Indeed, when Lord Kṛṣṇa, the ocean of milk, is churned by the great mountain of Vedānta, encircled by the serpent of the Brahma-sūtras and its heart nourished by the pure winds of Madhva’s scriptures, by the gods wielding authoritative doctrinal statements on one side and by demons holding opposing views on the other, then may the giver of nectar to his own, that radiant jewel of virtue, protect me.

I worship that sound-bestowing face of Lord Hayavadana, endowed with countless hands, who declares: “To one who follows the path revealed by the true scriptures, who meditates upon my feet, bears my emblems such as the conch and the discus, and recites my mantra, I grant the wealth of the scriptures along with good fortune. I myself teach those truths; thereafter, attainment of my feet becomes possible".

I take refuge in the Horse-faced Lord, whose radiant splendor is praised by the hymns of the foremost band of devoted yogis, so that the path toward the fulfillment of poetry meant to be heard (śrāvyakāvya) may be made easy.

I bow to Mother Rukmiṇī, the beloved of Kṛṣṇa, she of flowing hair, whose lotus feet gleam with tinkling anklets, whose face is a garden of gentle smiles, whose eyes shine like gold, whose slender waist glows softly beneath the grace of her bosom, whose bangles chime sweetly, who is served by Lord Śiva and the other gods, and who is beautifully clad and adorned with gold.

May that swan-like Madhva, who dwells in the lake of the mind formed by the company of the good, whose thoughts ever rest on the beautiful lotus feet of Lord Kṛṣṇa, and who adorns noble assemblies with the sweet utterance of scripture, reside in the lotus of my heart.

May the face of Vāṇī (Sarasvatī), having ears adorned with earrings, shining with a compassionate glance, possessing the luster of the full moon, endowed with the coral-red hue of the lips mingled with a gentle smile, marked by slightly curling hair, bearing a tilaka mark, having a pearl shining upon the nose, and possessing a pair of cheeks resembling a tortoise, bring auspiciousness.

The very breath of life — Guru Madhva — gathers the fragrance, worthy of loving service, from the lotus that is Śrīnātha’s glory, and delights in its sweetness. And so I let that same fragrance infuse my speech, broadened by his thought and scripture, that my words may carry its perfume.

Vādirāja, the son of Vāgīśa Tīrtha, foremost among monks, who was born from the wind of the nostrils of horse form Lord, Hayavadana, having cast away the husk of sin, narrates the beautiful story of Lord Hari.

Even if composed by an unlearned and unskilled person like me, would anyone really discard a garland of flowers, such as this Kavikanṭhamālā, a garland for the poet's neck, which celebrates the play of Lord Mukunda?

Even if this poetic glory bears a slight flaw born of negligence, you should still revere it. Would the wise and discerning ever reject Lakṣmī, born of the ocean, merely because she is said to be fickle?

Afflicted by the unbearable burden of countless mountains of sin, and having fallen under the control of the sons of Diti, the earth—suffering in all her limbs—went to seek refuge in Lord Brahmā.