he turns away.
They shall come to wear the beautiful ornaments of an utpala garland, like a swarm of intoxicated bees. When the lord, with a frown, commands and summons them, their hair is pulled and disheveled by his harsh and violent hands. Bound by the rough noose of fetters and rebuked by the harsh words of their masters, they are tormented by hunger and thirst, their lips and throats parched, yet they take refuge at the feet of the Noble Tārā. Though abandoned by loving kinsmen, those wretched and fallen ones shall immediately be freed from their misfortune.
Through the power of your secret mantra, which is gathered from the illusory emanations of rākṣasas—those who assume false forms and deceptive appearances—those who are unbearable with their various expressions and masses of weapon-like radiance, and who wear garlands of entrails strung with human corpses, shall have their sins cleared away and their protection defeated.
When the battlefield is thick with the darkness of a torrential stream of rutting elephants, like embodied rain-clouds thundering with a roar, and when a rain of arrows falls with the flashing light of lightning, even when obstructed by the great strength of hostile forces who crush everything to dust, a single hero who prays to your emanation will forcefully grind the enemy’s land.
Those whose bodies are wasted by the oozing of putrid pus and blood from severe abscesses born of a continuous stream of sinful conduct, and whose rotting flesh and skin are torn away and eaten by wriggling insects in the openings of their veins and pores—
By habitually relying on the supreme medicinal pill that depends upon your feet, one will become joyful, possessing a body like refined gold and eyes as broad as a white lotus.
Those whose ears have not received the instructions and discourses bestowed by gurus, and who, being devoid of the wealth of learning, admit to being like the mute in the assemblies of the wise—even they, through the power of devotion to you, will attain the mastery of speech and, adorned with every ornament and endowed with prosperity, seize the lion thrones of challengers in the presence of sovereigns.
Those who sleep on the ground, their bodies and garments covered in dust, their loins wrapped in tattered rags, their limbs exposed, and who, tormented by lice, beg for scraps of food like broken shards of pottery at the doors of others' houses—even they, by pleasing you, will be fanned with beautiful, smiling yak-tail whisks by the finest young women; their faces will be filled with the ichor of rutting elephants, and they will hold aloft a single parasol.
Those impoverished people who, through various means of renunciation, exhaust themselves in the service and manual labor of a single mother, and who, despite the merit accumulated in previous lives, fail to obtain wealth or are separated from it—by praying to you, they will thereafter obtain treasures of gold and jewels from the earth, surpassing all fortune.
Those whose livelihood is cut off, who are ashamed, whose spouses revile them for their worn-out clothes, and who are themselves—
Because you have been abandoned from afar by your kinsmen and relatives who seek to heal you, you have told them of your own suffering. Your own wife, awakened from sleep by the tinkling of her bracelets, will become the mistress of a house whose foundations are dug by the tips of horses' hooves. If even a fraction of your grace should exist, there will arise a wheel that pervades all directions, a woman adorned with the marks of excellence and a great lower garment, a great elephant with six tusks, a supreme horse with a dark-blue coat shining like a peacock's neck, and a jewel of stainless qualities. Like the sun, radiant and luminous, there will be a lord of the house, a full treasury, ministers, and a courageous army. Having attained the accomplishment of knowledge, you will sport with a lovely woman who anoints you with fragrant sandalwood water upon a jeweled stone. Following the play of passion, you will enjoy fresh articles of pleasure. With arms thick and high, their bracelets moving with the blue light of swords, you will become a sovereign Vidyadhara at will and go to the Malaya flower grove. With breasts pressed by necklaces, long eyes rivaling the blue lotuses at your ears, and hair braided with Mandarava flowers, you will be accompanied by bees intoxicated by the scent of fresh pollen. With the continuous sound of anklets and lower garments, the celestial maidens will be greatly uplifted. O Protector, they will offer prayers with devotion to you, who are filled with the pride of desire and joy.
Within the pools, golden lotuses adorned with jewels and clusters of vajra filaments grow; the Pārijāta tree flourishes, and a canopy of fragrant pollen from the filaments is spread high above. In the city of the gods, goddesses skilled in playing the lute and flute offer cymbals that delight the inhabitants. By making offerings to you, O Goddess, in this delightful grove where music resounds, they shall experience joy for a long time.
With their mental continuums focused on you, those whose power of merit blazes shall sport together with beautiful maidens in the waters of the Ganges, which flow gently. The water, filled with the scent of camphor, ela, cloves, cinnamon, agarwood, and frankincense, swirls in eddies and waves. Amidst the swelling breasts of lovely women, which protrude with the pride of desire, they play by splashing the water violently.
