In days of old, when the threat of sorcery loomed, a powerful prayer was uttered: “O weapon against sorcery, strike the one who performed it, destroy that one; we have not spoken of you for harm, but for protection.” The invocation called upon the force of the weapon, not to bring harm indiscriminately, but to shield the innocent from evil. The prayer continued, directing the sorcery itself to return to its originator. “Go to your maker as a son goes to his father, as a servant to his master, as a captive to his bonds; return, sorcery, to the sorcerer.” With vivid imagery, it was wished that the sorcery would find its way back, just as a wild elephant returns to the forest, or a doe to her herd. The spell was to seek its maker, not linger among the blameless. The plea grew stronger: “Let the swiftest arrow fly toward him from heaven and earth; let that sorcery seize him as a hunter seizes a beast, returning to the sorcerer.” The forces of nature were called upon, urging the sorcery to move against its creator as fire attacks a foe, as water flows to its favorable place, as a chariot rolls smoothly along its path. With the threat of sorcery addressed, the narrative turned to the healing power of herbs. “One and ten are my defenders, O herb; born of truth, protected by truth, make sweet for me the honey and the honey-bearer.” The speaker invoked the guardianship of numbers, increasing with each verse: two and twenty, three and thirty, four and forty, five and fifty, six and sixty, seven and seventy—each time entreating the herb, born and protected by truth, to bring sweetness and harmony. The numbers grew yet higher: eight and eighty, nine and ninety, ten and a hundred, a hundred and a thousand. Now, the herb was not only a defender but an utterer, bearing truth, granting honey and skill in honey-handedness to the supplicant. The story then honored the age and vitality of the herb: “If you are one-year-old, you are full of juice.” This refrain was repeated for each year up to ten, celebrating the fullness and potency of the herb. Yet, when the herb reached eleven years, it was declared waterless, its vigor spent. The tale shifted to a profound teaching about purity, truth, and the sacredness of the Brahmin’s wife. Those who spoke first, in the sin of Brahman, were the wellless, water, Mātariśvan—those who carried away the enclosure, bringing heat, fierce joy, and divine waters, firstborn of truth. Soma the king was first to enter the Brahmin’s wife, and, having been taken away, gave her again. Varuṇa and Mitra followed, and Agni, the priest, led her, grasping her by the hand. The teaching was clear: she is to be grasped only by the hand, as the seat of the Brahmin’s wife, not sent to a messenger. Thus, the realm is guarded for the ruler. There is one whom people call the star-haired, the disheveled, who brings misfortune upon entering a village. She is the Brahmin’s wife, and she scatters the kingdom where the hare, bearing a blazing brand, has arrived. The celibate moves about, free from hatred, becoming a limb of the gods. It was by such a one that Bṛhaspati found the wife, whom the gods, led by Soma, had carried away like an oblation. The gods and the ancient Seven Sages, who sat with austerity, spoke about her; the terrible wife of the Brahmin, once taken away, places a grievous burden in the highest heaven. Her harm is far-reaching: those embryos cast down, whatever moves and is destroyed, and heroes who perish in mutual strife—all are affected by the Brahmin’s wife when she is taken away. Even if a woman had ten previous husbands who were not Brahmins, if the Brahmin grasps her hand, he alone is her husband in truth. The Brahmin alone is the husband—not the Kṣatriya, not the Vaiśya. Thus the Sun proclaims this to the five races of men. The gods restored her, and men restored her; the kings, upholding truth, restored the Brahmin’s wife. When she is restored, made free from guilt with the gods, they partake of the earth’s nourishment and abundant praise. But in that kingdom where the Brahmin’s wife is held in captivity, his own wife does not lie on a splendid, well-adorned couch. No one with mutilated ears or a broad head is born in that house, in that kingdom where the Brahmin’s wife is held in captivity. Thus, the story weaves together prayers against sorcery, the celebration of healing herbs, and the sacredness of truth and purity, all upheld by divine and human guardianship, echoing through the ages.