Let us begin with a prayer for healing, invoking the rising sun and its radiant rays to dispel the disease that afflicts the head and the pain that troubles the limbs, together with the bones of the head and the disturbance of the heart. As the sun rises and casts away darkness, so may all ailments be driven out. Now, let us contemplate the mysteries of creation and the cosmic order. Of the grey one, the left one, the sacrificer, there are three brothers: the middle one is the eater, and the third is backed by ghee. Here, I beheld the lord of the clan, surrounded by his seven sons. These seven harness a chariot with a single wheel. One horse, named seven, draws it onward. The wheel itself has three hubs, is ever unaging and unbroken, and upon it all the worlds are established. Upon this chariot, seven stand; it has seven wheels, and seven horses pull it. Seven sisters unite, and there, the seven names of cows are set. Who saw the first being born—the boneless one who bears bones? Where is the soul, the maker of the earth? Who, knowing, approached to ask this mystery? Let him who knows speak of the place where the left one is set. The cows draw milk from its head; adorned with a covering, they reached water by their steps. I ask with my mind, not knowing, about the places set for the gods. Upon the calf, upon the spotted one, the sages stretched seven threads and wove them. Not knowing, I ask the wise here, even those who know, like the learned. He who upheld six regions in the form of the unborn—what indeed is the one? The mother shared the nectar with the father; at first, she approached with her mind. Fierce, filled with the essence of the embryo, those who bow went to the speech. The mother, yoked, stood on the right; the embryo was within the wombs. The calf measured and saw the cows, the universal form in three unions. Bearing three mothers and three fathers, one stood upright, never tiring the rim. They converse on the back of heaven, knowing all speech and all names. Five spokes revolve in the wheel upon which all worlds are set. Its axle is heated by great weight; from the beginning, neither its nave nor its rim is cut. They call the father five-footed, twelve-formed, dwelling in the far half of heaven. Then, above, others are seen: seven-wheeled, six-spoked, they say, is set. The twelve-spoked wheel revolves in the sky of immortality, never aging. Here, O Agni, your twin sons, seven hundred and twenty, stand. The wheel with a hundred spokes, ageless, revolves; ten yoked carry it upright. The eye of the sun, wrapped in dust, is the foundation upon which all worlds have settled. They call those women true, but say she belongs to a man; the one who sees is wise, the blind is unaware. The poet’s son perceives these things; whoever knows them, he is his father's true son. Together-born, they call the seventh single-born; six are born, the sages say, from the gods. Their desired forms are established, shining in their stations, transformed in appearance. With one step forward and one step back, the cow stands holding her calf. That Kadru-born one departs with half; where does she give birth—not among this herd. With one step forward, whoever knows his father; with one step back, he goes beyond. Who here, pondering, can declare whence the divine mind was born? Those who are near, they call far; those who are far, they call near. Indra and Soma made these things; yoked to the axle, they carry the dust. Two birds, united friends, embrace the same tree. One eats the sweet fruit, the other looks on without eating. On the tree where honey-giving birds settle, all the gods rest. What they call the sweet fruit at the tip, let it not perish; he does not know his father. Where the birds sing of immortality, unblinking, in the gatherings, with them as guardians of all the worlds, the wise entered the ripe fruit here. Now, let us turn to the sacred meters and the attainment of immortality. Whatever is placed upon the Gāyatrī, or the Gāyatra, or measured by the Triṣṭubh, or the Triṣṭubha, or the Jagatī, or the Jagatī verse—those who know this have attained immortality. With the Gāyatrī, he measures the hymn; with the hymn, the Sāman; with the Triṣṭubh, the speech. With speech, speech; with two-footed, four-footed, syllables, he measures the seven voices. With the Jagatī, he supported the celestial river, and in the chariot’s midst, he beheld the sun. There are three kindlings of the Gāyatra; from that greatness, its majesty expanded. I call upon this cow, rich in milk, with good hands; the milker milks her. Savitar brought us the best offering; the heated vessel declared this to us. Lowing, mistress of wealth, desiring her calf, she approached with her mind. Let us milk this uninjured one for the Ashvins; may she grow for great prosperity. The cow, thinking of her calf, lowing, as a mother, approaches his head. She, longing for the heated vessel, measures the span of life, nourishes with milk. This is the one who sprinkles, by whom the cow, encircled, measures the span of life, reaching the limit of the dust. She, with thoughts, has made mortals; becoming lightning, she has spread forth. Uncovered, swift-moving, alive, trembling, fixed in the midst of dwellings. The living moves among the dead with its own nature; the immortal shares a womb with the mortal. The moon, shining, on the surface of the waters, though young, is awakened as gray-haired. Behold the divine wonder: by its greatness, one died today, yet was born yesterday. He who made her does not know her; he who saw her, perhaps, is wounded by her. Therefore, wrapped in the mother’s womb, Nirriti entered within, surrounded by many offspring. I saw the herdsman moving unimpeded, wandering along paths both near and far. He goes straight, he goes askew, clothed in all directions, turning within the worlds. Heaven is our father, the creator, the navel here; the bond. Earth, our mother, I magnify. Between the upturned waters is the womb; there the father placed the embryo in the daughter. I ask you about the farthest limit of the earth; I ask about the seed of the bull, the horse. I ask about the navel of all the worlds; I ask about the highest realm of speech. This altar is the farthest limit of the earth; this Soma is the seed of the bull, the horse. This sacrifice is the navel of all the worlds; this Brahman is the highest realm of speech. I do not know what I am; as if hidden, bound together, I wander with my mind. When the first-born of truth reached me, then I attained a share of this speech. He moves backward and forward, seized by his own nature, immortal, sharing a womb with mortals. Those who are ever divergent, ever separating, recognized one but did not recognize the other. Seven, half-embryonic, the seed of the world, stand in Vishnu’s directions, established by law. By their thoughts, by their minds, by their wisdom, they encompass and surround everything. Thus, the mysteries of existence, the cosmic order, the unity of the mortal and immortal, and the wisdom of the sages are woven together, as the eternal song of Sanātana Dharma continues to resound through the worlds.