In the sacred recitation of the Sāma hymns, the pronunciation is intentionally subdued, so subtle in its tones that its nuances often escape notice. When the garland—symbolic of ritual or spiritual adornment—becomes worn and is awakened, the Brahmin is to contemplate deeply upon its essence, seeking meaning beneath the surface. During the night of residence, the middle phase of the ritual, the practitioner maintains restraint, especially of speech. Rising early at dawn, he partakes of rice prepared with just two grains, embodying simplicity and discipline. All thorny plants are considered meritorious, and those that yield milk are highly esteemed, recognized for their unique virtues. As he proceeds, he must utter the sacred syllables with care, just as one would carefully cross the eastern river, mindful of each step. These syllables and sounds are born from the fire-sacrifice itself, and their proper pronunciation produces the desired effects. Purification is essential: after drinking honey and ghee, and ensuring purity, only then should the Brahmin speak. He must never omit the seven mantras; once these are honored, he may speak freely as he wishes. Yet, it is known that the sweetness of vowels and consonants can be lost—this is an undeniable truth. Food that is brought from an improper place, burnt, or consumed while uttering incorrect syllables carries an unremovable fault, akin to the stain of sin upon a sinner. Brahman shines forth when spoken with a sweet, clear voice—one’s own natural tone—not with a nasal quality, not with thick lips, nor with all nasalized sounds. Even those who stammer or whose tongues are tied are still fit to recite the usages, provided they pronounce the syllables with well-formed lips. Those who are lazy, diseased, or whose minds are scattered should proceed slowly on the path, not venturing beyond a yojana in distance. Even Garuda, the mighty celestial bird, if he does not move, cannot take a single step. Speech may become like that of a deaf person, or like a clever woman whose gaze is hostile; even among a thousand forms, she remains in doubt. She does not shine in the midst of an assembly, just as a woman does not shine in the womb of an old man. To make the day fruitful, one should devote oneself to giving, studying, and performing prescribed duties. In these pursuits, neither strength nor ability nor effort is the sole cause; rather, the fruits of action will come naturally, as water flows from a higher place to a lower. Sleep does not linger long in the eyes of those who yearn for knowledge. The seeker of knowledge can cross even the ocean, like Garuda or a swan, propelled by his determination. He attains knowledge from the wealthy, just as one might take from demons—seizing what is needed. Such seekers are neither disturbed by the noise of the world nor do they wait for their own comfort. By serving the teacher with devotion, one attains the knowledge that resides with the teacher. Alternatively, knowledge is gained through knowledge itself; without it, knowledge does not arise. Like a barren woman in her youth, it bears no fruit for him. Having understood the first limb of the Veda, one becomes fit for union with Brahman. Indeed, it is through knowledge alone that a man becomes skilled in action. Among the sacred texts, the fourth is the Āṅgirasa, and the fifth is the Śāntikalpa. What is prescribed in the Nakṣatrakalpa should also be learned here, for it is taught extensively for the attainment of dharma (righteousness), artha (wealth), kāma (desire), and mokṣa (liberation). These rituals and procedures are prescribed in the Saṃhitākalpa by sages who perceive the truth. The procedures of sorcery are laid down by Svayambhū, and the pacifications of atmospheric portents are separately taught. The distinctions among these practices are established, even within the Śaṅkhas. Now, O best of the twice-born, I shall explain all this to you. Listen with attentive care.