I give thanks and praises to The Master of Edged Weapons, The Thrower of Divine Missiles, who never misses a target, whose projectiles do not stray.I give my humble obeisances to The Remover of Obstructions, The Breacher of All-Obstacles, The Transcendental Wave that overflows banks, whose tide can never be stopped.

O Protector of Devotees, whose beautiful lotus feet are an impenetrable fortress, I am not afraid when I take shelter in Your shadow. When destructive things land around me, it is You that provides the greatest protection.

O Lord, I was both lost and fallen in the dust. But through Your mercy and kindness I have regained consciousness and I am now returning back to You.

O Quencher of thirst, O cool and gentle breeze that casts away the fierce winds of the desert. I sing Your Holy Names and fight for the freedom to serve you.

Although I am far from home, I am never outside the reach of Your loving arms and my enemies are never outside the range of Your arrows.

Although I am in a distant and foreign land, there is no place that is unfamiliar to You. You, who does not need a scope to survey the landscape, knows the place of every hill, valley and rock pile.

O Lord of the Heavens and Earth, to whom a thunderclap is barely a whisper, a raging inferno is barely a dying ember, I pray for the strength to serve in Your command and execute Your orders.

O He who makes a lotus blossom deadly to demons, You are The Greatest of Companions in battle. You do not tire, You do not trip. You do not lose your direction. Your aim is always exact. You do not retreat. You do not spread Your formation too thin. You do not get homesick.

When thick smoke engulfs the battlefield, You do not choke.

When heavy dust shrouds the landscape, Your Lotus Eyes do not sting.

O Lord, Your transcendental conch shell is the greatest of war horns. You are so full of compassion that You uplift your enemies as well as your devotees.

O Lord, my feet are blistered twice over. My knees creak with every step. The fibers of my hamstrings are tightened and pulling. My back and shoulders are bent and chaffed from the pack I carry. My hands are calloused and losing feeling from the tight grip I keep on my weapon. My arms ache, my lips are chapped and dry riverbeds of sweat leave salt trails down my face. Dust cakes my eyelashes and brows. My helmet-strap cuts into my chin. I taste gritty sand when I swallow.

I smile.

Because even though my voice is hoarse I have not stopped chanting Your Holy Names.

Hare Krsna, Hare Krsna, Krsna Krsna, Hare Hare/Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare.

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