With a yearning for fortune and protection, I sought the blessings of Bhaga, Śāṃśapena, Indra, and the earth herself, invoking their power to make my life auspicious and to keep all adversities at bay. I remembered how, with Bhaga’s brilliance, the trees were overcome, and I prayed that this same force would grant me good fortune, sheltering me from misfortune’s approach. I called upon Fortune herself—blind, ever-returning, dwelling among the trees—to turn her favor toward me, so that my enemies would be left exhausted and powerless. Yet, longing and desire stirred within, the kind that touches charioteers and even the celestial Apsarases. I pleaded with the gods to drive this longing away, so that it would not bring me sorrow. I wished that the one I loved would remember me, that my beloved would keep me in her thoughts, but I begged the gods to remove this yearning from my heart, lest it cause me pain. If she remembered me, let me be spared from remembering her, I prayed, seeking relief from the ache of unfulfilled desire. I then called upon the Maruts, the winds, to bring me joy; upon the midspace, to grant me delight; and upon Agni, the fire, to fill me with gladness, so that longing would no longer trouble me. I urged all sorrowful yearning to fall away—from my head, from my wealth, from my very body—imploring the gods to cast it out and leave me at peace. Turning to Anumati, I asked for her favor in my actions, my intentions, and my offerings, seeking her blessing so that longing would not trouble me. I recalled the Ashvins, swift divine twins, who travel leagues upon leagues and return again—fathers to our sons—invoking their cyclical journey as a symbol of the cycles of desire and release. I recognized that longing, when sprinkled by the gods, can burn within the waters of the heart, mingling with distress. By the ordinance of Varuṇa, I called for that burning to be scorched away—not just by one god, but by all: Indrāṇī, Indra and Agni, Mitra and Varuṇa. Whoever was afflicted by this longing, I wished for their suffering to be consumed and ended by Varuṇa’s decree. I then reflected on the sacred girdle, bound and fastened by the gods, a symbol of restraint and protection. I prayed that the deity who commanded its power would release us, guiding us to the farther shore of safety. The girdle, honored by seers, was both weapon and vow, slayer of heroes, and I called upon it to fulfill its purpose. Embracing celibacy and austerity, I sought to bind death itself, drawing power from Brahman, tapas, and effort, and I asked the girdle—born of faith and austerity, sibling to the seers—to grant me wisdom, intelligence, strength, and a long life. As I prayed for protection, I invoked the thunderbolt, wishing it would bring satisfaction, shatter the realm of my enemies, and break their strength, just as the Lord of Power once struck down Vritra. I wished for my foes to be hidden beneath the earth, struck down by the thunderbolt, their pride and power brought low. Whenever I ate, I felt renewed strength, as if wielding the thunderbolt myself, ready to break the shoulders of my adversaries as the Lord of Power did before. Whatever I drank, I consumed fully, like the ocean drinking up all things, and I called upon my companions to draw out the life-breaths of my enemies, to consume them together. And whatever I spoke, I spoke forth completely, just as the ocean roars forth, wishing that by our words, too, my adversaries’ spirits would be cast out. Turning to the earth’s gifts, I addressed the divine plant, born from the sacred soil, and dug it up to strengthen the roots—especially for firmness in the hair. I asked the herb to make the ancient ones firm, to strengthen the living, and to invigorate those already born. For every hair that fell or was plucked, I sprinkled it with this universal remedy of herbs, seeking to restore and renew. I remembered the legendary plant that Jamadagni once dug up for his daughter, to foster her hair’s growth, and which Vītahavya later brought from Asita’s house. I wished the herbs to be bound and measured for me, so that black hair would grow thick and lush, encircling the head like reeds. I asked the herb to make the roots firm, hold the tips, and extend the middle, that hair might flourish abundantly. Yet, not all herbs were for growth and vigor. I invoked the most renowned of plants to sap the virility of an enemy, making him impotent and lacking in strength. I called for Indra to split his testicles with the two stones, rendering him a eunuch. With ritual words, I declared him sapless and placed the sign of impotence upon his head. I broke the very tubes of his manhood, as women break reeds for the weaver, shattering his strength and placing the pot of impotence upon him. In the end, I turned to Nyastikā, the plant with a hundred shoots and thirty-three roots, asking her to grow and bring good fortune to me. With her thousand leaves, I sought to dry up the heart of my adversary, so that his desire would wither within him, his mouth parched, and his longing for me gone. But for myself, I invoked the uniter, the auspicious and well-shaped one, to bring together hearts, to unite me with my beloved, and to make our hearts one. Thus, through prayer, invocation, and the sacred powers of earth and deity, I sought fortune, protection, release from longing, strength, and the unity of love—ever guided by the ancient wisdom and the favor of the gods.