What is the Hanuman Chalisa?

Say a hundred names of gods to a north Indian child and one prayer will already be in the mouth before any of them: forty short verses to the monkey who could lift a mountain. People who cannot read recite it. People who never enter a temple keep it in the car. It is sung by classical masters and film stars and truck drivers, played in homes at dawn and in hospital corridors at night, and a single recording of it has been watched more times on the internet than almost any devotional sound ever made. It is called the Hanuman Chalisa, and to understand why it holds the place it holds, you have to look at what it is, who made it, and what it actually says — line by line — including the one verse that the internet has turned into a legend.

The shape of the whole thing

The word chalisa comes from chalis, “forty,” and that is the heart of the design: forty verses of praise. But the poem is not only forty. It is built as forty-three. Two dohas — couplets, two lines each — open it, like a door and its frame. Then come the forty chaupais, the quatrains that give the hymn its name and carry its whole argument. And one final doha closes it, sealing the prayer.

That small architecture matters, because the Chalisa is not a list. It moves. The first two couplets are an invocation; the forty quatrains rise from who Hanuman is, through what he did, to what he gives; and the closing couplet gathers everything into a single request. Read straight through, it is a portrait, a story and a plea in one breath.

(A note before we begin: many printed and sung versions add two Sanskrit dhyana, or “meditation,” verses between the opening couplets and the first quatrain. These are a later, traditional preface — beautiful, but not part of Tulsidas’s Awadhi hymn. The forty-three verses below are the Chalisa itself.)

Who wrote it

Tradition gives the Chalisa to one man: Goswami Tulsidas, the sixteenth-century poet-saint of Kashi, the same devotee who wrote the Ramcharitmanas, the Awadhi retelling of the Ramayana that became the living scripture of the north. Tulsidas is said to have founded the Sankat Mochan temple in Varanasi at the spot where he was granted the sight of Hanuman, and the Chalisa is of a piece with his life’s work: turning the great Sanskrit story of Rama into something the ordinary person could carry.

That is the first thing to notice about the poem, and it is deliberate. Tulsidas did not write it in Sanskrit, the language of the learned and the priestly. He wrote it in Awadhi, the spoken tongue of the Gangetic plain, the language of the field and the market. This was the whole point of the bhakti movement he belonged to: that devotion should not be locked behind a language most people could not read. A hymn anyone could learn was a small revolution — and the poet knew it, closing the poem, as we will see, by signing his own name into it.

Here honesty requires a footnote, in the spirit this site tries to keep. The attribution to Tulsidas is universal in practice and very old in tradition, but it is worth knowing that no commentary on the Chalisa is recorded before the twentieth century, and that it was not printed among the collected works of Tulsidas until relatively late. The living tradition has never doubted him. The documentary trail is quieter than the poem’s fame. Both of those things are true, and a reader deserves to hold them together.

The Hanuman Chalisa, verse by verse

What follows is the whole hymn in transliteration, each verse with a plain English rendering. The translations are the site’s own; the Awadhi text, four centuries old, is in the public domain.

The opening (two dohas)

The poem begins not with Hanuman but with the poet clearing his own throat — bowing to his teacher, admitting his dullness, and asking for the very things the hymn is about: strength, wit and freedom from trouble.

shri guru charana saroja raja, nija mana mukura sudhari; baranau raghubara bimala jasu, jo dayaku phala chari. — With the dust of my Guru’s lotus feet I polish the mirror of my mind, and sing the pure glory of the best of the Raghus, the giver of the four fruits of life.

buddhihina tanu janike, sumirau pavana-kumara; bala buddhi vidya dehu mohi, harahu kalesa bikara. — Knowing myself dull of body and mind, I call to mind the son of the wind: grant me strength, judgement and knowledge, and take away my afflictions and faults.

Who he is (verses 1–10)

The first ten quatrains are a portrait. They give Hanuman’s radiance, his lineage, his learning and his dress, and end by placing Rama in his heart and Rama’s work in his hands.

