When the crane with its beautiful white wings,
Startled by fear of the dark thundercloud,
Flees, seeking shelter—
Then the River Ajakaraṇī delights me.

When the crane, so pure and white,
Startled by fear of the dark thundercloud,
Seeks for a cave to shelter in, but can’t see one—
Then the River Ajakaraṇī delights me.

Who wouldn’t be delighted
By the rose-apple trees
That adorn both banks of the river there,
Behind my cave?

Rid of snakes, that death-mad swarm,
The lazy frogs croak:
“Today isn’t the time to stray from mountain streams;
Ajakaraṇī is safe, pleasant, and delightful.”