In the ancient time, the great Fire blazed, insatiable even before the greedy. Though it consumed, the bones did not stir, and the sharp-toothed beings, with their own mouths, devoured the flour beneath their feet. As the Fire crossed the mortar, it spoke: “As they strike you, O tree, so may it be.” Having fallen and risen again, the Fire declared, “As your fruits, O tree, fall, so may it be.” Again, it proclaimed, “As birds are burned in the sky, so may they be burned here.” Turning to the pressed juice, the Fire spoke: “Let us, with the winnowing basket, separate the husk from the fruit of the tree.” The Fire chased the rooster with a staff, and there was uncertainty about which animal would seize the grain by its head. The great Fire pursued itself as it ran, and a prayer rose: “O Yabha, protect these cows of his; O Udana, do not strike me.” The good god, the great Fire, oppressed, yet his pounding was good; the kusa grass grew fat and new. The sacrificial cow, after burning, thrust forth a finger, reaching forward and beyond. Yabha, truly great and auspicious, was invoked for protection, pleading again: “Udana, do not strike me.” The wise god, the great Fire, pressed on, and the pounding was good. The maiden, tawny and black, ran to the ashes. Great and auspicious were the bael and the udumbara trees, yet the greatly anointed one pressed upon the pounding. The maiden, the tawny one, who gained the fat of spring, was to take up the oil-pit, this thumb, and the weeping pure one. Then, as the eastern ones moved, iron grains and dhāna grains shifted, and all of Indra’s enemies—bubbling and swift—were slain. Men were called to raise the grinding stone, to urge it on, to dig for the prize. The one with the pestle was to stir up the son, and Indra, with his companions, was invited to drink Soma. Praise was prepared for Dadhikrāvan, the victorious, swift horse, whose fragrant mouth would bring delight and carry the people to long life. The pressed, honeyed Somas, most delightful for Indra, flowed ceaselessly through the filter, their exhilaration reaching the gods. The gods themselves declared, “The Soma is purified for Indra.” The Speech-lord was hailed as the joy of sacrifice and ruler of all strength. The thousand-streamed ocean, Soma, was purified, swelling with speech; Soma, lord of riches, companion of Indra day by day. The dark, shining drop descended into the bright one, journeying with ten thousand. By his power, mighty Indra placed the pounding, removing the sticky ones with his strength. A vision came of the drop moving apart in the gathering, beside the shining river’s banks. Like a dark cloud in the sky, one stood firm, praying for victory in the contest. The shining drop then settled in the lap, holding its form with force. The godless hosts approached, but Indra, yoked with Bṛhaspati, overcame them. When Indra was born from the seven, he became the enemy of all enemies. He found the hidden heavens and earth and brought battle to the widespread worlds. With unmatched strength, Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt, struck down his foes in fury, destroying Śuṣṇa with his slaying tools and finding the cows by his power. The people urged mighty Indra, the bull, to slay the great Vṛtra, to be powerful and virile. Indra was made for victory, vigorous and set in exhilaration, glorious, renowned, and Soma-loving. The thunderbolt, gathered by speech, was powerful and unfailing, grown lofty and unshaken. Great indeed was Indra by his might, like a rain-bringing cloud, strengthened by hymns for the calf. When the fires, bearers of nectar, increased the offspring of immortality, the inspired ones rode the vehicle of truth. When the Kaṇvas, with hymns, made Indra the accomplisher of sacrifice, they called upon their kin to speak the weapon. Now the Ashvins were invoked for the help of the calf, to grant unfailing, wide protection and to drive away foes. Whatever exists in the midspace, in the sky, or among men, the Ashvins were asked to bestow that manliness. Those inspired ones who measured the Ashvins’ powers were called to heed the Kaṇva’s call. A hot libation was poured for the Ashvins with praise—a sweet Soma, rich in honey, by which they became aware of Vṛtra. Whatever power the Ashvins had placed in waters, forest, or healing herbs, they were asked to protect with that manifold strength. The Nāsatyas, divine healers, were remembered for their help, for the calf could not reach them by thought alone—they came to those who offered oblations. The sage recognized the praise for the Ashvins and poured out the sweetest Soma, the hot libation, as Atharvan had done. The Ashvins were invited to mount their swiftly-turning chariot, with assurance that these praises had not fallen away, enduring like the sky. Whatever invocations or words were offered that day, the Ashvins were asked to be aware of Kaṇva’s desire. Whether Kakṣīvant, Vyashva the seer, Dīrghatamas, or Prithī the son of Vena called them in their dwellings, the Ashvins were asked to remember. Finally, the call went forth: come as protectors from harm, as guardians and preservers of the world; protect our bodies, and come for the sake of our offspring and descendants.