तं होवाच भगवान्कालाग्निरुद्रः । त्रिपुरवधार्थमहं निमीलिताक्षोऽभवम् । तेभ्यो जलबिन्दवो भूमौ पतितास्ते रुद्राक्षा जाताः । सर्वानुग्रहार्थाय तेषां नामोच्चारणमात्रेण दशगोप्रदानफलं दर्शनस्पर्शनाभ्यां द्विगुणं फलमत ऊर्ध्वं वक्तुं न शक्नोमि । तत्रैते श्लोका भवन्ति
taṃ hovāca bhagavānkālāgnirudraḥ | tripuravadhārthamahaṃ nimīlitākṣo'bhavam | tebhyo jalabindavo bhūmau patitāste rudrākṣā jātāḥ | sarvānugrahārthāya teṣāṃ nāmoccāraṇamātreṇa daśagopradānaphalaṃ darśanasparśanābhyāṃ dviguṇaṃ phalamata ūrdhvaṃ vaktuṃ na śaknomi | tatraite ślokā bhavanti
He answered him: for the sake of slaying Tripura I closed my eyes; from them drops of water fell to the ground, and they became rudrākṣas. For the grace of all — from the mere utterance of their name, the fruit of giving ten cows; from sight and touch, double the fruit; above that I cannot speak.
7f9f541a036a · published Aug 12, 2026, 5:00:00 AM UTC
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The very first answer deserves a slow reading, for it says something unexpected. The rudrākṣa was born from tears. The circumstance in which this happened is sharper still: Śiva closed his eyes tripura-vadha-artham, "for the sake of slaying Tripura" — that is, before the destruction of the three cities of the asuras. Water welled up from eyes closed for annihilation; and what fell to the ground became a sign of grace.
This combination, if one thinks it through, is remarkable. The one going to destroy weeps; and from these tears comes something later handed out to all without distinction: sarva-anugraha-arthāya, "for the grace of all." The Vaiṣṇava side holds tears in high regard and considers them not a weakness but a mark. The Bhāgavatam says that one whose "voice breaks, whose heart melts, and who often weeps" thereby purifies both himself and his whole line (11.14.24); and in the list of eight bodily signs of love, tears stand as a line of their own.
Hence a sign born of tears is, to my mind, a well-chosen sign — on one condition the book passes over in silence: tears come from pity, and tears come from strain, and the two cannot be told apart from outside. It is said, finally, nāma-uccāraṇa-mātreṇa, "from the mere utterance of the name" — and already here, in the first line, the effect is attributed not to the seed itself but to its name. This admission, in a book devoted to the object, deserves note: even where everything rests on a thing, it is the word that begins to act.