In the ancient times, the faithful turned their hearts and voices toward Indra, the mighty protector, longing for his favor—the same favor by which he had aided singers of old. With deep yearning, they prayed that their wishes would not go unfulfilled, hoping to attain all the riches Indra could bestow. Indra stood beyond the reach of kings; none could harm him, not even his sisters could touch his place. The eager waters themselves flowed toward him, for Indra was a friend and a source of strength to all. Among men, Indra was the hero, the conqueror in battles, the one who listened to the humble singer’s call. He set forth the chariot for the worshipper and raised their songs, remaining true to his own nature. His glory was renowned, surpassing all rivals. In every assembly, his strength was praised, and the worshipper’s devotion made him steadfast. With Indra’s generosity, the faithful hoped to overcome their enemies, those who thought themselves great. Indra was their protector and their strength, and they prayed for long life among their people. Amidst these prayers, one spoke of his own journey through many autumns, feeling the wear of night and dawn upon his strength. Old age diminished the beauty of bodies, yet even the strong had returned to their wives. Those who once upheld the law, even among the gods, sometimes spoke untruths and, growing weak, could not reach the highest goal—yet still, the strong found their way to their wives. The gods did not help the weary in vain. The speaker had overcome all rivals, winning a hundredfold battle when the rightly paired, the husband and wife, had come together. No desire, restrained or otherwise, had come to him from any direction, but Lopamudra, wise and resolute, drew her husband near and tamed his longing. Now, he called upon Soma, pressed and drunk in their hearts, asking for pardon for any act, for man is ever eager for pleasure. Agastya, the mighty seer, dug with spades, seeking offspring and strength; he nourished both races and attained true blessings among the gods. The story turned to the Ashvins, the divine twin horsemen. Their realms, horses, and chariot were bestowed as they traversed the paths, their golden filter pouring forth honey as they joined with the dawn. They never neglected the noble worshipper’s offering; their sister brought them universal praise, desiring strength and honeyed drink. The Ashvins placed milk in the cow’s udder—the ripe and ancient gift. When the pure sacrificer invoked them among the woods, he worshipped them with oblations. They chose honeyed warmth for the guest, just as waters select their channel. Cattle sought them, and honey flowed like wheels along the road. For their giving, the worshipper wished to turn with the strength of a bull. The waters and earth attended the Ashvins’ greatness, and the swift, worshipful one praised them. When they harnessed their generous steeds, they sent forth the nourishing one with their powers. Like a swift wind, the wise gave for greatness, and the well-willed one granted strength. Their singers proclaimed their truth with praise, for the reward was assured. The paths of the Ashvins could never be blamed, for the strong ones always led to the divine. The Ashvins followed the days at the stream of the mighty one; Agastya, renowned among men, shone forth like a craftsman with thousands. When the Ashvins advanced with their chariot’s greatness, they moved swiftly like human priests. They granted treasures to the wise and to their own horses. Their chariot was invoked with hymns for new prosperity, its wheels unbroken as it traversed the sky. The worshippers prayed to know their people, long-lived. The question arose: what is the most beloved among riches when sacrificers raise up the waters? The sacrifice had made the Ashvins’ praise, the protectors, wealth-givers, and guardians of people. Their horses, pure and rich in milk, swift as the wind, divine and strong-backed, eager in mind, royal, brought the Ashvins near. Their chariot, like a river, never stopped, its strong yoke fit for prosperity. The mighty, standing, swifter than thought, foremost among the worshipful, belonged to them. Born here, the Ashvins assembled, flawless in body and name; one victorious, wise and fortunate, the other blessed, son of heaven. Their cows lowed, brown and dappled, following the path and reaching the dwellings. The horses of one were filled with strength, and their chariot resounded through the realms. Their bull moved forth like autumn, distributing ancient gifts and seeking honey. The horses of the other were filled with strength, and the rivers, upright, came forth. The ancient poet sent forth their song, threefold and flowing. The Ashvins helped the one who praised, never abandoning him, and heard his call as they journeyed. Their shining forms were praised with song on the sacred grass in the assembly of men. Their bull-cloud, strong, filled with strength, and the milk of the cow delighted the people. The Ashvins, like Pūṣan the wise woman who does not grow old, were called upon by the worshipper, full of offerings. When the singer invoked them for help, he prayed to know his people, long-lived and flourishing. A new skill arose: let the Ashvins’ strong chariot be adorned, let the wise rejoice. Divine helpers, inspirers of thought, givers of wealth, sons of heaven, pure in vows and deeds, were invoked. The Ashvins were most like Indra, most like the Maruts, wondrous and powerful, best charioteers. They bore the full chariot filled with honey and came to the worshipper. The Ashvins were asked: what do you do here? What do you seek? Whoever among men was to be honored, they were called to cross over, heal, restore life to the fallen, and bring light to the sage for his utterance. They were asked to drive away the greedy wolf, strike down foes at the contest, and make each singer’s speech rich in gifts, granting both praise and protection. They made a self-moving, winged boat among the rivers for Tugra’s son, carrying him swiftly over the mighty floods. Tugra’s son, cast down among the waters in darkness, at a place without support, was guided by four boats favored by the child in the womb and led by the Ashvins. He embraced a tree fixed in the midst of the waters, seeking refuge, and the Ashvins carried him, like the branches of a beast’s falling leaf, so he could hear. The worshippers prayed that the Ashvins’ help would always be near, whatever their measure declared. From the seat of Soma, they prayed to know their people, long-lived and flourishing. The Ashvins were asked to harness what was swifter than the mind, three-yoked, strong, and three-wheeled, by which they would come to the well-doer’s home, flying with triple speed like birds with wings. When their well-fitted chariot stood at the navel of the earth, and they followed the path of power, the singer prayed that his song, full of beauty, would join them, calling upon the daughters of heaven, the dawns, to be united. Thus, the story flowed—a tapestry of prayers, praises, and divine deeds. Indra’s might and favor, Agastya’s wisdom and endurance, the Ashvins’ swift aid and generosity, and the longing of the faithful for strength, prosperity, and long life, all woven together in reverent remembrance.