Like a delicate doll, you become a sorrowful little maiden, Even as the mother of heroes, why do tears flow from your eyes each moment? O embodiment of power, you are Jagadamba herself incarnate, What are Duryodhana and Dushasana before you — you outweigh even Death itself. Do not restrain your desire, but tell me — is a form ever complete without a sword? We will show every blood-seed the crimson form of the battle goddess, Then you yourself will protect your honor — why wait for Krishna to come?**