Show me that countenance of yours O Hari
With which your flute announces Radha’s sweet victory,
Show me too the figure with which at Bali’s door
As a beggar, you did appear.
Accepting the gift of three footholds
You pressed Bali to the nether worlds,
Hence an eye of Sukra , his minister
You pierced with a blade of grass
When Kaikeyi turned into a foe
Rama, in the forest, wandered in exile.
Lady Sita accompanied her lord.
To serve you, loyal Laxmana, too, followed.
When born in Gopa land,
In the forests, their cattle you grazed.
Amidst the young cowherds often you danced,
Swaying from side to side.
On the right is the Lord
With a plough in hand,
Between the brothers in the centre,
Can be seen Subhadra, their darling sister.
On the left sits the Lord who holds
The conch, the wheel and the mace in his hands.
Says Salabega, the lowly one
By birth I am a Yavana.
Kamsa and the eight wrestlers you vanquished,
O Lord! Whom have you not redeemed?
Original Oriya hymn “Mote sehi rupa dekha-a Hari?.”