। ॥ १० ॥
In plain words
With silk of the purest white, brought from the tree of the deathless ones, I dry that great mass of matted hair—Śiva, Mṛtyuñjaya, my Lord.
Close to the Sanskrit
With silk exceedingly white, brought from the tree of the immortals, I wipe the mass of matted locks — O Śiva, O Conqueror of Death, O Lord.