Because your gaze has fallen upon them many times, the chief gods, bearing the burden of discipline, bow their crowns in homage to your pure commands. Upon the celestial elephant Airāvaṇa in the heights of heaven, adorned with tinkling ornaments, they ride with the hairs of their bodies standing on end in great bliss. Holding the reins with long arms, they protect the divine realm from the vajra.
Seated upon the jeweled throne of your crown, the Sugata’s light pervades the sky like a canopy. Like ten million rising suns, your radiance fills the three worlds. With one leg extended in a majestic stride, Brahmā, Indra, and Rudra bow before you.
Those who rely on birth through meditation will sever the stream of the terrors of existence. Some, together with wrath, through the connection with the rays of light from their various hands and hand-instruments, pervade the expanse of space. With the hoods of their serpent-bracelets, they perform an unassailable and fierce conduct. When they strike the fierce damaru drum of laughter, causing terror in the hateful, the zombies (vetāla) are provoked to violence. They roar with the great sound of clapping hands, and their haughty, great play of clamor is subdued. From each of some of the pores of their skin, there emerge those dwelling in the sky, the earth, and the subterranean realms, as well as the abodes of the heavens. Brahmā, Indra, and so forth—gods, nāgas, gandharvas, humans, and siddhas—dwell there. Seated upon rays of light that pervade the assembly of directions, they are adorned by infinite emanations of hundreds of Sugatas. They comprehend the essence of all things without exception, both stable and moving, within the wondrous three realms that are worthy of prostration. Some perceive your body as red, like the color of lac or vermilion, or like the deep red of the youthful sun. Likewise, others perceive it as blue, like the swirling powder of precious sapphire. Some perceive it as white, like the churning of the ocean of milk or even more so than curd, or like the light of gold. While knowing your body to be of various essences, through the connection of close placement and differentiation, it becomes distinct. The number of your collection of qualities is made perfectly clear by the lamp of omniscient wisdom. All objects of knowledge, in their single reality, are known by the Omniscient One in person and by his sons.
Like a crow with its beak wide open, I have raised a great clamor; this is a cause for laughter in the mental continuum of one afflicted by the incurable plague of suffering. Whatever I have requested, you already know it perfectly from the very beginning; yet the manner of my weary recitation is merely a particular way to satisfy my own unskilled mind. Nevertheless, just as a beloved kinsman who knows the meaning of one's misery sits before them and, through their words, draws out that suffering so that the heart feels relieved and one returns to a state of composure, so too, O Moon-like One whose radiance illuminates the ocean of all-encompassing joy and excellence, purify my mind with the water of your praise and grant me the vision that brings satisfaction; through the teachings of your wisdom, cause me to flourish. Because your compassion is so great that it dispels inner darkness, I understand that even a mere praise of you is meaningful; it is the sole abode of well-being for all beings within the world. Having praised but a fraction of your collection of qualities, I have not determined the extent of this merit; may I enjoy the sweet fruit of this auspiciousness until liberation, and by whatever merit is gained, may this world swiftly go to the city of the Sugata’s son called Sukhāvatī, a place of bliss marked by the auspicious signs of the Noble Lord of the World’s lotus feet.
The Praise of the Venerable Noble Tārā Entitled "Holding a Garland of Flowers" composed by the great master, the omniscient Vidyākaraprabha, who practiced the conduct of a bodhisattva with one-pointed devotion, is hereby complete. It was translated by the Indian abbot Kanakavarma and the Tibetan translator Patsap Nyima Drak. Later, it was slightly revised and corrected by the great paṇḍita Maṇikaśrījñāna and the translator Chag, the Śākya monk Chöjé Pal.
Translation status: Not among 84000's published translations. A bibliography of the canon lists 2 English-language publication(s) on this text, e.g. Vidyabhusana, Satis Chandra, Sragdharā Stotra of Bhikçu Sarvajña Mitra of Kāśmīra (1908). Calcutta: Asiatic Society, xxx, 273 p. (Bibllndica 166) (Bauddha-Stotra-Samgraha I), p. 114-126 — these may include a full or partial translation. (source: 84000 catalogue + registry; checked 2026-11-10).
Set in Newsreader and EB Garamond; Tibetan in Noto Serif Tibetan; Chinese in Noto Serif SC.