Hear now the tale as revealed in these sacred verses of the Atharva Veda. There are herbs of mysterious power, named Tābuva and Tastuva. They are called by their own names, yet are not merely those names, nor are they ghēttvam—some other form or presence. With Tābuva, the sapless poison is rendered harmless; with Tastuva, too, the sapless poison loses its force. Once, the mighty eagle soared through the sky and discovered a potent herb. The boar, diligent and strong, dug it up for humankind. This sharp herb is invoked: strike down the one who strikes, destroy what is done and what is yet to be done. Let this herb be the weapon against sorcerers—strike them down, destroy their evil deeds, whether completed or begun. Whoever attacks us, O herb, may you strike them down in return. Just as the skin is peeled from the spotted deer, so, O gods, cut away the sorcery from the sorcerer, and release it, as a jewel is released from its setting. Let the sorcerer grasp the sorcery by the hand and lead it away; place it before us so that the sorcery may turn and strike its own maker. Let the oaths and spells of the sorcerer fall back upon the sorcerer himself. May the sorcery return smoothly to its originator, as a chariot rolls along its path. Whether a woman or a man performed the sorcery for harm, let that sorcery be led back to them, as a horse is led by its caller. Whether the sorcery was made by gods or men, now we lead it back, with Indra as our ally. Agni, destroyer in battle, overcome the battles; we reclaim the sorcery from the sorcerer by counteraction. O weapon against sorcery, strike the one who performed it, destroy that one. We have not spoken of you for harm, but for protection. Return to your maker, sorcery, as a son returns to his father, as a servant to his master, as a captive to his bonds. Let the sorcery reach its maker as a wild elephant returns to the forest, as a doe to her herd. Let the swiftest arrow fly toward the sorcerer from heaven and earth. Let the sorcery seize him as a hunter seizes a beast. May the sorcery move against its maker as fire moves against the foe, as water flows to what is favorable, as a chariot rolls smoothly on its way. Now, the herb is surrounded by defenders. One and ten stand in its protection, born of truth, guarded by truth. The honey and the honey-bearer are made sweet for us. Two and twenty, three and thirty, four and forty, five and fifty, six and sixty, seven and seventy—each group of defenders stands firm, born and protected by truth, making sweet the honey and its bearer. Eight and eighty, nine and ninety, ten and a hundred, a hundred and a thousand—these are the utterers of the herb, born of truth, bearing truth. May honey and honey-handedness be ours. If the herb is one year old, it is full of juice. If it is two years old, it is full of juice. Three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten years old—the herb is always full of juice. But if it is eleven years old, it is waterless. Those who spoke first spoke of the sin of Brahman, the wellless, water, Mātariśvan. They are those who carry away the enclosure, heat, fierce, bringers of joy, divine waters, firstborn of truth. Soma the king was first with the Brahman's wife; again he gave her, being taken away. Varuṇa and Mitra followed, Agni the priest led her, grasping her by the hand. She is to be grasped only by the hand, as the seat of the Brahman's wife, so it was said. She is not to be sent to a messenger; she stands thus, so the realm is guarded for the ruler. Thus flows the tale, woven from the verses, of herbs, sorcery, defenders, and the sacred truths that protect and guide.