In ancient times, there were those who grew in power and pride, their ambitions swelling beyond measure, yet they could not reach the heights of the sky. In their arrogance, they brought harm to the sage Bhrigu, and thus, the Sṛñjayas and the Vaitahavyas met their destruction. The people who handed over the Brahmin—the singer of the great Sāman—fell into ruin; their elders and their children alike perished, their line extinguished. Those who cast out the Brahmin, or who sought to barter him for a price, found themselves sitting in the midst of the river’s course, reduced to eating their own hair in misery. As long as the cow belonging to the Brahmin is being cooked, her spirit wanders restlessly; her energy destroys kingdoms, and no mighty hero is born in those lands. Her curse is fierce, her flesh is tough to consume, and the milk taken from her brings sin upon the ancestors. If a king, thinking himself strong, dares to harm the Brahmin, his kingdom is abandoned, wherever the Brahmin may dwell. A dreadful force arises in such lands—an apparition with eight feet, four eyes, four ears, four jaws, two mouths, and two tongues: the slayer of the Brahman, who shakes the very foundations of the kingdom. That kingdom, once proud, flows away like water from a broken boat; where the Brahman is harmed, evil consumes and destroys all. Even the trees reject such a one, saying, “Let not his shadow fall upon us,” to those who covet the wealth of a Brahman, as Nārada knows. King Varuṇa himself declared, “This is poison made by the gods: no one who has eaten the cow of a Brahman ever prospers in the kingdom.” When the offspring of the Brahman are harmed, the earth herself shudders—nine times ninety lands trembling—and utter ruin follows. For the slayer of the Brahman, the clod tied to the foot of the dead becomes his bedding, as decreed by the gods. The tears shed by the compassionate and the conquered become his share of the waters; the water used to bathe the dead, to moisten the beard, is also assigned to him by the gods. No Maitrāvaruṇa rain falls upon the slayer of the Brahman; no assembly welcomes him, nor does any friend come under his sway. In another time, the drum was prepared—a mighty instrument, carved from wood and filled with the strength of cows. When it resounded, it shattered the enemy’s speech and subdued rivals, roaring like a lion, conquering and proclaiming victory. Standing firm and bound with straps, the drum roared like a bull scenting a cow, subduing rivals with Indra-given power and overcoming foes. Like a bull breaking through the herd, seeking cows, the drum roared aloud, piercing the hearts of enemies with its brightness and driving them from the villages. The army was roused; the drum grasped long life and looked in all directions, uttering divine speech and revealing the knowledge of the foes. Its sound, uttered with intent, was recognized and feared; even the enemy’s wife, clutching her child, fled in terror from the slaughter. First, the drum spoke out on the earth’s surface, shining forth and announcing the enemy’s army. Its glorious voice was true, and its echoes rang out between earth and sky, calling victory and making fame for the trumpet and the glory of heaven. Crafted with great skill, the drum uttered speech, aroused the weapons of the strong, and summoned Indra and friends, driving away all who were unfriendly. Resounding together with the army, the drum proclaimed and announced in many ways, serving as the herald of the village, seeking what was better and bringing forth fame. The drum was the possessor of auspicious insight, victorious in wealth and strength, and conqueror in battle, firm in sacred knowledge. Just as the mountain presses the Soma with the stone, so the drum resounded with knowledge upon the field. It was the destroyer of enemies, breaker of hostile might, seeker of cattle, enduring and rising up—like speech bringing forth a mantra, the drum’s utterance brought victory. Unshaken and full of energy, swift and skilled in assemblies, shining in heart, the drum, protected by Indra, led the way to the destruction of enemies and to triumph. The drum then became the instrument to drive away heartache, confusion, and enmity among foes. Hatred, trembling, and fear were laid upon the enemies—struck down by the drum’s power. Enemies, trembling in mind, in sight, and in heart, fled in terror, running even when offerings of clarified butter were poured in sacrifice. Crafted from the forest, adorned with red cows, and belonging to all clans, the drum, anointed with clarified butter, drove terror into the hearts of enemies. Just as wild animals scatter from a man in the forest, so did the drum’s cry send enemies fleeing, confounding their minds. Like sheep before a wolf, trembling greatly, or birds fleeing from a hawk or the lion’s roar, so did the drum’s voice scatter the foe. The drum and the deerskin together drove away enemies, even terrifying the gods who stood on the side of battle. By the sounds of marching feet and shifting shadows that delight Indra, the enemies were filled with dread as they came in hostile ranks. The twang of the bowstring and the drums resounded in all directions, defeating and scattering the enemy armies. The Sun was called upon to grant sight, his rays pursuing the fleeing enemies, scattering their companions as their strength failed. The fierce Maruts, children of Prisni, together with Indra, struck down the enemies; Soma the king, Varuna the king, Mahadeva, and Death—all were as Indra in that moment. The divine armies, banners of the Sun, conscious and aware, conquered the foes. Svaha! Finally, Agni was invoked to drive away fever, with Soma, the sacred stone, and Varuna of pure skill. The altar, the sacred grass, and the shining kindling were called upon to remove all hatred far away, restoring peace and sanctity to the land.