Listen, O seeker, to the mystery that unfolds from the ancient hymns. There are truths hidden in the world, veiled in riddles and paradoxes. Though what stands before us may seem as women, they are spoken of as men; the one who looks may not truly see, while the wise son, discerning, understands these enigmas—he who knows them becomes wise beyond his father. In the heart of the world stands the cow, one foot forward, one foot behind, bearing her calf and standing still. Of her own will, she departs, taking with her half of something unknown. No one knows where she has gone, for she does not give birth among the herd. Who can say who is the father of this cow—who came before, who after? Who among the wise knows the birthplace of the divine mind? Those who are near are called far, and those who are far are called near. Indra and Soma, yoked together like two horses, have fashioned these mysteries and bear the weight of the world. Consider the two birds, companions forever, perched upon the same tree. One eats the sweet fruit, while the other looks on, not partaking. In that place where these immortal birds, with eyes unblinking, sing together at the gathering, the wise one, entering the fire, discerns the essence of all things. Upon the tree where the honey-yielding birds rest and where all the gods dwell, they say the foremost fruit is sweet. Yet he who does not taste it does not know the father. The measures of the hymns are woven into the cosmos: what is established in Gāyatrī is called Gāyatra; from Triṣṭubh comes Triṣṭubha; that which is set in Jagatī is named Jagatī. Those who know these measures attain immortality. With the Gāyatrī meter the hymn is measured; with the Sāman, the chant; with the Triṣṭubh, speech itself. Speech is measured by speech, and with two-footed and four-footed meters, the seven voices are measured. The Jagatī upholds the celestial river; in the midst of the chariot, the Sun is beheld. There are three kindlings of the Gāyatra, and from that greatness, greater still expands. I call upon the cow of bountiful yield, whose hands are good, who gives milk to the gods. Let us milk her, O Ashvins. I now declare the best offering, brought by Savitṛ, in the heated vessel. Lowing, the mistress of riches, longing for her calf, approaches in thought. This unyoked cow, to be milked by the Ashvins, may she grow for our great fortune. The cow, following her calf who seeks her, comes lowing, head held high. Longing for the heated vessel, she pours forth her milk, measuring out her life with every drop. It is he who sprinkles, by whom the cow, surrounded, measures out her life, reaching to the end of days. With her thoughts, she has fashioned the mortal; becoming lightning, she cloaks him with her garment. Uncovered and swift, trembling yet steadfast in the midst of homes, the living one moves among the dead by his own law. The immortal is united with the mortal. I saw the tireless herdsman, moving on paths both near and far. Clothed in sameness, he moves together and apart, spreading himself throughout all worlds. He who made her does not know her; let him who has seen her declare. Surrounded within the mother’s womb, with many offspring, he entered dissolution. Heaven is my father, the begetter, the navel here; great earth is my mother and kin. Between these two outstretched bowls is the womb, where the father placed the embryo in the daughter. I ask you of the farthest end of the earth; I ask you where is the navel of the world. I ask you of the seed of the vigorous horse; I ask you of the highest heaven of speech. This altar is the farthest end of the earth; this sacrifice is the navel of the world. This Soma is the seed of the vigorous horse; this Brahman is the highest heaven of speech. Seven who are half-born uphold the world’s seed, standing in the directions, established by Viṣṇu. By their thoughts, minds, and wisdom, they encompass all things on every side. I do not know what I truly am; hidden and bound, I wander with my mind. When the first-born of truth came to me, I gained a share of this speech. He goes away, he comes near, seized by his own nature; the immortal is united in origin with the mortal. Ever diverging, ever separating, they recognize one and not the other. The verses are set in the imperishable highest heaven, where all the gods have taken their seat. He who does not know this—what will he do with the verse? But those who know it are gathered here together. May the bountiful one be more bountiful with good pasture, and may we too become fortunate. Eat the grass, O uninjurable one, giver of all, and drink the pure water as you move. Gaurī measured out the waters; she is one-footed, two-footed, four-footed. Becoming eight-footed, nine-footed, she became a thousand-syllabled in the highest heaven. From her the oceans flow forth; by that, the four directions live. From that, the imperishable flows; by that, all this lives. I saw smoke from afar, as from a fire, with the wind blowing it near and far. The heroes milked the spotted cow; those were the first ordinances. Three with braided hair are seen in season; in the year, one is shorn. One, with his powers, beholds all; the other’s form is unseen, though adorned. Speech is measured in four steps; the wise Brāhmaṇas know them. Three are hidden in secrecy; men speak only the fourth. They call him Indra, Mitra, Varuṇa, Agni; and he is the divine, the splendid-winged Garutman. The wise speak of the One as many: Agni, Yama, Mātariśvan. The black, the tawny, the splendid-winged, clothed in waters, fly to the sky. Having circled, they left the seat of truth; then the earth was made bright with ghee. Twelve spokes, one wheel, three naves—who understands this? Upon it are set three hundred and sixty pegs, unmoving, though they seem to move. O Sarasvatī, that breast of yours which is full and brings delight, nourishing all desirable things—bearer of treasures, knower of wealth, bestower of good—place that here for our sustenance. With sacrifice, the gods performed sacrifice; those were the first ordinances. Those mighty ones attained the heaven where the ancient Sādhyas, the gods, dwell. This water is the same, rising and falling with the days; the earth is quickened by rain-clouds, the heavens by fires. I call for help upon Sarasvant, the divine, splendid-winged, mighty one, most visible among plants, the embryo of waters, who brings satisfaction when approached with rains. By what beauty, by what kinship, by what bond do you, Maruts, seek to unite? By what thought, from where have you come, O mighty ones, shining forth in your eagerness for wealth? Whose praises have the youthful Maruts delighted in? Who, at the sacrifice, has turned them? Like falcons rushing through the midspace, by what great mind do we find delight? Indra, from where have you come alone, O mighty lord of truth? Why is it so? You ask together with the splendid ones; speak to us, O charioteer, what is yours for us. Thus, the hymns weave a tapestry of riddles and revelations, inviting the wise to ponder the mysteries of creation, the unity of the divine, and the deep bonds that hold the cosmos together.