In a time when unseen forces threatened the well-being of families, women, and the unborn, a solemn invocation rose—a call for protection, justice, and healing. The guardians of righteousness were beseeched to strike down all that endangered life and purity: those who rose in hostility, the wild-haired ascetic, the yawning, the impure, those who approached the sacred fig tree, and the birds with distinctive tufts and crests. Even as a cow kicks away a milk-pail, so too should these threats be struck down and cast aside. A fervent plea followed: let the one, tawny and fierce-bowed, smite anyone who would harm or destroy the embryo, whether it was already formed or newly conceived. May those who kill the unborn, those who lurk around women in childbirth, and those who seize what belongs to women—the tawny Gandharvas—be driven away like clouds by the wind. The scattered should be gathered, and all that is beneficial should remain; the fierce twin healers were invoked to guard the embryo. From those with deformities—whether broken, mutilated, or naked—may the tawny Kimīdin offer protection for offspring and for the unity of husband and wife. Protection was sought from the strange and the malformed: the two-mouthed, the four-eyed, the five-footed, the fingerless, and the one creeping forth from the stalk. Let none who encircle bring harm. Those who eat raw flesh, those who devour human meat, and the hairy ones who consume embryos—these malevolent beings were to be driven away. Those who crept forth from the sun, as a daughter-in-law leaves her father-in-law’s house, were to be pierced at the heart by the noose and the tawny one. A prayer rose for the tawny one to protect the one being born: let the woman not be turned into a man, let no embryo be crushed within the egg, and let the Kimīdins be repelled. May barrenness, the evil of spring, and ancestral curses not seize the people; just as a garland is removed from a tree, so may all that is not dear be lifted away. Then, turning to the healing powers of the earth, a great invocation was made to the herbs: the brown, the bright, the red and speckled, the black and dark—all were called to aid. These herbs, whose father is the sky, whose mother is the earth, and whose root is the ocean, were summoned to protect from diseases sent by the gods. The waters and the divine herbs were invoked to drive sickness from every limb. The spreading, restraining, single-spiked, expanding, radiant, thorny, and many-branched herbs—mighty, universal givers of life—were called upon. With their strength and enduring power, they were asked to release the afflicted from disease. Living, unfailing, ever-rising, flowering, and honey-sweet herbs were entreated to grant safety. Let the wise, earth-born ones gather at these words, to deliver the man from misfortune. The food of Agni, the embryo of the waters, and the ever-renewing herbs were to be brought—firm, thousand-named, healing plants. Herbs whose essence is water, with downward stalks and sharp points, were called to drive away misfortune. Fierce herbs, which release poisons, destroy strength and food, and remove sorcery, were to be set free. May the praised and powerful plants, invoked with devotion, protect the cattle, horses, men, and animals of the village. Sweet in root, tip, middle, leaf, and flower—born of honey, food of immortality, yielding ghee and nourishment—these plants were celebrated as the sustenance of cow and bull alike. As many and as great as the herbs upon the earth, may the thousand-leaved ones release from death and harm. The tiger-stone of the plants was invoked to ward off curses and all dangers. As the roar of a lion or the crackling of fire scatters, so may disease among cattle and men be driven away by the plants, and the flow of illness be carried to the river. The herbs, released from the universal fire and spreading across the earth under the Lord of the Forest, have grown. The Angirasa herbs, growing on mountain and plain, were asked to be rich in milk and auspicious, bringing well-being to the heart. Herbs known, seen, and unknown—those we have learned of and those we know together—were all called to heed these words, to help lead the man across from misfortune. The sacred fig, darbha grass, all plants, Soma the king, rice and barley, and all remedies—immortal children of heaven—were invoked. “Rise up, O herbs,” the prayer continued, “thundering and crying aloud when your variegated mother, the rain-bringing cloud, pours down her seed.” Of that immortality, may strength be imparted to the man, and a remedy prepared so he may live a hundred autumns. The boar and the mongoose, who know the plants and remedies, were called for help, as were the serpents and Gandharvas. The winged ones, the Angirasa plants, those known by the Raghaṭa, the birds, swans, all flying creatures, and the wild animals who know the herbs—let them all come to give aid. As many herbs as the cows and goats eat, may so many, O gathered ones, grant protection. As many remedies as the physicians among men know, so many universal remedies were brought forth. The flowering, blossoming, and fruit-bearing plants—and even those without fruit—like mothers yielding milk, were asked to grant freedom from harm. The fivefold and tenfold fetters, the snare of Yama, and all divine transgressions were removed. Finally, the plea turned to Indra, the mighty and heroic Shakra, breaker of cities: “Let him grind down the enemy, just as we strike down thousands of hostile armies. Let the foul cord and swelling make the hostile army foul; let the smoke reveal the fire, and may fear fill the hearts of our enemies.” Thus, with reverence and hope, the prayers for protection, healing, and victory were offered, invoking the power of the divine, the plants, and the guardians of the worlds to safeguard life and drive away all that brings harm.