The Lord of the Forest arrived, accompanied by the gods, driving away demons and restless spirits from the sacred space. He arose, his presence commanding, and spoke words of power—by his guidance, victory over all the worlds was invoked. Around seven altars, the beasts assembled, some radiant and some burdened, encircling the sacred fires. With them gathered the thirty-three deities, all uniting their strength. The prayer arose: may the Lord of the Forest lead us onward, to the heavenly world. “Lead us to that celestial realm,” the people prayed, “that we may dwell together with our children and spouses. I take your hand here for happiness—may misfortune, destruction, or enmity never touch us.” With resolve, they drove away the grasping forces of evil and dispelled the darkness. The wooden implements, raised in the ritual, were asked to act gently, causing no harm, and not to scatter the rice meant for the gods. To the one who extends through all things, whose back is anointed with ghee, who is reborn in each cycle, the people spoke: “Go forth into this world, take up the rain-seasoned winnowing basket, and let it separate husk from grain.” The Brahmin, with measured steps, spanned the three worlds—heaven, earth, and the atmosphere. Gathering the rays of these realms, he invoked their swelling abundance to return and fill the winnowing basket anew. Among the animals, with their countless forms and shapes, there was unity—a single fullness emerged. The ritual cleansed away the red skin, as a stone cleanses a garment, restoring purity. Earth was settled gently upon the Earth itself, acknowledging that though bodies may change, their essence remains the same. Offerings recorded above were asked to remain secure, not to flow away, as the Brahman removed all that might be lost. With the tenderness of a mother delighting in her child, Earth was placed upon Earth. The oven, the pot, the altar—each was invoked not to tremble, but to stand strong, fortified by sacrificial implements and ghee. The ritual called for protection from all directions: “Agni, the cooker, guard us from the front; Indra with the Maruts, shield the south; Varuna, make us firm in the west; Soma, unite us from the north.” Waters, purified by filters, flowed from the clouds, journeying to heaven and across the earth. These living, life-giving streams, poured into the vessel, kindled the fire all around. Descending from heaven, these waters joined the earth and mingled with the atmosphere above. Pure and shining, they were invoked to lead all assembled to the heavenly world. These waters were powerful, measured, brilliant, pure, and immortal. Guided by the two household masters, they cooked the food, well-directed and nourishing. Counted drops of water joined with the earth, measured by breath and by the plants. Uncounted, golden, and pure, they spread everywhere, pervading all things with their sacred essence. The waters rose and shone, heated, foaming, and bursting forth in many drops. Like a bride meeting her husband, the grains were united with the pure waters. All those present were called to rise, to touch themselves with water, to partake in the ritual purity. The vessels brimmed with water, the measured grains were ready, and all directions gathered for the offering. The axe was handed over with care, and the call went out to cut wood without harming the plants, whose kingdom Soma encircles, leaving other shoots to thrive for the future. New sacred grass was spread for the offering—pleasing to the heart and to the eye. Upon this green altar, the gods and goddesses were invited to take their seats, to partake of the food, accompanied by the seasons. The Lord of the Forest was asked to sit upon the sacred grass, measured by Agni’s offerings, surrounded by the deities. Like Tvashtar, the divine craftsman, he was called to appear in his well-made form, visible around the vessel. The guardians of the treasure, armed with sixty arrows, were to partake of the well-cooked food. The living fathers and sons, with their ancestors, would lead the one departing to the heavenly world of Agni. Support and firmness were invoked for the earth’s foundation, so that the gods would not shake it from its place. The living couple, with their sons, led the chosen one from the enclosure of fire, secure in the ritual. Having conquered all worlds and surpassed all desires, the community gathered in unity. The ladle and spoon, joined in one vessel, lifted the offering together. The vessel was spread before all, made wide and anointed with ghee, and filled to the brim. Like a cow calling her calf to her breast, the gods were invoked to draw forth the young one to nourishment. The maker of the bed was asked to spread out the wide world, expanding the heavenly realm without limit. Upon this expanse, the buffalo, the great-winged one, was to rest as the gods offered him to the deities. Whatever the wife cooked, or the husband, or another for the household, both were to release it together in harmony, achieving unity and attaining the same world. All who belonged to this earth—sons and those who had arisen around—were called to the vessel. Knowing the navel of the world, the children were summoned to gather together. Streams of wealth, rich with honey and blended with ghee—the very navels of immortality—were to be enclosed within the heavenly realm, guarded by the keepers of treasure, armed with sixty arrows. The guardians of the treasure were to cover the deposit, while those who were powerless remained outside. The offering, placed and set down, ascended to the heavenly realm in three bundles, reaching the three heavens. Agni was invoked to burn away the demon, as was fitting, and to keep the flesh-eater and ghoul far from the ritual. These were driven away and shut out, as the Adityas and Angirases were called to join in the sacred act. To the Adityas and Angirases, a sweet, ghee-mixed offering was presented. With pure hands, the Brahmin, unharmed, partook of this heavenly, well-prepared portion. The highest bundle was attained, the supreme one reached from that world. Clarified butter was poured and anointed with ghee, marking the share of the Angirases among the people. For truth and ascetic heat, the treasure and good deposit were dedicated to the deities, with a prayer that it would not be lost in gambling or conflict, nor ever be cast away. The act of cooking and giving was claimed as one’s own, while the wife was acknowledged as born for compassion. The youthful world, the son, was born anew, and both parents were called to support him as they advanced in age. Here, there was no sin, no lack, and nothing measured among friends. The vessel set down was never deficient; the cooked offering never returned to the cook. Beloved ones were made for each other, and those who harbored hatred were free to depart. The cow, freed from her rope, with her calf, was called upon to drive away death from the manly one. The fires recognized each other: the one tending the plants and the one tending the rivers. As many gods as shone in the sky, with gold and light, became the cooked offering. This sacred act became the skin of men, of all animals, and others, unburnt. With kingship, the participant was to clothe himself, wearing this garment as the face of joy. Whatever was said in dice, in conflict, or in falsehood for gain—all impurities were to be settled together, as if dwelling on the same thread. All were called to endure rain and even enter the water, for it was they who caused the gods’ skin—the smoke—to rise. Spreading everywhere, with ghee as their support, they were to take a good seat and enter this world. Heaven had fashioned the body in many forms and colors, purifying the black and making it bright again. Whatever was red was offered up to Agni, in a final act of purification. Thus, the ritual unfolded, weaving together the powers of earth and heaven, the unity of family and community, the blessings of the gods, and the sacredness of every act, until all was offered, purified, and made whole.