Shiv Tandav Stotram: Full Lyrics with Meaning

Shloka 1

जटाटवीगलज्जलप्रवाहपावितस्थले गलेऽवलम्ब्य लम्बितां भुजङ्गतुङ्गमालिकाम्। डमड्डमड्डमड्डमन्निनादवड्डमर्वयं चकार चण्डताण्डवं तनोतु नः शिवः शिवम्॥

Jatatavi-galajjala-pravaha-pavita-sthale, gale'valambya lambitam bhujanga-tunga-malikam; damad-damad-damad-daman ninadavad-damarvayam, chakara chanda-tandavam tanotu nah Shivah Shivam.

Arth: The opening shloka is staged like a camera finding its subject: Ganga crashing through the 'forest' of Shiva's jata and hallowing the ground where it falls, the high serpent-garland swinging from his throat, and the damaru speaking its own name — damad, damad — inside the Sanskrit itself. Then the two verbs that frame the whole stotram: chakara, 'he danced' the fierce tandava, past tense; tanotu, 'may he extend' — a prayer that the same Shiva spread shivam, auspiciousness, over us. Terror witnessed, blessing asked: that pairing is the entire poem in one verse.

Shloka 2

जटाकटाहसम्भ्रमभ्रमन्निलिम्पनिर्झरीविलोलवीचिवल्लरीविराजमानमूर्धनि। धगद्धगद्धगज्ज्वलल्ललाटपट्टपावके किशोरचन्द्रशेखरे रतिः प्रतिक्षणं मम॥

Jata-kataha-sambhrama-bhraman-nilimpa-nirjhari-vilola-vichi-vallari-virajamana-murdhani; dhagad-dhagad-dhagaj-jvalal-lalata-patta-pavake kishora-chandra-shekhare ratih pratikshanam mama.

Arth: Two fires and one cool light share a single head. The celestial river swirls inside the cauldron of the matted hair, its wave-tendrils glittering on the crown; the third-eye fire on the forehead crackles dhagad-dhagad — the poem's second onomatopoeia, flame answering the first verse's drum. And resting above both, the kishora-chandra: the young crescent moon. The poet's refrain-like confession closes it — 'in him my delight, every moment.' This is the shashi-dhara image Jyotish keeps returning to when it pairs Shiva with Chandra: the moon lives, literally, in his hair.

Shloka 3

धराधरेन्द्रनन्दिनीविलासबन्धुबन्धुरस्फुरद्दिगन्तसन्ततिप्रमोदमानमानसे। कृपाकटाक्षधोरणीनिरुद्धदुर्धरापदि क्वचिद्दिगम्बरे मनो विनोदमेतु वस्तुनि॥

Dharadharendra-nandini-vilasa-bandhu-bandhura-sphurad-diganta-santati-pramodamana-manase; kripa-kataksha-dhorani-niruddha-durdharapadi kvachid-digambare mano vinodam etu vastuni.

Arth: The first soft verse after two loud ones. Shiva's mind delights in the playful presence of the mountain-king's daughter — Parvati, named here through her father Himalaya — while a steady stream of his sideways glance of grace, kripa-kataksha, holds back calamities no one else could stop. The word that lands hardest is the quietest: vastuni, 'in that Reality'. The digambara, clothed only in the directions, is not merely a striking figure — he is the substance the poet asks his own mind to go find its joy in. The stotram's devotion has a metaphysics under it.

Shloka 4

जटाभुजङ्गपिङ्गलस्फुरत्फणामणिप्रभाकदम्बकुङ्कुमद्रवप्रलिप्तदिग्वधूमुखे। मदान्धसिन्धुरस्फुरत्त्वगुत्तरीयमेदुरे मनो विनोदमद्भुतं बिभर्तु भूतभर्तरि॥

Jata-bhujanga-pingala-sphurat-phana-mani-prabha-kadamba-kunkuma-drava-pralipta-digvadhu-mukhe; madandha-sindhura-sphurat-tvag-uttariya-medure mano vinodam adbhutam bibhartu bhuta-bhartari.

Arth: A verse built on transfigured light: the tawny glow from the gems on the hoods of the serpents in his hair spreads outward until the faces of the dig-vadhus — the directions imagined as brides — look anointed with liquid kumkum. The cosmos wears Shiva's radiance as shringar. Then the deliberate jolt: his own upper garment is the hide of a musth-blind elephant. Beauty thrown over wildness, and both worn without contradiction — for he is bhuta-bhartari, upholder of all beings, and of the bhoot-gana no other court would keep. May the mind hold its wonder there.