1. jaya hanumana gyana guna sagara, jaya kapisa tihu loka ujagara — Victory to you, Hanuman, ocean of wisdom and virtue; victory to the lord of monkeys who lights up the three worlds.

2. rama duta atulita bala dhama, anjani-putra pavanasuta nama — Messenger of Rama, house of measureless strength; son of Anjana, called the child of the wind.

3. mahabira bikrama bajarangi, kumati nivara sumati ke sangi — Great hero, mighty in valour, your limbs hard as the thunderbolt; you drive out low thinking and keep company with the wise.

4. kanchana barana biraja subesa, kanana kundala kunchita kesa — Golden of colour and splendid in your dress, with rings in your ears and hair falling in curls.

5. hatha bajra au dhwaja biraje, kandhe munja janeu saje — In your hands the mace and the banner; across your shoulder the sacred thread of munja grass.

6. shankara suvana kesari nandana, teja pratapa maha jaga bandana — Born of Shankara’s own power, the joy of Kesari; your fire and glory are honoured across the world. (The line naming Hanuman as an aspect of Shiva; some traditions hold him a partial incarnation of Rudra.)

7. bidyavana guni ati chatura, rama kaja karibe ko atura — Learned, accomplished, endlessly clever, and ever eager to do Rama’s work.

8. prabhu charitra sunibe ko rasiya, rama lakhana sita mana basiya — You delight to hear the Lord’s story; Rama, Lakshmana and Sita dwell within your heart.

9. sukshma rupa dhari siyahi dikhava, bikata rupa dhari lanka jarava — Taking a tiny form you appeared to Sita; taking a fearsome form you burned Lanka.

10. bhima rupa dhari asura samhare, ramachandra ke kaja samvare — Taking a mighty form you destroyed the demons, and carried through the work of Ramachandra.

What he did (verses 11–20)

Now the poem turns to the deeds — the events of the Ramayana, above all the Sundara Kanda, that every listener already knows: the saving of Lakshmana, Rama’s embrace, the leap across the sea with Sita’s ring, and, in verse 18, the childhood leap at the sun that would one day become an internet legend.

11. laya sanjivana lakhana jiyaye, shri raghubira harashi ura laye — You brought the sanjivani herb and revived Lakshmana; the joy of Raghuvira, who clasped you to his heart. (Unable to tell which herb was the cure, Hanuman carried back the whole mountain.)

12. raghupati kinhi bahuta badai, tuma mama priya bharata-hi sama bhai — The Lord of the Raghus praised you greatly: “You are as dear to me as my brother Bharata.”

13. sahasra badana tumharo jasa gavai, asa kahi shripati kantha lagavai — “The thousand-mouthed one sings your glory” — so saying, the Lord of Sri drew you into his arms.

14. sanakadika brahmadi munisa, narada sarada sahita ahisa — Sanaka and the sages, Brahma and the gods, Narada, Sarasvati and the serpent-king—

15. jama kubera digapala jahan te, kabi kobida kahi sake kahan te — Yama, Kubera, the guardians of the directions; even poets and scholars—how far can any of them tell your glory?

16. tuma upakara sugriva-hi kinha, rama milaya raja-pada dinha — You did Sugriva a great kindness, bringing him to Rama and gaining him a kingdom.

17. tumharo mantra bibhishana mana, lankeshwara bhaye saba jaga jana — Vibhishana heeded your counsel and became lord of Lanka, as the whole world knows.

18. juga sahasra jojana para bhanu, lilyo tahi madhura phala janu — The sun, a thousand yuga-yojanas away, you swallowed, taking it for a sweet fruit. (This is the verse people quote for the distance to the sun — see below.)

19. prabhu mudrika meli mukha mahi, jaladhi langhi gaye acharaja nahi — Carrying the Lord’s ring in your mouth, you leapt across the ocean — and no wonder in it.

