The dead live in the creator’s skull,
In vast snowy wastes of north hills,
Where we offer smooth rice balls
Nicely rounded by our loving hand
And the fastest freezing river flows
Below, where we speak in mantras.
We do not know our senior dead.
So we speak softly of all our dead
Including the new dead in mantras.
The dead hear us in Creator’s skull
Where the ice stream flows green
And we say unspeakable mantras
In the oldest language of the dead.
Our rice balls are smooth- rounded .
As there are no crows in snow hills.
We offer our rice to freezing river.
(At the Brahma Kapal (Creator’s skull) in the Himalayas we make our rice offerings to our dead)