As night descends, a gentle invocation arises, seeking peaceful slumber for all. Let every woman, whether she rests on the hard floor or upon a soft couch, whether she is to be carried away or adorned with auspicious fragrance—let each one be lulled into restful sleep. Beyond them, the prayer extends: may all that moves and all that stands still, all that is seen and all that breathes, indeed the very grasp of every limb—may these be subdued, as I surpass the darkness of all nights, O most shadowy one. Whoever sits, moves, stands, or gazes—let their eyes be closed, just as doors are shut upon a house in the night. Let mothers and fathers, even the household dog, the lord of the dwelling, her kin, and all those nearby—let every one of them be drawn into sleep’s embrace. O Sleep, with your mighty power, lull all people to rest; send others away toward the sun’s realm, but let me alone remain awake, unharmed and tireless, like Indra himself. Turning from night’s spell to a deeper mystery, the tale recalls the first birth: Brahman, with ten heads and ten faces, emerged at the beginning. He was the first to drink Soma, and from him, tasteless poison was created. As far as heaven and earth stretch, as far as the seven rivers flow, this potent speech—capable of overcoming poison—has been spoken forth. Garutmat, the mighty eagle, first carried away the poison; it never reached mouth or limb, nor did it become part of the father. Even he who sits with five fingers, bent from the bow, has had the poison spoken out from the splinter. From splinter, reed, leaf, bone, horn, and lump—the poison has been called out and subdued. The arrow is sapless, the dart is sapless, and so too is the poison—drained of its strength. Even the bow, made from a sapless tree, holds no more danger. Those who have shot, struck, sat, or loosed their weapons—all have been rendered powerless; the very mountain of poison itself is made impotent. Impotent are those who dig for poison, impotent is the herb itself, and impotent is the mountain and hill from which the poison was born. To restrain poison’s harm, a water-retaining plant growing on the Varana tree is invoked, for there, nectar has been sprinkled. With this, the poison is subdued. The poison from the east and north is made sapless; the southern poison is rendered harmless with gruel. Gruel is prepared—hot, abundant, and to be drunk sideways. For hunger has harmed you; eat, and you will not be harmed. For those intoxicated, intoxication is cast down like an arrow; agitation is restrained with words, as if by a charm. Like a village gathered and kept in order, so are you restrained with words; stand firm and unmoved like a tree, and you will not be harmed. Surrounded by purifying, distant, and unblemished ones, you, O herb, remain unmoved and unharmed. Let the earliest ones among you who performed fruitless deeds not harm our heroes here; let that be set before us. The story now turns to the being who placed milk among all creatures and became lord of beings. In his royal consecration, Death moves; let the king approve this. Go forth boldly—do not falter, be fierce and wise, slay your rival. Stand firm, O increaser of friends, for the gods themselves have spoken on your behalf. All beings adorned themselves around the one who stands steadfast, shining with splendor and radiant motion. This is the great name of the mighty Asura; the immortal, of countless forms, stands firm. As a tiger among tigers, stride forth across the vast directions; may all waters—heavenly and milky—desire you. The heavenly waters, rejoicing with milk, whether in the sky or on earth, are invoked. Of all these waters, you are sprinkled with their radiance. As you are the increaser of friends, so may Savitar make you. Embracing the tiger, they urge on the lion for great fortune; like the ocean, the strong one stands firm, and the panther is cleansed within the waters. Come, living one, protected, to the imperishable mouth of the mountain; the enclosure granted by all the gods is for the sake of life. You are the guardian of men and cows, the protector of horses and the weak. You are the spell against sorcery, the healing ointment, the knower of nectar, the food of the living, and the green medicine. Whose ointment, spreading, touches each limb—even harsh upon harsh—drive away disease, fierce one, as a tooth removes what is harmful. Neither curse nor witchcraft, nor lamentation, nor spreading poison can reach one who bears you, O ointment. Protect us from evil incantations, bad dreams, misdeeds, filth, and the fierce pain of the eye. Knowing this, O ointment, I speak truth: may I preserve horse, cow, myself, and your man. Fever, consumption, and burning are your servants; the eldest of the mountains, Trikakud, is your father. When the ointment, born of Trikakud, arose beyond the Himalaya, it subdued all sorcerers and sorcerous beings. Whether you come from Trikakud or are called Yamuna’s, with both your auspicious names, protect us, ointment. From the wind, the atmosphere, from lightning and light, the slender, golden-born conch is born—may it protect us from harm. Born before the shining ones, from the ocean, the conch, having struck down demons, helps us overcome every obstacle. With the conch, we drive away disease and ill will; with the conch, we dispel perpetual enemies. The conch, the universal medicine, the slender one—may it always protect us from harm.