In a world where harmony and virtue flourished, friends of pure heart and good deeds gathered together, rejoicing as they cast off all disease from their bodies. It was their wish that Night herself would journey to such a world—one filled with goodness and health—and, in her passage, bring no harm to their people or their cattle. Wherever these noble friends dwelled, where offerings were made and the sacred fire was honored, there too did they pray that Night would reach, leaving untouched all that was dear to them. In the realm of sacrifice and gift, when kings divided the sixteenth part, judges from the assembly of Yama presided over these acts. It was said that the white-footed one, given as a gift, could release a person from such obligations. This white-footed one, offered openly and with intention, fulfilled all desires and brought prosperity—never failing the giver. But if one gave this gift undivided, measured with the world, he would not ascend to that distant heaven where the weak bear no tax from the strong. Instead, the one who gave five cakes and the white-footed one, measured with the world, would live by giving, dwelling in the undiminished world of the fathers, and again in the undiminished worlds of the sun and the moon. The white-footed one, steadfast as the great ocean, would never fail the giver, just as two gods seated together remain united. Yet, questions arose: who gave this, and to whom was it given? Desire gave it for desire; desire was the giver and the receiver, merging into the vast ocean. Thus, with desire, the gift was accepted, fulfilling the wishes of both giver and recipient. The earth was invoked to accept the gift, as was the great atmosphere, and the prayer was made that by accepting this, neither breath, self, nor offspring would be diminished. In this world, unity was cherished above all. Hearts and minds were brought together, freed from enmity, so that each would love the other as a cow loves her newborn calf. Sons were devoted to their fathers, united in thought with their mothers; wives spoke gentle words to their husbands, bringing peace. Brothers did not hate brothers, nor sisters their sisters; all were united in purpose and vow, speaking words of kindness. It was by this sacred power—by which even the gods are not divided nor harbor hatred—that harmony was established in every house, fostering understanding among men. The elders, wise in thought, remained united, striving together with one purpose, always speaking kindly to one another. Their food and drink were shared, their minds yoked together as spokes around a hub, worshipping Agni in unity. Thus, all were brought together in harmony, like the gods guarding the immortal, their minds attuned to goodness both in the evening and the morning. Prayers rose to the gods to drive away old age, hostility, sin, wasting disease, and shortened life. Agni, the purifier and mighty one, was invoked to dispel all that was harmful, ensuring that domestic animals were kept apart from the wild, and that thirst and affliction remained distant. Heaven and earth were called upon to remain apart, allowing the paths of life to stretch in every direction, free from sin and disease. Tvaṣṭṛ, the divine craftsman, was praised for joining daughter to husband, ensuring the continuation of the world. Agni held the breaths together, and the moon was joined with the breath; with this breath, the gods set in motion the all-pervading energy of the sun. With breath, among those who live and those who give life, the plea was made: live, do not die. Among the living, remain in breath, do not die. With the vital sap of plants, with long and full life, may all be sustained. May all stand under the life-giving rain of Parjanya, immortal and free from harm. In the beginning, Brahman was born first, before all else. From him, the shining one, the radiant hymn spread forth, and his deep foundations became the models of the world—the very womb of being and non-being. This ancestral domain was established for the first-born among the worlds, and so the shining, inviting heat was spread for the first to bear. The wise one who was born, the kinsman of all, distinguished the births of the gods. Brahman raised Brahman from the midst, from below and above, standing firm by his own law. He knew and stood by the truth of earth; the great one made firm the vast earth and sky, and upon his birth, made solid the realms of earth, sky, and the space between. From the deep foundation of birth, Bṛhaspati, lord of the gods, emerged as sovereign, producing the shining light of day and allowing the inspired ones to dwell in radiance. His poetic power struck the great abode of the ancient god, dividing the former halves as he was born among many. Those who approached Atharvan, the father, or Brihaspati with reverence, recognized the creator of all—the wise god, self-sustaining and beyond harm. This god, who gives self and strength, whose command all worship and whose guidance even the gods follow, rules over all beings, two-footed and four-footed. To him, the question was asked: to which god shall we offer our oblation? He alone, living and blinking, became the great king of the world; his shadow is immortality, his shadow is death—so again, to which god shall we offer our oblation? He was called from below by the two crying ones, trembling, and was invoked in fear by heaven and earth; his path is the shining way of space. His greatness is spread out by the vastness of heaven and earth, the broad atmosphere, and the sun. The Himalayas and the oceans declare his greatness, his arms stretch to all directions—so to which god shall we offer our oblation? Thus, in this world, in the unity of hearts and minds, in the giving and receiving, in the cycles of life and breath, and in the reverence for the divine, the people lived—ever seeking harmony, health, and the blessings of the gods.