Bṛhaddiva, the noble descendant of Atharvan, once spoke of mighty Indra as his very own self, recognizing the god’s power and presence within. Approaching Indra without enmity came the sisters, daughters of Mātarishvan, who, by his strength, both inspired and fortified him. In the beginning of all things, there arose the Golden Embryo—Hiraṇyagarbha—the one lord of all existence, born as the sovereign ruler. He established the earth and the heavens, and to him, the question is asked: “Unto which god shall we offer our oblation?” This supreme being, who gives soul and strength, is obeyed by all the gods, who follow his command. Immortality is his shadow, and death too lies beneath his wings. “Unto which god shall we offer our oblation?” By his greatness, he alone is king over all that breathes and blinks, ruling over all creatures, both those who walk on two legs and those on four. “Unto which god shall we offer our oblation?” His greatness is proclaimed by the snowy mountains and the ocean with its rivers. The very directions are like his outstretched arms. “Unto which god shall we offer our oblation?” It is by him that the mighty heavens and the steadfast earth were made firm, by him the sky was established, the vault of heaven fixed, and the midspace measured out. “Unto which god shall we offer our oblation?” The two vast worlds, trembling, beheld him with their minds as he upheld them by his power, in the place where the sun rises and shines. “Unto which god shall we offer our oblation?” From the mighty waters, bearing the universal germ, Agni was brought forth, and from these waters arose the one god of the gods. “Unto which god shall we offer our oblation?” He, in his greatness, beheld the waters, bearing creative power and generating sacrifice. He alone is the god above all gods. “Unto which god shall we offer our oblation?” May the creator of the earth, who set the true law in the heavens and created the shining, mighty waters, never bring us harm. “Unto which god shall we offer our oblation?” O Lord of Progeny, only you encompass all these created things. May your desire, for which we offer, be fulfilled, and may we become masters of riches. I then praise Agni, radiant and wondrous in might, gracious and auspicious, the most welcome guest, free from enmity. Agni bestows wealth and attends to all, the priest, lord of the house, giver of heroic strength. “O Agni, accept my words with favor! Wise in all paths and knowing all deeds, lead the song for the priest with clarified butter as your stream. The gods have established you according to the law.” The immortal Agni moves through seven abodes, granting blessings to the worshipper and the doer of good. May you, Agni, self-born and rich in heroic wealth, be gracious to the one who kindles you with offerings. People seek Agni, the sign of sacrifice, the first priest, the seven-horsed, rich in offerings. They listen to him, whose back is smeared with ghee, generous and bestowing heroic strength. You, Agni, are the first and most excellent messenger. Be pleased when invoked for immortality. The Maruts, your worshippers, have cleansed you in their house, and the Bhṛgus have adorned you with hymns. Ever-yielding, milking out nourishment, beloved of sacrifice and wise, you shine in threefold order, circling the sacrifice for the sake of wisdom. At every dawn, people have worshipped you, making you their messenger. The gods have exalted you for greatness, purifying you with ghee at the sacrifice. The inspired Vasiṣṭhas have called upon you, Agni, as the bestower of strength, praising you in the gatherings. Grant prosperity to those who sacrifice—may you always protect us with your blessings. Now, Vena, born from the spotted one, sets in motion the light in the vessel of the sky. At the meeting of waters and sun, the sages seek him with their thoughts, as one seeks a beloved child. Vena rises as a wave from the ocean, ascending to the back of the shining one in the sky. Reaching the summit of truth, the clans have sought their common origin. The many ancient mothers, eager, stand close to the calf, nourishing him. Moving to the summit of truth, they seek the streams of honey and immortality. Knowing his form, the sages did not harm him; they heard the bellow of the bull, the cry of the stag. Journeying by truth, they gathered by the river—there, Gandharva discovered the immortal names. The Apsaras approached her lover; the maiden bore him in the highest heaven. The beloved moved among the beloved abodes, Vena settling on the golden wing. When the golden-winged eagle flew in the sky, those who longed for Vena beheld him with their hearts—Varuṇa’s messenger, the swift bird, in Yama’s abode. The Gandharva stood upright in the sky, bearing the bright weapons of this one. Clad in a fragrant garment, he generated the dear golden names. As the drop moves toward the ocean, observing with the vulture’s eye, the radiant one shines with pure brilliance, creating dear things in the third region of space. O Agni, come to our sacrifice, which is fivefold, three-stranded, and seven-threaded. You, bringer of offerings, lead us forward—like the sun, drive away the long darkness. As a god, I depart from the ungodly, perceiving secretly, I attain immortality. I abandon what is unblessed, though it seems blessed, and from my own friendship I do not approach the fire-stick’s navel. Seeing the guest of another, swift as a bird, I have measured many abodes of truth. I proclaim to the father, the mighty lord, that I come to the worthy share, not the unworthy. For many years, I have acted within, choosing Indra and abandoning the father. Agni, Soma, and Varuṇa are shaken—around the ruler’s seat, they gather together. These mighty lords have become manifest by their own power, and you, Varuṇa, desire me. O king, discerning truth from falsehood, come to the sovereignty of my realm. This is the light, this is the wealth, this is the wide shining space between earth and sky. Let us strike down Vṛtra; come forth, Soma—let us worship the one who is to be worshipped with offering. The poet, by his poetry, has set a form in the sky. Varuṇa, unopposed, sends forth the waters; like people making a safe home, the pure rivers bear his color. They cling to his supreme power; by their own nature they dwell here, delighting. Like subjects choosing a king, they have stood apart from Vṛtra. They call him the Swan, united with the terrible ones, moving in the fellowship of the divine waters and the heavens. The wise, with insight, have discerned Indra, chanting the Anushtubh, and seeking him. Now, the Divine Voice speaks: “I move with the Rudras and the Vasus; I move with the Ādityas and all the gods. I bear both Mitra and Varuṇa, and I bear both Indra and Agni, and I bear the Aśvins as well. I bear the nourishing Soma, I bear Tvaṣṭṛ, Pūṣan, and Bhaga. I bestow wealth upon the one who offers, to the worshipper who pours the libation with devotion. I am the sovereign, the gatherer of treasures, the wise, the first among those worthy of sacrifice. The gods have distributed me in many places, making me abundant and entering into many forms. Through me, he eats food who sees, who breathes, who hears what is spoken. Those without understanding dwell near me; listen, you who hear, I speak to you what is worthy of faith.” Thus, the hymns recount the glory and mystery of the gods, the creation, the sacrifice, and the divine power that moves through all.