In the hush of the world, when the unseen move among us, their presence is felt like the cry of the heron—repeated, echoing, mysterious. Just as the heron calls and the satina-heron responds, so too do the unseen ones settle in their hidden places, uttering the word "Plushi," yet never touching the world directly. They are spoken of in whispers, for they strike at those who approach and those who depart, assailing from above and crushing from below. These unseen beings are subtle, like arrows—some true, some false—like grasses and reeds, like the sharp munja grass. All manner of hidden enemies gather and settle, yet they do not make contact. In the ordinary world, cows return to their sheds and wild animals roam the forests, while among people, signs and omens are noted. Still, the unseen ones remain, present but untouched. At dusk, as shadows lengthen, these beings appear silently, like thieves. Though they are hidden, suddenly all can perceive them—they awaken into sight. In this world of mysteries, heaven is revered as father, earth as mother, Soma as brother, and Aditi as sister. The unseen, now revealed to all, stand present; may you, O seeker, move safely among them. Some of these hidden ones rest upon the shoulder or the limb, some are needle-like, some are known as prakaṅkata. Whatever form they take, may all these unseen beings be subdued together. For when the glorious sun rises before us, visible to all, he scatters the unseen, subduing every hidden force and all who practice sorcery. As the sun ascends, he chases away every affliction. Aditya, shining from the mountains, is seen by all—he is the destroyer of all that is hidden. In the radiance of the sun, I set my resolve; in the house of the generous, may neither he nor we perish, and may our bonds remain unbroken. Sweet is your strength, sweet is your work. Even the smallest bird, the female, partakes of poison with you, yet neither she nor we die—may we not die from this. The measure has been taken; honey is prepared for you by the honey-maker. Three times seven sparks, fruits of poison, have been seen, but still, neither they nor we perish. The measure is set; honey is yours, made by the honey-maker. Of the ninety-nine poisonous and sprouting ones, I know the name of each—let us not die from this. The measure is taken; honey is yours, crafted by the honey-maker. Three times seven peahens, seven sisters, the foremost among them, have carried the poison for you as water is carried in jars. As much as this Kuṣumbhaka, I break it with a stone; thus the poison is expelled, flowing away in the opposite direction. Kuṣumbhaka himself spoke, rolling down from the mountain: "The poison of the scorpion is tasteless; tasteless is your poison, O scorpion." In this world, Agni, you shine forth, spanning the heavens. Swift among the waters and upon the stones, you dwell in the forests, in the plants, and among men. O lord of people, you are born pure. Yours is the role of Hotar, the sacred priest; yours the office of Potar and Neshṭar, the Agnidh and the supervisor. You are Praśāstar at the sacrifice, the Brahman, the householder in every home. You, Agni, are Indra, the mighty bull among the true; you are Vishnu, wide-striding and revered. You are Brahmanaspati, possessor of wealth and lord of prayer, the arranger who joins with the generous. You are Varuna, king and keeper of vows; you are Mitra, wondrous and praiseworthy. You are Aryaman, true lord, and Aṃśa, recipient of the sacred share. You are Tvaṣṭar, giver of excellent strength, with goddesses as your kin and friendly companions. You have won shining gold and fine horses, and are host to men, rich in treasures. You are Rudra, Asura of the great sky, commander of the Maruts and the nourishing ones. You travel with the reddish winds, bringing delight, and are Pūṣan, the protector and provider. O Agni, you are the giver of all wealth, ready for every task. You are Savitar, bestower of treasures, Bhaga, lord of men and riches, and the guardian in the home for those who honor you. Called to every house as lord of the people, the clans make you their wise king, master of all possessions, radiant and generous. You are father to those who offer, a brother, friendly and shining, a son to the one who appoints you. You are a good friend, undeceivable, always protecting us. You are the skillful Ribhus, worthy of worship, ruler of strength and wealth, shining forth and extending the sacrifice. You are Aditi for the worshipper, growing as Hotrā Bhāratī through song, Ilā rich in gifts, Sarasvatī, slayer of Vṛtra, lord of wealth. You are the well-sustained, highest vigor, splendid in your radiant beauty. You are the prize, the great deliverer, abundant wealth on every side. The Ādityas made you their mouth, the pure ones their tongue. At sacrifices, the bestowers of gifts join you, and the gods partake of the offerings poured to you. In you, all the immortal gods, without deceit, eat the offering. Through you, mortals are nourished; you are the pure embryo born of plants. By your might, O well-born Agni, you approach both these and those, and when your greatness is revealed, heaven and earth follow you. Those generous ones who grant cattle, villages, and horses to the singers—bring us and them to wealth, so we may speak with strength in the assembly. O Jātavedas, increase through sacrifice; worship Agni with offering, body, and song. Kindle him, well-purified, shining with light, the heavenly Hotar, firm among the people. To you, Agni, the nights and dawns call, like cows to a calf among their sisters. Like the sun in the sky, you appear to men, shining through the nights, ever restrained and rich in gifts. The gods placed you, wise one, at the foundation of the world, as the support of heaven and earth. Like a chariot to be yoked, with brilliant flames, you are praised among peoples like Mitra. Shining in your own house within the expanse, radiant like the moon, you are set in the wood; offspring of Prishni, discerning with your eyes, you watch over the waters and both worlds. As Hotar, you encompass every rite; men seek you with offerings and song. With tawny manes, stirring among the strong, you stride like a horse, marking both worlds. May you, rich in gifts, kindled for our well-being, grant us wealth and shine among us; make both worlds favorable for our prosperity and carry the offerings of men for our benefit. Grant us, O Agni, the great and thousandfold gift; increase our prize as a herdsman does; make heaven and earth inclined by our prayer, and let the radiant dawns shine with light. Kindled, you follow the lovely dawns, shining with radiant beams. By your priestly acts, Agni, you are the sovereign of men, the gracious guest who brings wealth. Thus, amid the seen and unseen, the hidden and the manifest, the world turns—protected, nourished, and illumined by Agni, destroyer of affliction, friend of all, and the one who carries our prayers ever upward.