Shloka 5

सहस्रलोचनप्रभृत्यशेषलेखशेखरप्रसूनधूलिधोरणीविधूसराङ्घ्रिपीठभूः। भुजङ्गराजमालया निबद्धजाटजूटकः श्रियै चिराय जायतां चकोरबन्धुशेखरः॥

Sahasra-lochana-prabhrity-ashesha-lekha-shekhara-prasuna-dhuli-dhorani-vidhusarangghri-pitha-bhuh; bhujanga-raja-malaya nibaddha-jata-jutakah shriyai chiraya jayatam chakora-bandhu-shekharah.

Arth: A hierarchy drawn in dust. Indra of the thousand eyes and the entire line of devas bow so low that pollen from the flowers in their crowns powders the ground at Shiva's footstool grey — the gods' ornaments become the dirt at his feet. Above, the same figure is crowned twice over: his jata bound by Vasuki, king of serpents, and topped by the 'friend of the chakora' — the moon, named through the bird that tradition says lives on moonlight alone. The blessing asked is chiraya, lasting: not a flash of fortune but shri that stays.

Shloka 6

ललाटचत्वरज्वलद्धनञ्जयस्फुलिङ्गभानिपीतपञ्चसायकं नमन्निलिम्पनायकम्। सुधामयूखलेखया विराजमानशेखरं महाकपालिसम्पदेशिरोजटालमस्तु नः॥

Lalata-chatvara-jvalad-dhananjaya-sphulinga-bha-nipita-pancha-sayakam naman-nilimpa-nayakam; sudha-mayukha-lekhaya virajamana-shekharam maha-kapali-sampade shiro-jatalam astu nah.

Arth: The Kamadeva episode compressed into a single compound: the five-arrowed god of desire was 'drunk down' — nipita — by mere sparks from the fire blazing on the courtyard of Shiva's brow, while the leader of the devas bowed. Not a battle; an afterthought of heat. Yet the very next image is the crest shining with the nectar-rayed crescent — the destroying forehead and the cooling moon two inches apart. The prayer asks that this jata-crowned head grant us the kapali's own sampada: the strange wealth of the one who owns nothing and lacks nothing.

Shloka 7

करालभालपट्टिकाधगद्धगद्धगज्ज्वलद्धनञ्जयाहुतीकृतप्रचण्डपञ्चसायके। धराधरेन्द्रनन्दिनीकुचाग्रचित्रपत्रकप्रकल्पनैकशिल्पिनि त्रिलोचने रतिर्मम॥

Karala-bhala-pattika-dhagad-dhagad-dhagaj-jvalad-dhananjaya-ahuti-krita-prachanda-pancha-sayake; dharadharendra-nandini-kuchagra-chitra-patraka-prakalpanaika-shilpini trilochane ratir mama.

Arth: The stotram's boldest juxtaposition, delivered as one breath. The first half repeats the terrible forehead-fire — dhagad-dhagad again — into which fierce Kamadeva was poured like a ritual offering, an ahuti. The second half calls the same three-eyed god the eka-shilpi, the one true artist, who paints delicate ornamental patterns for Parvati. The hand that annihilated desire itself is the hand capable of the tenderest decoration. The poet does not resolve the paradox; he says ratir mama — precisely this is what I love — and lets it stand.

Shloka 8

नवीनमेघमण्डली निरुद्धदुर्धरस्फुरत्कुहूनिशीथिनीतमः प्रबन्धबद्धकन्धरः। निलिम्पनिर्झरीधरस्तनोतु कृत्तिसिन्धुरः कलानिधानबन्धुरः श्रियं जगद्धुरंधरः॥

Navina-megha-mandali niruddha-durdhara-sphurat-kuhu-nishithini-tamah prabandha-baddha-kandharah; nilimpa-nirjhari-dharas tanotu kritti-sindhurah kala-nidhana-bandhurah shriyam jagad-dhurandharah.

