qMonk literal translation — draft, pending review
Your own burning strength is yours to hold, and you are the one holding it.
When you call out, all three worlds shake.
Teja is heat first. It is the word for the edge on a blade, the brightness coming off a face, the fire in a body — power as something radiating rather than something owned. Samhārnā is what you do with a load, a toppling stack, a child on your hip: to hold up, to keep steady, to manage. Put them together and the line says the thing that would burn is kept in hand.
The weight of the couplet is on āpai, "himself." Nobody else is restraining him. Five chaupais earlier there was an infant who went for the sun and had to be stopped by Indra's thunderbolt; here the same person needs no bolt, because the holding has moved inside. That is the whole distance the poem has travelled between the two lines, and it travels it without comment.
Hā̃k is an ordinary shout — the call you send after someone down a lane, the cry used to drive cattle. Not a war-cry, not a roar. The tīnoṃ loka, the three worlds, are counted differently in different texts: earth, the space between and the heavens in one reckoning; the worlds above, here and below in another. Either way, the everyday word is the one that shakes them.
And the order of the two lines is not accidental. The restraint comes first, and the terror is what the restraint is holding.
When have you been really angry and not done the thing you wanted to do? What did that take?
qMonk literal translation — draft, pending review·Devanagari checked against two printings·Draft — awaiting reviewer·How these texts were made