On September 7, 2006, India's national song Vande Mataram enters its centenary year. Notwithstanding the controversies surrounding Vande Mataram, Indians from far and wide get together to sing the national song once more. rediff.com provides readers with the original Sanskrit version and its English translation:

Sanskrit Version:
 
"Vande Mataram!
Sujalam suphalam malayaja shitalam
Sasyashyaamalam Mataram!

Shubhrajyotsna pulakitayaminim
Pullakusumita drumadala shobhinim
Suhaasinim sumadhura bhashhinim
Sukhadam varadam Mataram!

Koti koti kantha kalakalaninada karale
Koti koti bhujarudhurat kharkarvaale
Abalaa keno ma eto bale
Bahubaladharinim namami tarinim
Ripudalavarinim Mataram!

Tumi vidyaa tumi dharma
Tumi hapirana tumi marma
Tvam hi pranah sharire
Bahute tumi ma shakti
Hridaye tumi ma bhakti
Tomara i pratima gadi
Mandire mandire!

Tvam hi durgaa dashapraharanadhaarini
Kamalaa kamaladala vihaarini
Vani vidyaadaayinii namaami tvaam
Namaami kamalam amalam atulam
Sujalam suphalam Mataram!"


English Version: (As translated by Sri Aurobindo)

Mother, I bow to thee!
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
bright with orchard gleams,
Cool with thy winds of delight,
Green fields waving Mother of might,
Mother free.

Glory of moonlight dreams,
Over thy branches and lordly streams,
Clad in thy blossoming trees,
Mother, giver of ease
Laughing low and sweet!
Mother I kiss thy feet,
Speaker sweet and low!
Mother, to thee I bow.

Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands
When swords flash out in seventy million hands
And seventy million voices roar
Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?
With many strengths who art mighty and stored,
To thee I call Mother and Lord!
Thou who saves, arise and save!
To her I cry who ever her foe drove
Back from plain and sea
And shook herself free.

Thou art wisdom, thou art law,
Thou art heart, our soul, our breath
Though art love divine, the awe
In our hearts that conquers death.
Thine the strength that nerves the arm,
Thine the beauty, thine the charm.
Every image made divine
In our temples is but thine.

Thou art Durga, Lady and Queen,
With her hands that strike and her
swords of sheen,
Thou art Lakshmi lotus-throned,
And the Muse a hundred-toned,
Pure and perfect without peer,
Mother lend thine ear,
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleems,
Dark of hue O candid-fair.

In thy soul, with jewelled hair
And thy glorious smile divine,
Loveliest of all earthly lands,
Showering wealth from well-stored hands!
Mother, mother mine!
Mother sweet, I bow to thee,
Mother great and free!