Arth: The neela-kantha verse without the word: Shiva's throat is as dark as the midnight of an amavasya night sealed in by banks of new monsoon cloud — the poet reaching for the blackest black the Indian sky offers. Around that darkness, his identifying marks assemble: bearer of the deva-river, wearer of the elephant hide, made graceful by the kala-nidhana — the moon as 'treasury of phases', waxing and waning in his hair. And the title that carries the verse: jagad-dhurandhara, the one who bears the yoke of the world. The throat that held the poison holds everything else too.

Shloka 9

प्रफुल्लनीलपङ्कजप्रपञ्चकालिमप्रभावलम्बिकण्ठकन्दलीरुचिप्रबद्धकन्धरम्। स्मरच्छिदं पुरच्छिदं भवच्छिदं मखच्छिदं गजच्छिदान्धकच्छिदं तमन्तकच्छिदं भजे॥

Praphulla-nila-pankaja-prapancha-kalima-prabha-valambi-kantha-kandali-ruchi-prabaddha-kandharam; smarachchhidam purachchhidam bhavachchhidam makhachchhidam gajachchhidandhakachchhidam tamantakachchhidam bhaje.

Arth: After a first line that lingers on the throat glowing like a spread of open blue lotuses, the verse switches metre-within-metre and begins to strike: chhidam, chhidam, chhidam — cutter, cutter, cutter. Cutter of Smara (desire), of Tripura, of bhava (the grind of worldly becoming), of Daksha's sacrifice, of the elephant demon, of Andhaka, even of Antaka — death itself. It reads as a list of old victories, but the middle term is the personal one: bhava-chhid. A tradition that calls Shiva the cutter of entanglement is naming what the reciter actually wants severed. Bhaje — him I worship.

Shloka 10

अखर्वसर्वमङ्गलाकलाकदम्बमञ्जरीरसप्रवाहमाधुरीविजृम्भणामधुव्रतम्। स्मरान्तकं पुरान्तकं भवान्तकं मखान्तकं गजान्तकान्धकान्तकं तमन्तकान्तकं भजे॥

Akharva-sarva-mangala-kala-kadamba-manjari-rasa-pravaha-madhuri-vijrimbhana-madhu-vratam; smarantakam purantakam bhavantakam makhantakam gajantakandhakantakam tamantakantakam bhaje.

Arth: A twin of the ninth shloka, and the pairing is the point. The destroyer-litany returns with one syllable changed — antaka, 'ender', replacing chhida, 'cutter' — but the opening image is entirely new: Shiva as a madhu-vrata, a honey-bee, hovering on the sweetness that flows from the flowering arts of Sarva-Mangala, 'she who is wholly auspicious' — Parvati herself. The ender of desire is not beyond delight; his delight has simply found its one worthy object. Between verses nine and ten the stotram teaches its subtlest lesson: renunciation and love are not opposites in Shiva.

Shloka 11

जयत्वदभ्रविभ्रमभ्रमद्भुजङ्गमश्वसद्विनिर्गमत्क्रमस्फुरत्करालभालहव्यवाट्। धिमिद्धिमिद्धिमिध्वनन्मृदङ्गतुङ्गमङ्गलध्वनिक्रमप्रवर्तितप्रचण्डताण्डवः शिवः॥

Jayatvad-abhra-vibhrama-bhramad-bhujangama-shvasad-vinirgamat-krama-sphurat-karala-bhala-havya-vat; dhimid-dhimid-dhimi-dhvanan-mridanga-tunga-mangala-dhvani-krama-pravartita-prachanda-tandavah Shivah.

Arth: The dance itself, at last, in present tense. The serpents wheel dizzily as if through storm-cloud, and each of their out-breaths makes the terrible forehead-fire pulse brighter — even Shiva's ornaments are feeding the flame. Then the third and grandest onomatopoeia: dhimid-dhimid-dhimi, the mridanga's high auspicious beat, and the compound says the tandava is pravartita — set in motion — by that sound-sequence. Rhythm precedes movement; the drum is the engine of the dance. Reciters feel why this stotram is loved aloud: its Panchachamara metre is that drumbeat, built into the words.

Shloka 12

दृषद्विचित्रतल्पयोर्भुजङ्गमौक्तिकस्रजोर्गरिष्ठरत्नलोष्ठयोः सुहृद्विपक्षपक्षयोः। तृणारविन्दचक्षुषोः प्रजामहीमहेन्द्रयोः समप्रवृत्तिकः कदा सदाशिवं भजाम्यहम्॥

Drishad-vichitra-talpayor bhujanga-mauktika-srajor garishtha-ratna-loshthayoh suhrid-vipaksha-pakshayoh; trinaravinda-chakshushoh praja-mahi-mahendrayoh sama-pravrittikah kada Sadashivam bhajamy aham.

