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The first two verses of Vande Mataram penned by amazing Bengali writer and author, Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay was chosen as the National Song of India on January 24, 1950. The song has an indistinguishable status from the National Anthem 'Jana Gana Mana' excepting certain official manages. When India accomplished independence it absolutely was the more well known tune contrasted with 'Jana Gana Mana' which was embraced as the National Anthem by the Constituent Assembly later on. The expression 'Vande Mataram' itself was the mantra of Indian progressives and patriot pioneers amid the nation's battle for flexibility. It enthused various young fellows and ladies who fell into the enthusiastic suppositions of the time, devoting their spirits in service of their Motherland. Revolutionary turned mystic Aurobindo Ghosh named it the 'Anthem of Bengal' and rendered the English interpretation titled 'I bow to thee, Mother'.
Mother, I bow to thee! Rich with thy hurrying streams, bright with orchard gleams, Cool with thy winds of delight, Dark 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 the sword flesh out in the 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! Though who savest, arise and save! To her I cry who ever her foeman 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 nervs 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-fairIn thy soul, with jewelled hair And thy glorious smile divine, Lovilest of all earthly lands, Showering wealth from well-stored hands! Mother, mother mine! Mother sweet, I bow to thee, Mother great and free!