O Gracious One, you traverse hidden paths in the vast sky, guiding all things in their courses. By those same celestial ways, we pray, lead us toward well-being and safety. In our search for healing, we gather potent remedies: some collected from the long-lived black ant, some from the earthen mound, and from the very joints of the scorpion, along with a hundred roots, we draw out the poison. Among these, there is an herb born of honey—sweet and full of honey—which is a remedy for what has been scattered and a spell to ward off the biting mosquito. Wherever the bite or sting has struck, we call forth the poison from that very spot—the tasteless venom of the biting, stinging mosquito. To the Lord of Speech, we appeal: you who straighten what is crooked, who heal twisted faces and bodies, as reeds are straightened, bring harmony where harm has come. You have removed from us the poison of the creeping, approaching scorpion, and healing has returned. Scorpion, you have no strength in your arms, your head, or your middle; why then do you harm the child with your evil tail? The ants bite you, peafowl tear you apart, and all creatures declare the tasteless poison you bear. You strike with both tail and mouth, yet no poison dwells in your mouth—what, then, is hidden in your tail? Within myself, O Sarasvatī, whatever has been disturbed as I speak, as I beg, or as I move among people—whatever has been scattered in my body—may you fill that with the richness of ghee. Seven sons flow for the child, for the father of the Maruts; these sons have revealed truths, both striving and flourishing for him. Indra and Varuṇa, partake of this pressed Soma, intoxicating and well-prepared, you who are steadfast in your vows. May your chariot arrive at the sacrifice, to the offering for the gods, to drink from your own stream. May you both enjoy the most honeyed, strong Soma, coming to this libation sprinkled here, rejoicing on this sacred grass. Whoever curses us, or refrains, or curses in any manner—may he wither away from the root, as a tree struck by lightning. Bearing strength, wisdom, and a friendly gaze, I approach these houses with reverence. Rejoice, do not fear me. These houses are filled with joy, strength, and abundance, standing full on the left; may they recognize us as we come. In their midst dwell travelers, and goodwill abounds; we call upon these houses—may they know us as we arrive. Wealthy friends are summoned, sweet in gathering; houses, be free of hunger and thirst—do not fear us. Cows, goats, and sheep are called, as well as the essence of food, into these homes. Let them be full of good speech, fortune, refreshment, laughter, and joy; let them be without hunger or thirst, and not fear us. Remain here, flourish in all forms; with good fortune, I will return—may you grow ever greater with me. O Agni, with the heat of austerity, we perform our penance; may we become dear to the learned, long-lived, and wise. Hearing the teachings, may we practice and perform austerity, gaining long life and wisdom. This Agni is the true lord, ever-strong, like a charioteer who conquers foot soldiers, the priest set at the navel of the earth, flashing without thunder. May those who strive establish a firm foundation. We invoke Agni, conqueror in battle, enduring, with hymns of praise from the highest seat; may he lead us through all difficulties and carry us beyond misfortune. If the black bird flies out or falls, may the waters protect us from all misfortune and evil. If the black bird cries out, O goddess of destruction, may Agni, the household fire, release us from that offense. O apāmārga, who bears fruit facing backward, you have grown up; drive away all who walk paths of harm. Whatever wrong, impurity, or evil we have done, with you, apāmārga, who faces all directions, we wipe it away. Whatever we have shared with those of dark teeth, ill nails, or the outcast, with you, apāmārga, we remove all that. Whether it was in the mid-air, the wind, the trees, or the hollows—whatever the cattle heard rising up, may that Brāhmaṇa return to us again. May my strength, spirit, wealth, and Brāhmaṇa return; may the sacred fires, set in their proper places, be established again. O Sarasvatī, in your divine vows and heavenly abodes, accept the offering that has been presented; grant us offspring. This is your offering, rich in ghee, the oblation for the Fathers, the food for their mouths. By your most auspicious gifts may we become full of sweetness. May the wind blow well for us, may the sun warm us kindly; may our days and nights be auspicious, and may the dawn shine well for us. Yet, whatever he offers—with mind, speech, sacrifice, oblation, or yajus—may Nirṛti, in accord with Death, destroy that offering before it reaches the truth. May the Yātudhānas and Nirṛti, taking hold, strike him with untruth and destroy his truth; may the gods, urged by Indra, crush his sacrifice, so his offering does not reach its mark. Like two swift kings, like eagles swooping down, may the ghee, struck from the vessel, destroy whoever has harmed us. I bind both his arms behind him, I bind his mouth; with the wrath of Agni, I have struck down his oblation. I bind his arms and mouth; with the fierce wrath of Agni, I have struck down his oblation. Thus, through prayer, healing, and the power of sacred fires and offerings, we seek protection, prosperity, and the removal of harm, ever guided by the gods’ grace.