Listen now to the tale woven from the Atharva Veda, a hymn of protection, healing, and the warding off of evils, where the power of herbs and the might of the gods are invoked for the well-being of a woman, her family, and her community. There are those who, in the realm of dreams, approach a woman as if they were her brother or her father. Against such shadowy presences—be they impotent or those who bear crests—the charm endures, holding them at bay. Even in waking or sleeping, should any pursue her or cast longing eyes upon her, the ever-moving sun is called upon to drive them away, scattering them like fleeting shadows. Should anyone seek to make this woman bereft, as one who has lost her child or as a widow, the sacred herb is invoked to dispel that darkness, to restore her vitality and joy. Around the house, as evening falls, some may gather—braying like donkeys, hunchbacked, pot-bellied, crooked, dark, or lean. To these bringers of disease, the fragrant herb brings destruction. Those who, clad in torn garments, dance about with impotent gestures and make noise in the forest, are driven away from this home. There are those who cannot endure the sun’s light, who dwell in goat-skins, foul-smelling, with red mouths and fly-like ways. These hostile ones, too, are sent away. Those who carry excessive flesh and strike at the loins of women are named as demons, and Indra is called upon to destroy them. Others, like their forerunners, move about with horns in hand, dwell in refuse, laugh loudly, or kindle strange lights in stumps; they, too, are cast out. There are those with feet turned backward, heels in front, faces forward; the bald, the smoke-born, the swollen, the muttering, the pot-bellied, the iron-testicled, and the gluttonous. Brahmanaspati is entreated to destroy them with awareness for the woman. The drooping-eyed, the crippled, the impotent—may the remedy render them powerless, especially those who seek to separate a woman from her true husband. If any rise against her—wild-haired ascetics, the yawning, those who touch impurities, or who approach the fig tree, the tufted bird, or the crested fowl—let them be struck down, just as a cow might kick away the vessel with her heel. Whoever would harm her embryo, whether already formed or newly conceived, may the tawny, fierce-bowed one strike them in the heart. Those who kill the unborn, who lurk around a birthing woman, or seize the portions of women—the tawny Gandharvas—are driven away by the wind, scattered like clouds. May what is scattered be gathered together, and may what is beneficial remain; let the fierce twin healers guard the embryo. From the one with a broken penis, from the mutilated-headed, from the naked one, may the tawny Kimīdin protect for the sake of offspring and the husband. From the two-mouthed, the four-eyed, the five-footed, the fingerless, and the one who creeps from the stalk—let protection come from those who encircle. Those who eat raw flesh, who devour human meat, the hairy ones who consume embryos—let them all be driven away. Those who creep forth from the sun, as a daughter-in-law leaves her father-in-law’s house, may the noose and the tawny one pierce their hearts. Tawny one, protect the one being born; do not turn woman into man, nor crush embryos from the egg—repel these Kimīdins. Let barrenness, the evil of spring, and the curse of ancestors not seize us; as a garland is removed from a tree, so release us from what is not dear. In this sacred invocation, all the herbs are called: the brown, the bright, the red, the speckled, the black, and the dark. These herbs, whose father is the sky, whose mother is the earth, whose root is the ocean, are summoned to protect from disease sent by the gods. The sacred waters and divine herbs are asked to drive illness from every limb. The spreading, restraining, single-spiked, expanding, radiant, thorny, and many-branched herbs—all the mighty, universal plants, givers of life to men—are invoked. With their strength, enduring power, and might, they are called to release this man from disease, as the remedy is prepared. The living, unfailing, life-giving herbs, ever-rising, flowering, and honey-sweet, are summoned to grant safety. Let the wise, earth-born ones come at these words, so that the man may be delivered from misfortune. The food of Agni, the embryo of the waters, those that grow again and again—the firm, thousand-named healing herbs—are brought forth. The herbs, whose essence is water, with downward-pointing stalks and sharp points, are called to drive away misfortune. The fierce herbs, which release poisons, destroy strength and food, and remove sorcery, are set free here. The praised and powerful plants, invoked and mighty, are asked to protect cattle, horses, men, and all animals in the village. Sweet is the root, sweet the tip, sweet the middle of these plants; sweet are their leaves and flowers. Born of honey, they are the food of immortality, yielding ghee and nourishment for cow and bull alike. As many and as great as the herbs that cover the earth, may the thousand-leaved ones release from death and harm. The tiger-stone of the plants, protector from curses, is invoked to ward off all diseases and destroy all dangers. As the roar of a lion or the crackling of fire scatters, so may the disease of cattle and men be driven away, the flow of illness sent to the river. The herbs, released from the universal fire and spreading over the earth, whose king is the Lord of the Forest, have grown. The Angirasa herbs, growing on mountains and level ground, are called to be rich in milk, auspicious, and to bring well-being to the heart. The herbs known and seen, those unknown and those discovered together, are all invoked. May they heed these words, as the afflicted one is led away from misfortune. The sacred fig, the darbha grass, the plants, Soma the king, the immortal offering, rice and barley, the remedies—children of heaven, immortal—are all gathered in this prayer, a tapestry of protection, healing, and life, woven by the wisdom of the seers for the well-being of all.