20. durgama kaja jagata ke jete, sugama anugraha tumhare tete — Every task in the world too hard to do becomes easy by your grace.

What he gives (verses 21–30)

From here the hymn shifts from praise to power — to the protection Hanuman offers the one who calls on him: shelter, fearlessness, freedom from illness and from evil spirits, the loosening of every distress.

21. rama duare tuma rakhavare, hota na agya binu paisare — You are the guardian at Rama’s door; none enters without your leave.

22. saba sukha lahai tumhari sarana, tuma rakshaka kahu ko dara na — In your shelter every joy is found; with you as protector, there is nothing to fear.

23. apana teja samharo apai, tinon loka hanka te kanpai — You alone can hold your own power; at your roar the three worlds tremble.

24. bhuta pisacha nikata nahi avai, mahabira jaba nama sunavai — No ghost or goblin comes near, when the name of the great hero is spoken.

25. nase roga harai saba pira, japata nirantara hanumata bira — Disease is destroyed and all pain removed, for those who repeat “brave Hanuman” without ceasing.

26. sankata te hanumana chhudavai, mana krama bachana dhyana jo lavai — Hanuman frees from every distress those who hold him in mind, in word and in deed.

27. saba para rama tapasvi raja, tina ke kaja sakala tuma saja — Over all is Rama, the ascetic king; and all his work you carry through.

28. aura manoratha jo koi lavai, soi amita jivana phala pavai — And whatever else one longs for, through you one gains the boundless fruit of life.

29. charo juga paratapa tumhara, hai parasiddha jagata ujiyara — Your splendour fills the four ages; your fame lights up the world.

30. sadhu santa ke tuma rakhavare, asura nikandana rama dulare — Guardian of the holy and the good, destroyer of demons, beloved of Rama.

The promise, and the poet’s signature (verses 31–40)

The last ten quatrains make the hymn’s deepest claims — that devotion to Hanuman carries one to Rama himself and past the sorrow of rebirth — and then, in a gesture the tradition loves, the poet writes his own name into the poem and asks Hanuman to live in his heart.

31. ashta siddhi nau nidhi ke data, asa bara dina janaki mata — You grant the eight powers and the nine treasures — such was the boon Mother Janaki [Sita] gave you.

32. rama rasayana tumhare pasa, sada raho raghupati ke dasa — You hold the elixir of Rama; may you remain forever the servant of the Lord of the Raghus.

33. tumhare bhajana rama ko pavai, janama janama ke dukha bisaravai — Through devotion to you one reaches Rama, and forgets the sorrows of birth after birth.

34. anta kala raghubara pura jai, jahan janma hari-bhakta kahai — At the last one goes to Rama’s own city, and wherever reborn, is called a devotee of Hari.

35. aura devata chitta na dharai, hanumata sei sarba sukha karai — One need hold no other god in mind; serving Hanuman brings every happiness.

36. sankata katai mitai saba pira, jo sumirai hanumata balabira — All distress is cut away and every pain removed for whoever remembers the mighty Hanuman.

37. jai jai jai hanumana gosai, kripa karahu gurudeva ki nai — Victory, victory, victory to Hanuman, the master; show your grace as my own teacher would.

38. jo sata bara patha kara koi, chhutahi bandi maha sukha hoi — Whoever recites this a hundred times is freed from bondage and gains great joy.

39. jo yaha padhai hanumana chalisa, hoya siddhi sakhi gaurisa — Whoever reads this Hanuman Chalisa attains success — Shiva himself is witness.

40. tulasidasa sada hari chera, kijai natha hridaya maha dera — Tulsidas, ever the servant of Hari, prays: Lord, make your dwelling in my heart.

The closing (doha)

pavana-tanaya sankata harana, mangala murati rupa; rama lakhana sita sahita, hridaya basahu sura-bhupa. — Son of the wind, remover of distress, the very form of blessing: with Rama, Lakshmana and Sita, dwell in my heart, O king of the gods.

