Accept, O Mother, accept these trifling but true
Services from your young sons, do
Vast a debt to you we owe,
Nurtured at your breast,
Blessed by your milk so!
As but a first installment of this debt
I offer my body in the blazing fire yet.
O'er n' o'er every lifetime give it I will,
Into the holy pyre of your liberty still.
With Shri Krishna as the valiant charioteer,
With Shri Ram as their very Commander,
Your army of thirty crore
Will not halt if I be no more!
Instead vanquish t'fiend they will for sure!
And atop the Himalayas with their own hand,
Hoist they will the freedom saffron flag grand!
[This is a translation by Anurupa Cinar, Savarkar's original, 'Pahila Hapta, ' is in Marathi.]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem