Sumaṅgala’s Mother

I’m well freed, well freed,
so very well freed from the pounding of the pestle!
My disgusting husband inflated like a mushroom,
my mortar wafted like an eel.

Now, as for greed and hate:
I sear them and sizzle them up.
Having gone to the root of a tree,
I meditate happily, thinking, “Oh, what bliss!”