In the ancient times, when ailments troubled humankind, the sages turned to the sacred black herb, whose very abode and foundation was darkness itself. They invoked its power, praying, “O black herb, with your deep essence, destroy the leprosy and the pallor that afflicts us.” They asked that any mark—whether on bone, flesh, or skin, even those known as the Brahman’s mark—be removed, that the white blemish may vanish from the body. In the beginning, the eagle was born first among beings, and from it came the bile that became the seed of transformation. Then, a demoness, once conquered in battle, took it upon herself to shape the forms of all the trees. It was she who first created the remedy for leprosy, a medicine to destroy the disease and restore the skin to uniformity, free from blemish. The herb itself was born of this power—its mother called Uniform, its father called Uniform. The sages invoked this herb: “O herb, you are made uniform; make this one uniform too.” They called upon the dark one, the maker of uniformity, raised from the earth, to restore bodies anew, to accomplish healing. Elsewhere, they spoke of the place where fire and water met and burned, where the bearers of law bowed in reverence. There, they said, was the highest origin, and they prayed that the wise one would remove fever from them. Whether fever appeared as flame, burning, or spark, or by any name or form—Hrūḍu, god of the green—they called for release from its grip. They addressed fever as Sorrow and as the absence of Sorrow, as the son of King Varuṇa, always invoking Hrūḍu, the god of the green, to know them and remove the fever from their midst. They offered homage to cold fever and to the fierce, burning one, to fever that came on alternate days, every day, or every third day—offering reverence to all its forms. Turning to other dangers, they prayed, “May that weapon be far from us, O gods; let it not exist. May the stone of Yama, lord of death, be kept at a distance.” They wished for generosity to be their friend, for Indra and Bhaga to favor them, and for Savitṛ, the giver of splendid gifts, to grant his friendship. The Maruts, sons of the shining one, were asked to grant broad protection as they moved forward. “Be gracious,” they pleaded, “show us mercy, especially to our bodies, and bring joy to our children.” They remembered the three times seven, those ageless ones on the far shore, and prayed that with their vitality, they might cross over the destroyers and obstacles of decay. The destroyers, unsuccessful in their efforts, were scattered like reeds, unable to withstand or endure. The people were urged to rise, to fill their homes, and to call upon Indra and the first-conquered, the dwellers in the city, to come and protect them. The god Agni advanced, driving away demons and evildoers, burning up the double-tongued, the sorcerers, and the malicious. The prayer was for Agni to burn up all those who wished harm, especially the sorceresses with black streaks. Those who cursed, who brought madness or stole the sap of life, were wished to be consumed by their own actions, to eat their own offspring. Let the wild-haired ones destroy each other, let the sorceresses perish, and let the enemies waste away. For victory and sovereignty, the sages invoked the power of the victorious amulet, the very one by which Indra grew strong. “With that, O Brahmaṇaspati, make us grow for sovereignty.” They prayed to overcome rivals and enemies, to stand firm against those who contend with them. Strengthened by Savitṛ, by Soma, and by all beings, the victorious amulet was bound for sovereignty and the defeat of rivals. As the sun rose and their words emerged, they wished to become slayers of enemies, without rivals, shining among heroes and people—a bull, a ruler, a conqueror of poison and adversaries. For the protection of their own, they called upon all the gods and Vasus to protect, for the Ādityas to awaken, and for no one—kin or stranger—to bring untimely death. To the gods, ancestors, and sons, they offered prayers for well-being and safe passage to old age. They called upon the gods dwelling in heaven, earth, atmosphere, among plants, animals, and waters to grant long life and vigor, to escape a hundred deaths. The assembly-seats of the gods, their shares of offerings, were all appointed for the one they wished to protect. To the four guardians of hope and the immortal ones, to the overseers of existence, they offered oblation. “Release us from the snares of destruction and harm,” they prayed. They worshipped the four gods, guardians of hope, with clarified butter, asking the fourth to grant them excellent existence. They wished well-being for mother and father, for cows, for the world, and for all people, praying for prosperity, auspiciousness, and the blessing of seeing the sun for as long as they lived. Finally, the people were called to know the truth: the great Brahman speaks, and there is nothing on earth or in heaven by which plants breathe, except by the will of the divine. The atmosphere is the abode of the plants, a place of rest for the weary. The seat of this being is known to the wise creator, or perhaps remains a mystery. When earth and sky are agitated and the land is measured out, the world is kept moist, like the waters of the ocean. All is enveloped by another, and established upon another. With reverence, they honored heaven, the all-knowing, and earth, the eternal support. Thus, through invocation, prayer, and wisdom, the sages sought healing, protection, victory, and the blessings of long life, harmony, and prosperity for all beings under the sun.