The sages, in their wisdom, speak of the divine as One, though they call him by many names. Some know him as Indra, others as Mitra, Varuṇa, or Agni; he is also the splendid-winged Garutman. To the discerning, this One appears in many forms: Agni, Yama, Mātariśvan—each a face of the same eternal truth. In the heavens, the black, the tawny, and the radiant-winged soar, wrapped in waters, rising skyward. Circling their celestial seat of truth, they depart, and in their wake, the earth below glistens with the brightness of ghee, made luminous by their passage. The mystery of creation is like a wheel with twelve spokes and one rim, supported by three naves. Upon this wheel are set three hundred and sixty pegs, unmoving yet appearing to turn—a puzzle for the wise to contemplate. O Sarasvatī, you who possess a full and nourishing breast, delighting all with your abundance, sustainer and bestower of treasures, knower of all wealth—may your gifts be poured out here for our sustenance. In the beginning, the gods themselves performed sacrifice with sacrifice. These were the first sacred ordinances. Through these acts, the mighty ones reached the heavens where the ancient Sādhyas, the gods of old, dwell. The waters, too, are the same—rising and falling with the days, quickening the earth through the rain-clouds and the heavens through the fires. All is nourished by this eternal exchange. I call upon Sarasvant, the divine and splendid-winged, the mighty one visible among plants, the embryo of the waters, who, when approached with offerings and rain, brings satisfaction and fulfillment. O Maruts, what is the beauty, the kinship, the common bond by which you unite? What thought, what origin compels you, that you shine forth so eagerly, seeking wealth and glory? Whose praises have you, the youthful and vigorous Maruts, delighted in? Who, at the sacred rite, has turned your hearts? Like falcons darting through the midspace, what great mind brings us delight in your presence? Indra, mighty one, from where have you come alone, O lord of truth? Why is it thus? You question together with the splendid ones. Speak to us, O charioteer, of what you have for us. My praises and thoughts are well-pressed; my strength is awakened, my stone is ready. The Maruts are commanded, eager for the hymn; the two steeds draw you forth—may they bring you to us. Therefore, adorned and shining in our own power, we approach you, Indra, with the great Maruts. You have become our own by your very nature. Where was your power, O Maruts, when you set me alone in the serpent-slaying? For I am fierce, strong, mighty, unconquered by foes, unbroken by any weapon. With your yoked ones, with your united, bull-like powers, you have done much for us. Let us, too, perform mighty deeds, O Indra, by wisdom, when we are guided by you, O Maruts. You, Maruts, slew Vṛtra with your own strength; by your brightness you became mighty. I, the wielder of the thunderbolt, made all these paths easy for Manu, shining for all. You are unsurpassed, O generous one; no other god knows as you do. Neither birth nor rebirth is lost to you; do as you will, O ever-growing one. With even a single power, I could accomplish my will, if I dared. For I am fierce, knowing the Maruts, and whatever Indra desires among these, I can fulfill. My praise has gladdened the Maruts, when men made a worthy hymn for me—for Indra, the strong and bountiful, for me, the friend, with friends in body and spirit. These here shine before me, bearing undiminished fame. The Maruts, bright in form, come together; may you cover and protect me now. Who among you, O Maruts, will be my helper here? Come forth as friends to a friend. Let your wondrous thoughts flow; be among those who know the truths. When the poet invokes for the day, he makes us worthy of honor through his wisdom. Now, Maruts, let the inspired one approach; let the singer praise you with these hymns. This is your praise, Maruts, this song of the poet, worthy of honor and celebration. May it bring well-being, and may we know this people, long-lived and strong. Let us now speak of that ancient greatness, of the birth of the bull, of the sign. Like fire kindled, like the strong Maruts, like warriors in battle, do mighty deeds, O powerful ones. Ever bearing sweetness for the son, they play joyfully in the assemblies, the vigorous ones. The Rudras harm not the reverent, nor do the self-powerful injure the sacrificer. To him whom the immortal attendants have granted wealth and nourishment, who offers oblations with devotion, the Maruts pour forth blessings like friends, with abundant waters across many lands. With their might, they have stretched out the realms; their own strength moves forth, unrestrained. All beings and dwellings tremble before them; their approach is wondrous in the streaming showers. When, with their power, they make the mountains resound or shake the lofty sky, all your actions, O noble ones, make the trees tremble, and the herbs flee as if driven by chariots. O mighty Maruts, with wise counsel, you protect the unharmed and bestow good favor. Where your lightning flashes and the storm roars, cattle scatter as if by a well-made shelter. With firm strength, unwearied in giving, praised in assemblies, they sing to the sun for the joy of the intoxicating drink. They know the foremost deeds of the heroic one. With a hundred arms, let the Maruts protect from harm; let them guard whom they favor. Fierce, powerful, radiant, they defend the people, bringing blessings and prosperity to their offspring. All auspicious powers are set in your chariots, Maruts, like rivals striving with vigor. On your shoulders and paths are ornaments; the axle and wheels turn together, spreading far. Splendid adornments are on your noble arms, golden ornaments shining and swift on your breasts. On your shoulders and shafts are blades; like wings on birds, your splendors are arranged. Great in greatness, abundant in abundance, far-seeing, like heavenly beings in beauty, delightful and well-spoken, mingled with Indra, Maruts, you sing the stotra. This is your noble greatness, Maruts, your enduring gift, your vow like that of Aditi. Even Indra cannot surpass it by force; you grant favor to those who act well. This is your kinship, Maruts, from ancient times, you immortal ones who bring blessings. With this thought, you have made yourselves known to Manu, together, O men, with your shining weapons. By your protection, Maruts, which we have long praised, when the people spread out, let us attain our desired goal with these sacrifices. This praise is for you, Maruts, this song from the poet Mandarya, the honored one. May it bring well-being, and may we know this people, long-lived and strong. A thousand, O Indra, are your helps for us; a thousand riches, O golden one, most praised. A thousand joys for delight—let your thousand-bearing steeds come to us. Let the Maruts come to us with their aid, with the eldest, with the great heavens, with good wisdom. When their troops reach the farthest shore, they even cross the ocean. Among them are well-made, shining chariots, adorned with gold, sharp as spears. Moving secretly, like a woman among men, the speech comes together in the assembly. Thus, the sages sing of the One who is many, of the gods who are united in sacrifice, of the Maruts who rush in splendour, of Indra who conquers, and of the blessings that pour forth upon those who honor and invoke the divine with wisdom and devotion.