Listen, then, to the sacred unfolding of these ancient verses, woven together as a single, luminous story: The sacrificial porridge, Odana, is revealed as no ordinary offering, but a cosmic being itself. Its head is Brahman, the vast Bṛhat forms its back, the noble Vāmadeva is its belly, and Odana’s sides stretch outwards. The metres of the Vedas are its wings, truth is its mouth, and upon this form, the porridge—born from the fires of austerity—is spread forth. Those who partake in this sacred act, who prepare and offer the Odana, are transformed. Clean of bone, purified and cleansed by the wind, they become pure and ascend to a pure world. There, fire cannot harm their vital essence, and in the heavenly realms, abundance and the delights of the feminine await them. For those who cook the spreading porridge of Odana, the cycle of return, of rebirth, no longer binds. They sit in the company of Yama, pass among the gods, rejoice with the Gandharvas, and share in the drink of Soma. Yama does not take away their seed; instead, they become charioteers, riding heavenly chariots, or birds soaring to the very sky. This Odana is the most excellent of sacrifices, spread out as a path to heaven. The one who cooks and offers it has entered heaven itself. He extends the lotus and water-lily, their stalks, bulbs, and roots, so that all streams—swelling with honey—may come to him in the heavenly world, with lotus-ponds encircling him on every side. There are lakes of ghee, banks of honey, waters filled with milk, curds, and goodness. All these streams, rich and sweet, flow to the sacrificer in the heavenly world, with lotus-ponds standing around him everywhere. Four jars, divided fourfold and filled with milk, water, and curds, are offered so that these streams may flow in abundance. This Odana, placed among the Brahmins, is the conqueror of worlds, a leader to heaven. May it never diminish, swelling with its own essence, and may the wish-fulfilling cow of every form be granted. Long ago, Yama, the first-born of truth, had his Odana cooked by Prajapati for Brahman through austerity. This Odana, the very support and navel of the worlds, is the means by which one crosses over death. The makers of beings, by this Odana, crossed over death; Yama himself discovered it through effort and penance, and Brahman first cooked it for Brahman. By this Odana, one overcomes death. He who upheld the nourishing earth, filled the midspace with sap, and propped up the sky above with greatness—by that Odana, one crosses death’s threshold. From him came the months with thirty ribs, the year with twelve spokes, and day and night eternally encircle him. By that Odana, one passes beyond death. He is the giver of breath, for whom the worlds flow with ghee, and to whom all shining regions belong. From him arose the cooked nectar; he is lord of the Gāyatrī, in whom all the Vedas are established. By that Odana, one crosses over death. Let those who hate, who are hostile to the gods, and all rivals be cast down. The all-conquering sacrificial rice is cooked for the gods who heed devotion. Let Agni Vaiśvānara, the mighty bull, burn up with true strength all who wish us harm or seek to attack us. Whoever intends or attempts harm, whoever attacks, is placed between the jaws of Agni Vaiśvānara. Those who hunt us in our homes, who shout in opposition on the new moon, and the flesh-eaters who attack others—all are withstood and repelled. Demons are overpowered; wealth is granted; all who wish harm are struck down, and intentions are fulfilled. The gods who laugh at thieves, who race the sun, those in rivers and mountains—all are our allies. Among demons, I am the scorching one, a tiger among cattle; before me, demons find no refuge, like a dog before a lion. Demons, thieves, and forest-dwellers cannot overcome me, and wherever I enter, demons perish and evil cannot approach. Those who provoke me with words, like flies to an elephant, are short-lived evildoers. Let destruction seize my enemies as a horse-catcher snares a horse; those who are angry with me are not released from the snares. With a potent herb, the Atharvans of old slew demons, as did Kaśyapa, Kaṇva, and Agastya. With this, we drive away Apsarases and Gandharvas; O goat-horned one, destroy all demons with your fragrance. Let the Apsarases depart to the river, to the uncertain ford; let Gulgulū, Pīlā, Naladyu, and Pramandanī, fragrant with ox-balm, be awakened and gone. Where the aśvattha and banyan trees stand tall, where green swings hang from the Arjuna, and where the striking posts resound—let the Apsarases be awakened and gone from there. This most potent of herbs, goat-horned and kingly, has come to drive away all evil. From the dancers with crests, from the lords of Gandharvas and Apsarases, their virility is broken and taken away. Fierce are Indra’s weapons, a hundred-pointed, of iron and gold; with these, may Indra drive away the Gandharvas who seize the offerings and those who lurk below. All spirits who bring sorrow, and those in the waters, are driven away by the plant’s power. The Gandharva, who attaches himself to women like a dog, a monkey, or a hairy boy, is destroyed here by sacred knowledge. The Apsarases are your wives, Gandharvas, and you are their husbands; depart, O immortals, from mortals—do not associate with them. Now, in the game of dice, I invoke the Apsaras, skilled and divine, who bursts forth and brings together, who makes the dice fall. I invoke her who searches and scatters, who gathers the dice. She who dances around, taking the dice from the game—may she, by her skill, win a great prize for us, and may she, full of abundance, come to us, so that our wealth is secured and not lost to others. Such is the tale of sacred offering, protection, and invocation, where the Odana, the sacrifice, and the powers of gods, herbs, and spirits are all woven together—guiding the soul beyond death, protecting from harm, and securing blessings in this world and the next.