That last image is the key to the whole thing. The Chalisa is addressed to Hanuman, but it never lets you forget that Hanuman’s greatness is that he points past himself. He is the door; Rama is the room. Even his own hymn ends by asking him to move the divine family in.

The verse about the sun

One line of the Chalisa — verse 18 above — has escaped the poem and become a story of its own. Describing the child Hanuman’s most famous exploit, leaping into the sky to seize the sun, which he mistook for a ripe fruit, Tulsidas writes that the sun was “a yuga-thousand yojanas away.”

For the last decade or so, a claim has circulated that this line secretly encodes the distance from the Earth to the Sun. The arithmetic runs like this: read yuga as the number 12,000, sahasra as 1,000, and multiply — 12,000 × 1,000 = 12,000,000 yojanas. Fix the yojana at about eight miles, and you get roughly 96 million miles, near enough to the real average distance of about 93 million miles (some 150 million kilometres) to make people gasp.

It is a lovely coincidence, and it deserves to be treated honestly rather than either mocked or oversold. Three things are worth saying plainly. First, the yojana has never had a fixed length: across different texts and periods it ranges from roughly five to fifteen kilometres, which means you can tune the final figure up or down by a factor of three simply by choosing your definition. Second, the calculation multiplies a unit of time — yuga, an age of the world — by a unit of distance, yojana, which is not how measurement works; the phrase is poetic, not dimensional. Third, and most important, the line is not an astronomy lesson at all. It is a devotional image of a baby god so mighty and so innocent that he reached for the sun like a piece of fruit. Tulsidas was singing Hanuman’s impossible strength, not reporting a measurement.

So the site’s answer is the careful one. The near-match is real and charming; it is also numerology, arrived at by choosing the numbers that make it work. It tells us something true — that the tradition imagined vast, cosmic distances and used them freely — without telling us that a sixteenth-century poet had somehow measured the solar system. Wonder does not need to be propped up by a bad calculation. The Chalisa is astonishing enough as what it is.

Why it holds the world it holds

Numbers aside, the Chalisa’s real power is easier to explain and harder to overstate. It is short enough to memorise in an afternoon and to recite in about ten minutes. It is in a language people actually spoke. And it is addressed to the one figure in the whole vast pantheon whom almost everyone trusts without reservation: Hanuman, the servant who wants nothing for himself, whose strength is frightening and whose heart is gentle, the guardian you can call in fear without any theology getting in the way.

That is why it is recited above all for protection. Hanuman’s title Sankat Mochan means “the reliever of distress,” and the Chalisa is his instrument — verses 22 to 26 are almost a catalogue of the fears it answers: danger, illness, evil spirits, the plain dread of the dark. People chant it on Tuesdays and Saturdays, the days held sacred to him; at the start of a journey or an exam or a surgery; and in fear, when the words are already in the mouth. Whether or not one takes the protection literally, the psychology is sound: a known, rhythmic, forty-verse prayer, said in a steadying voice, is a very old and very effective way to meet fear.

The scale of its life today is hard to grasp. It is among the best-selling religious texts ever printed, recorded by nearly every great voice of Indian music across a century, and a single recording of it recently became the first devotional song to pass five billion views online. There are grander hymns in Sanskrit, more ancient, more theologically dense. There is none more said. For a poem written so that a farmer could carry it, that is exactly the victory Tulsidas was after.

What to take from it

The Hanuman Chalisa is a good place to see what bhakti actually does. It takes the loftiest material — a god, the cosmos, the promise of grace — and puts it in the plainest possible words, in the plainest possible metre, in the language of the street, and hands it to everyone. It asks for strength and wit and freedom from affliction, the ordinary goods of a human life, and it asks for them from a figure whose entire greatness is that he used his own strength for someone else. To recite it — even once, even without following every Awadhi word — is to rehearse, forty verses at a time, the thing the tradition most admires: power turned completely into love.