Arth: The stotram stops describing Shiva and starts describing the state it wants. Five balanced pairs, each held with equal regard: a stone slab and an ornate bed; a serpent and a pearl necklace; the costliest gem and a clod of earth; friend and enemy; a blade of grass and a lotus-eyed beauty; the subjects and the emperor. Sama-pravrittikah — moving the same through all of it. And then the word that gives the verse its ache: kada, 'when?'. When will I worship Sadashiva from that evenness? Samatva is presented not as doctrine but as longing — the fruit the reciter is actually reaching for.

Shloka 13

कदा निलिम्पनिर्झरीनिकुञ्जकोटरे वसन् विमुक्तदुर्मतिः सदा शिरःस्थमञ्जलिं वहन्। विलोललोललोचनो ललामभाललग्नकः शिवेति मन्त्रमुच्चरन्कदा सुखी भवाम्यहम्॥

Kada nilimpa-nirjhari-nikunja-kotare vasan vimukta-durmatih sada shirahstham anjalim vahan; vilola-lola-lochano lalama-bhala-lagnakah Shiveti mantram uchcharan kada sukhi bhavamy aham.

Arth: The same kada, twice more, and now the wish turns concrete: to live in a hollow of the groves on Ganga's bank, freed of durmati — the crooked turn of mind — hands joined permanently above the head, eyes unsteady with feeling, and the mark bright on the brow, saying one thing only: 'Shiva'. The last tandava shloka contains no dance at all. The poem that opened with a cosmos-shaking performance closes its body with a single person, sitting still by a river, repeating a two-syllable mantra — as if all that thunder existed to produce this quiet. Kada sukhi bhavami: when will I be happy? The stotram's honesty is that it asks rather than claims.

Shloka 14 (phala-shruti)

इदम् हि नित्यमेवमुक्तमुत्तमोत्तमं स्तवं पठन्स्मरन्ब्रुवन्नरो विशुद्धिमेति सन्ततम्। हरे गुरौ सुभक्तिमाशु याति नान्यथा गतिं विमोहनं हि देहिनां सुशङ्करस्य चिन्तनम्॥

Idam hi nityam evam uktam uttamottamam stavam pathan smaran bruvan naro vishuddhim eti santatam; hare gurau su-bhaktim ashu yati nanyatha gatim vimohanam hi dehinam su-Shankarasya chintanam.

Arth: The first phala-shruti, and it grades the ways of engaging the stotram — pathan, smaran, bruvan: reciting it, holding it in memory, simply speaking of it — and offers the same fruit for each: vishuddhi, a progressive clearing, and firm bhakti in Hara and in the guru. Notice what the verse does not promise here: no treasure, no conquest. Its claim is interior — nanyatha gatim, there is no other way — and its reasoning is contained in one word: chintanam. Sustained thinking on Shankara is itself what un-deludes an embodied being. The practice is the fruit.

Shloka 15 (phala-shruti)

पूजावसानसमये दशवक्त्रगीतं यः शम्भुपूजनपरं पठति प्रदोषे। तस्य स्थिरां रथगजेन्द्रतुरङ्गयुक्तां लक्ष्मीं सदैव सुमुखीं प्रददाति शम्भुः॥

Puja-avasana-samaye dasha-vaktra-gitam yah Shambhu-pujana-param pathati pradoshe; tasya sthiram ratha-gajendra-turanga-yuktam Lakshmim sadaiva sumukhim pradadati Shambhuh.

Arth: The closing verse signs the work and schedules it. Dasha-vaktra-gitam — 'sung by the ten-faced one' — is the text's own attribution to Ravana, placed inside the stotram the way the Shiv Aarti names Shivanand. And it names its hour: pujavasana-samaye... pradoshe, at the close of worship, in the pradosh window around sunset — which is why this stotram is traditionally recited at Pradosh vrat and why that window is computed from your city's sunset, never from a fixed clock time. The verse's own promise is abundance in the old royal idiom — Lakshmi 'steady, and favorably inclined, with chariots, elephants and horses' — the phala-shruti convention of its genre, stating the fruit the tradition assigns to the practice.