Desiring the most excellent favor of Savitar, the inspirer, the sages invoked his divine impulse. With reverence, they called upon Heaven and Earth, asking these two mighty guardians, endowed with wisdom and upholders of cosmic order, to grant them wealth—riches abundant in goods and herds. Heaven and Earth, beneficent to all, wise and just, bear the vast expanse of existence. Between them moves Dhiṣaṇā, noble and well-born, traversing as god and goddess, while the pure Sun journeys by the law of truth. Vast and powerful, ever-vigilant, Heaven and Earth stand as father and mother, protecting the worlds. With wondrous might, they established the two regions of existence, shaping them firmly and giving all things their forms. From these two parents arose Agni, the sacred fire, who purifies the worlds with his wisdom and power. The cow Pṛśni and the bull, full of seed, ever offer their bright milk, nourishing the fire. Among the gods, Agni is considered the youngest and the least, yet he is the helper who generated the two worlds and measured out the regions for wise action, upholding the hymns of praise. To Heaven and Earth, the mighty ones, the sages prayed for great glory and power—the very power by which these deities spread out the peoples of the earth. They asked that strength and vigor be bestowed upon them, so that they might flourish under the divine gaze. In the midst of these sacred duties, questions arose: which is the best, which the youngest, and who has not yet arrived? Who has been sent as a messenger, and what should be spoken? The sages did not blame the vessel, noble in lineage, but instead turned to Agni, their brother, to praise the prosperity of the wood that feeds him. The gods once commanded that a single vessel be made into four, and so it was accomplished. The Saudhanvanas, if they followed this command, would become worthy of sacrifice alongside the gods. When the Ṛbhus spoke to Agni, the messenger, they declared their intent: “Let us make a horse, a chariot, a cow, and a youth.” These wondrous deeds, the brothers performed for the gods. Having completed their works, the Ṛbhus inquired about the messenger who had not yet come. When the four vessels were declared, Tvaṣṭṛ, the divine artisan, entered among the goddesses. Yet, Tvaṣṭṛ grew angry, saying, “Let us slay them,” for those who drank for the gods had not honored the vessel. Others gave new names at the pressing, and some touched the vessels with the names of maidens. Indra yoked his two bay steeds, the Aśvins readied their chariot, and Bṛhaspati approached, all-formed. The Ṛbhus, Vibhvan, and Vāja, skillful gods, gathered to apportion the sacrificial share. With their thought, the Ṛbhus fashioned a cow from a hide, making the old young again; they shaped a horse from a horse, yoked the chariot, and came to the gods. The gods invited them: “Drink this water, or rather, drink this pressed soma.” If the Saudhanvanas desired this, they would rejoice in the third pressing. Among themselves, they said, “Let there be more water,” and another, “Let there be more fire,” while yet another wished the vessel to be shared among many. With right words, they filled the vessels. One carried away water from the cow’s thigh, another cut the flesh for the dog, and another removed the dung alone. The question arose: what indeed did the parents do for their sons? When the Ṛbhus went out, they made grass for all; when they returned, they brought water, using their own skill. Yet, they were warned not to seek what lay in the house of the mysterious one. As they circled the worlds, the Ṛbhus wondered where their parents had gone or sat. One who took the whole hand was cursed, and those who spoke out were challenged to speak again. While sleeping, the Ṛbhus asked, “O mysterious one, who has awakened us?” The ram spoke to the dog, the awakener, revealing that a year had passed. By day, the Maruts move about, Agni blazes on earth, and the wind courses through the midspace. Varuṇa travels with the waters and the oceans, all desiring the sons of strength. Now, as the time for the great horse sacrifice approached, the sages prayed that neither Mitra, nor Varuṇa, nor Aryaman, nor Indra, nor the Ribhukṣins, nor the Maruts find fault with them as they praised the heroic deeds of the race-born steed. When the horse, taken from the mouth of the unyoked, was led forth with its covering cloth, the path dear to Indra and Pūṣan was prepared. A goat, the share of Pūṣan, was led before the swift horse for all the gods, just as the sacrificial cake is offered to the swift one; Tvaṣṭṛ urged the offering for Sauśravas. At the proper moment, the horse was led three times around the sacred place for the gods, with Pūṣan’s portion going first—the goat announcing the sacrifice to the gods. The priests—the Hotṛ, Adhvaryu, the fire-kindler, the stone-holder, and the wise praiser—performed the well-ordered sacrifice, filling their abodes with offerings. Those who prepared the sacrificial posts, those who carried them, those who fashioned the horse’s post, and those who gathered the cooking for the swift one, were all praised. The inspired thoughts of the sacrificers were placed before the gods, their wishes approaching as seers rejoiced; the horse was made a dear companion for the nourishment of the gods. Every part of the horse—the halter, binding rope, head-rope, rein, and the grass placed in its mouth—was dedicated to the gods. Whatever of the horse’s flesh was touched by flies, cut by knife or axe, or remained on the carver’s hands or under their nails, all was offered to the gods. The skilled carvers prepared and cooked the offerings, ensuring that nothing from the horse’s body, not even the smell of raw flesh, was left unpurified. Whatever dripped from the spit during cooking was carefully gathered for the gods and the worthy, not allowed to fall to earth or grass. Those who beheld the cooked steed, who called for the fragrant one to be brought forth, and those who sought a share of its flesh, were all praised. Every vessel, strainer, pot cover, hook, and butcher involved in the preparation surrounded the horse with reverence. All the horse’s actions—stepping, sitting, turning, every movement of its four feet, and all it ate or drank—were offered to the gods. The fire, smoky-scented and roaring, was prayed not to consume the horse harshly, nor the shining blade to strike it. The offering, purified and marked with the sacred vaṣaṭ-call, was accepted by the gods as the horse itself. When coverings, garments, and gold were spread for the horse, the beloved, swift-footed, four-footed one was sent to the gods. Any harm done to the horse—by spur, whip, or ritual implements—was ritually released through sacred utterance, just as the ladle touches the offering. The thirty-four ribs, the divine bonds of the horse, were approached with skill so that the limbs remained unbroken, the joints loosened, and the cuts clean. Tvaṣṭṛ oversaw the cutting of the horse, with two guides and the proper season. Each portion was prepared and offered into the fire according to the right time. Finally, the sacrificers prayed that the dear heat would not burn the horse as it was united with itself, nor the blade rest heavily upon its body. They asked that the greedy or careless cutters not harm it, nor the knife break or strike its limbs together. Thus, with devotion and skill, the sacred horse sacrifice was completed, all parts and actions consecrated to the gods, upholding the ancient order and seeking divine favor for the people.