In the mystery of creation, there stood one, upright and unwavering, who bore three mothers and three fathers. This being did not weary the rim, and upon the very back of heaven, they held discourse, knowing all forms of speech and every name that ever was. A great wheel revolved, its five spokes turning ceaselessly, carrying upon itself all the worlds. Its axle, burdened with immense weight, burned with heat, yet from the very beginning, neither the axle nor the nave was ever severed. The wise called the father five-footed, twelve-formed, dwelling in the farthest reaches of heaven. Above, others appeared—seven-wheeled and six-spoked, established as the sages described. In the sky of immortality, a twelve-spoked wheel turns, ageless and eternal. There, O Agni, your twin sons, seven hundred and twenty in number, stand in their places. Another wheel, with a hundred spokes, revolves endlessly, never aging. Ten yoked beings carry it upright. This is the very eye of the sun, shrouded in dust, upon which all the worlds rest. Those women are called true, yet it is said she belongs to a man. The one who sees is wise; the blind remain unaware. The poet’s son perceives these mysteries; he who understands them is truly his father’s son. Among those born together, the seventh is called single-born; six are said to be born from the gods. Their desired forms are fixed; they shine in their places, transformed in appearance. The cow stands, taking one step forward and one step back, ever holding her calf. That one, born of Kadru, departs with half; where she gives birth is unknown, for it is not among this herd. With a step forward, one who knows his father advances; with a step back, he transcends. Who, pondering here, can reveal the origin of the divine mind? Those who seem near are called far, and those who seem far are called near. Indra and Soma fashioned these things; yoked to the axle, they carry the dust. Two birds, united in friendship, perch upon the same tree. One eats the sweet fruit, while the other gazes on without tasting it. On that tree, where honey-giving birds settle, all the gods find their rest. The sweet fruit at the tip, let it not perish—yet the one who partakes does not know his father. Where the birds sing of immortality, unblinking and gathered together, they guard all the worlds. The wise entered into the ripe fruit there. All that is placed upon the Gāyatrī, the Gāyatra, or measured by the Triṣṭubh or the Jagatī—those who know this have attained immortality. With the Gāyatrī, the hymn is measured; with the hymn, the Sāman; with the Triṣṭubh, speech is measured. Speech is measured by speech; with two-footed and four-footed syllables, the seven voices are measured. With the Jagatī, the celestial river was supported, and in the midst of the chariot, the sun was beheld. There are three kindlings of the Gāyatra, they say; from this greatness, its majesty spread forth. I call upon the cow, rich in milk and attended by good hands; the milker draws her milk. Savitar brought us the finest offering, and the heated vessel revealed this to us. Lowing and mistress of wealth, longing for her calf, she comes with her mind intent. For the Ashvins, let us milk this uninjured one; may she flourish for great prosperity. The cow, thinking of her calf and lowing as a mother, approaches his head. She, yearning for the heated vessel, measures the span of life and nourishes with her milk. She is the one who sprinkles; by her, the cow, encircled, measures the span of life, reaching the very edge of the dust. With her thoughts, she has created mortals; becoming lightning, she has spread herself forth. Uncovered, swift, alive and trembling, she is fixed amidst dwellings. The living moves among the dead by her own nature; the immortal shares a womb with the mortal. The moon, shining upon the waters, though always young, appears awakened as gray-haired. Behold this divine wonder: by its greatness, one died today, yet was born yesterday. He who made her does not know her; he who saw her may be wounded by her. Thus, Nirriti, wrapped in the mother’s womb, entered within, surrounded by many offspring. I have seen the herdsman moving unhindered, wandering along paths both near and far. He goes straight and askew, clothed in every direction, turning within the worlds. Heaven is our father, creator and navel here, the bond. Earth is our mother, whom I praise. Between the upturned waters lies the womb, where the father placed the embryo in the daughter. I ask you about the farthest limit of the earth, about the seed of the bull and the horse. I ask about the navel of all worlds and about the highest realm of speech. This altar is the farthest limit of the earth; this Soma is the seed of the bull and the horse. This sacrifice is the navel of all worlds; this Brahman is the highest realm of speech. I do not know what I am; as if hidden and bound, I wander with my mind. But when the first-born of truth reached me, I gained a share of this speech. He moves forward and backward, seized by his own nature, immortal, sharing a womb with mortals. Those who are ever separating recognized one, but not the other. Seven, half-embryonic, the seed of the world, stand in Vishnu’s directions, established by law. By their thoughts, minds, and wisdom, they encompass and encircle all. Verses dwell in the imperishable highest sky, where all the gods are seated. He who does not know that—what use are the verses to him? Those who know gather here. Arranging the measure of the verse, they established the world with half a verse, all moving. The triple-footed Brahman, manifold in form, was shaped; by it, the four directions are sustained. May the blessed one be rich in good things; then may we too be blessed. Eat the grass, O cow, giver of all, and drink pure water, O ever-moving one. The cow measured out and shaped the waters; she is one-footed, two-footed, four-footed. She became eight-footed, nine-footed; the thousand-syllabled verse is the meter of the world, its streams flowing over the ocean. The black-moving ones, the tawny birds, clad in waters, fly to the sky. They covered him from the seat of truth; with ghee, they spread the earth. She moves on foot, first among those with feet; who knows this, O Mitra and Varuna? The embryo bears even her weight; she upholds truth and casts aside untruth. Virāj is speech, Virāj is earth, Virāj is the atmosphere, Virāj is Prajapati. Virāj is death, who became chief of the Sādhyas; past and future are under his command. May my past and future be under my control. I saw smoke rising from afar, crossing beyond the boundary. The heroes milked the spotted one; these were the first laws. Three hairy ones are seen, each according to the season; in the year, one is shorn. Another surveys all by his powers, but the form of the charioteer is never seen. Speech is divided into four measured parts; the Brahmans, the wise, know them. Three are hidden in secrecy, unmoving; only the fourth part of speech do men utter. Thus, in these mysteries, the universe turns, veiled and revealed, sustained by sacrifice, speech, and the unfathomable wisdom of the seers.