In the heart of the dwellings, there moves a mysterious force—uncovered, swift, alive and trembling, yet fixed amid the homes of mortals. This living presence journeys among the dead, guided by its own nature; the immortal dwells in the same womb as the mortal, sharing space in the cycle of existence. The moon shines upon the waters, its youthful glow awakening as if gray-haired with age. Witness this divine wonder: by its greatness, one dies today, yet another is born yesterday, a ceaseless rhythm of renewal and loss. She, the enigmatic force, remains unknown even to her maker; those who glimpse her may be wounded by her mystery. Thus, Nirriti, wrapped in the mother’s womb and surrounded by many offspring, entered within, hidden in darkness. I observed the herdsman moving freely, wandering paths both near and far. Sometimes he goes straight, sometimes askew, clothed in all directions, turning within the worlds, unbound by any single way. Heaven is our father—the creator, the navel, the bond of all. Earth, our mother, I magnify with reverence. Between the upturned waters lies the womb, where the father placed the embryo within the daughter, the seed of creation. I ask you about the farthest limit of the earth, about the seed of the bull and the horse. I inquire about the navel of all the worlds, and the highest realm of speech. This altar is the farthest limit of earth; this Soma is the seed of both bull and horse. This sacrifice is the navel of all worlds, and this Brahman is the highest realm of speech. I do not know what I am, hidden and bound together, wandering with my mind. Yet, when the first-born of truth reached me, I attained a share of this sacred speech. He moves backward and forward, seized by his own nature—immortal, yet sharing a womb with mortals. Those who are ever divergent, always separating, recognized one but did not recognize the other. Seven, half-embryonic seeds of the world, stand in Vishnu’s directions, established by law. By their thoughts, minds, and wisdom, they encompass and surround everything. Verses reside 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, setting all in motion. The triple-footed Brahman, manifold in form, was shaped; by it, the four directions live. 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 one who moves. The cow measured out the waters, shaping them; 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, wearing waters, fly to the sky. They covered him from the seat of truth; with ghee, they spread the earth. She moves on foot, the first among those with feet—who knows that, O Mitra and Varuna? The embryo bears 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; his past and future are under his control. May my past and future be under my control. I saw smoke rising from afar, crossing over beyond the boundary. The heroes milked the spotted one; those were the first laws. Three hairy ones, according to the seasons, are observed; in the year, one is shorn. Another surveys all with his powers; the charioteer’s form is unseen. Speech is divided into four measured parts; only the Brahmans, the wise, know them. Three are hidden in secrecy, unmoving; the fourth part of speech is what men utter. They call him Indra, Mitra, Varuṇa, Agni; he is also the divine, the splendid-winged Garutman. The wise speak of the One as many: they call him Agni, Yama, Mātariśvan. Turning now to another mystery: that which the healers prepare, fashioned by hand, manifold in form like a bride for her wedding—from its essence, we drive away what is harmful. With a head, a nose, ears, made by witchcraft, gathered together in many forms—from its essence, we drive this away. Made by a Śūdra, a king, a woman, or priests—let the spell return to its maker, as a wife returns to her husband; let it seek its kin. By this herb, I drive away all witchcraft from the innocent—whatever was done in the field, among cattle, or among your people. Let the curse fall on the one who did evil; let the oath return to the one who swore falsely. We send it back, so that the witchcraft may strike its maker. Let the Angirases, facing us, be our overseers and priests; let them destroy those witchcrafts and spells, and those who made them. Whoever said to you, 'Go away,' with hostile intent—turn back upon him, O witchcraft; do not desire us, who are innocent. Whoever set snares for you, as a craftsman does for a chariot, with cunning—go to him; there is your home, not among these people who do not know you. Those who, having made you, used you, knowing spells and practicing sorcery—with this purifying water, which turns back witchcraft, we bathe you. If I have approached one who is unfortunate, bathed, or who has lost a child—let all my sin depart, and let wealth remain with me. Whatever name they took from you, giving to ancestors or in sacrifice—let the plants release you from every sin and message. From divine sin, from ancestral name-taking, from every message, from expiation—let the herbs release you by their power, by the Brahman, by the Ṛks, by the milk of the seers. As the wind scatters dust from the earth, and the cloud from the sky—so, O Brahman, drive away all my misfortune. Depart, crying not, bound like a she-ass; go to your makers, released by the Brahman who possesses power. This is the path of witchcraft—by it we lead you; sent forth, we send you back. Go by it; break, as a barren woman’s procession, manifold and cunning. Go far away on the path of light; make your dwelling elsewhere, away from us. Go beyond with the ship, cross the difficult places; do not linger—go beyond. Like the wind uproots trees, cast them down; do not touch cow, horse, or man among these. Turn back to your makers, O witchcraft; awaken them to childlessness. Whatever spell they have buried for you in the sacrificial grass, in the cremation ground, in the field, or whatever snare or trap, whether invoked in the household fire as a cooked offering—may the wise, guiltless ones overcome it. We have discovered and recognized the enmity that was brought, awakened, and buried—let that which was brought here turn back from where it came, like a horse, and let the doer of the spell not harm our people. Thus, within these verses, the mysteries of existence, the cycles of creation, the power of speech, and the protection from harm are woven together, revealing the profound wisdom and wonder of Sanātana Dharma.