By the ancient waters, a mysterious power stirs—one upon whom the gods themselves have poured the burning longing of desire, mingled with distress, so that he smolders deep within the waters’ embrace. By the sacred ordinance of Varuṇa, I call upon this force, invoking its scorching potency on your behalf. Again and again, all the gods together anoint him with longing, and again, by Varuṇa’s command, I send forth this searing heat for you. Indrāṇī, too, with her divine will, sprinkles him with longing, so that he burns within the waters, his heart heavy with distress. By Varuṇa’s law, I channel this fiery force for you. Indra and Agni, united in purpose, have also poured this longing upon him, kindling his suffering within the waters, and I, in obedience to Varuṇa, direct this scorching energy for you. Even Mitra and Varuṇa themselves have joined in this act, and by their ordinance, I continue this work, sending longing and distress to burn within. Now, let us honor the god who bound this sacred girdle, who fastened and joined it for us, whose command guides our every act. May he, yearning for the farther shore, release us from bondage. This girdle, revered by seers, is a weapon of power, the first to taste the vow, the slayer of heroes—let it remain so, steadfast and strong. I declare: I am a celibate, shielded from death as I step forth, seeking from the very essence of being a boon from Yama. Through the power of Brahman, through austerity and steadfast effort, I draw him forth, binding him with this sacred girdle. Born from faith, daughter of austerity, sister to the seers, crafted by all beings—O girdle, grant us wisdom, intelligence, austerity, and strength. You, whom the ancient seers and creators of beings have worn, embrace me too, O girdle, that I may enjoy a long life. Let the thunderbolt be the instrument of satisfaction, let it shatter the enemy’s realm and take his very life. May it break his neck and collarbone, just as the Lord of Power once struck down Vritra. Let the lower be hidden beneath the upper, concealed in the earth, and let the foe lie fallen, struck by the thunderbolt. Seek out the one who prevails and strike him down; O thunderbolt, bring down the crest of the one who overcomes, causing him to fall behind. Whenever I eat, I gain strength, and so I take up the thunderbolt to shatter the foe’s shoulders, as the Lord of Power did to Vritra. Whatever I drink, I consume completely, as the ocean drinks up all rivers; let us draw out his life-breaths together, drinking him up. And whatever I speak, I utter forth entirely, as the ocean thunders forth; having spoken out his life-breaths, let us speak him forth together. Now, O divine plant, sprung from the divine on earth, O herb, I dig you up from the hair to grant firmness and strength. Strengthen the ancient ones, bring forth those already born, and make the living even more vigorous. For every hair that falls, root and all, or is plucked, I use this universal remedy, sprinkling it with healing herbs. Remember the plant that Jamadagni once dug up for his daughter to restore her hair, the same one Vītahavya brought from the house of Asita. Let these potent herbs be bound and measured for me, so that your black hairs may grow all around your head like reeds. Firm the root, hold the tip, and extend the middle, O herb—let your black hair flourish, encircling your head thickly as reeds by the water. Among all plants, you are the most excellent and renowned, O herb. Today, I call upon you to render this man impotent and devoid of virility. Make him powerless, lacking in manhood, a eunuch; then let Indra, with his two stones, split both his testicles. Impotent I make you, eunuch I make you, sapless I make you—upon his head I place the sign of impotence and the pot. Those two tubes, formed by the gods and by which manhood stands, I break with a club upon his testicles. Just as women break reeds with a stone for the weaver, so I break your manhood, upon his testicles. O Nyastikā, grow forth and bring me good fortune! You have a hundred shoots and thirty-three roots. With you, O thousand-leaved one, I dry up the heart of my adversary. May his heart wither within, may his mouth dry up, and may his desire for me fade away, departing with parched lips. O uniter, well-shaped and tawny, bring together what has been separated; unite her and me, let our hearts become one. Yet, just as a mouth does not parch when water is drunk, so let your desire for me dry up, and depart with thirst unquenched. As the mongoose, having torn apart the snake, joins it together again, so, O vigorous one, restore what desire has separated. As two tigers, crouching, hunger for their father and mother, so, O Brahmanaspati and Jātavedas, make the teeth of the young auspicious. Rice, barley, beans, and sesame—these are your offerings, set aside as treasure; let your teeth never harm father or mother. Summoned and yoked together, may your teeth be gentle and most auspicious; let any fierceness depart elsewhere—let not your teeth harm father or mother. The wind has gathered them, Tvaṣṭṛ holds them for nourishment, Indra speaks over them, and Rudra heals them for strength. With the red hatchet, let a sign be made at the ears; O Aśvins, we have marked this token—may it bring abundance of offspring. As the gods and asuras fashioned, and as men have done, so, O Aśvins, make this mark for a thousandfold increase. Rise up now, O barley, be abundant by your own greatness! Overcome all obstacles, let no heavenly bolt strike you. Wherever we bring you, barley, as a god to be heard, there rise up, steadfast and unshaken, like the sky and the sea. In this way, the ancient hymns weave together the powers of gods, plants, and sacred acts, binding the world in longing and release, in strength and healing, in union and abundance.