In the depths of contemplation, the sage reflects upon the mystery of his own speech, sensing that its true meaning lies hidden, veiled in secrecy. The wise know this secret, speaking of it as something concealed, elusive—just as water slips away from the cows, so too does the beloved form, the foremost step, quietly depart from sight. This mystery is vast and profound, immense in its aspect. The cow, joined with the dawn, follows it as something ancient and enduring. Along the radiant path of truth, the hidden one—swift and perceptive—moves swiftly, unseen by most. Shining with inner brilliance, he follows his parents, seeking the beautiful, hidden one among the spotted. In the mother’s domain, in the highest abode, there sits the tongue of the bull—luminous and devoted—presiding over all. With reverence and praise, the sage seeks truth, addressing Jātavedas, the knower of all things: “What is this mystery? You hold everything here, all the wealth in heaven and on earth.” He asks further, “What is the wealth for us, what precious treasure does he possess? Tell us, O Jātavedas, who knows all. What is that highest, hidden path, that step of his, like a track we have not yet reached?” “What is the boundary, what the work, what the favor, that we may swiftly reach, like racers, the prize? When will the goddesses—the shining dawns, consorts of the immortal—extend their radiant color to us?” Yet, in this world, there are those who speak with words that are untrue, weak, and deceptive, dissatisfied with the offerings. The sage wonders, “O Agni, what do they say here? Let those without weapons, harmless, gather together in counsel.” Amidst all this, the glory of Agni—kindled, mighty, and generous—shines forth in the home. Clad in bright garments, of beautiful form, he blazes as a lord of wealth, bestowing gifts to all. The call goes out: “Rise up, O Agni, priest of our sacrifice! Stand upright for the rite, most worthy of worship; for you understand all our hymns, O wise one, inspirer of our thoughts.” Agni, the unerring priest, has taken his seat among the tribes—gentle and wise in assemblies. He raises his light upward like the sun, stretching like smoke to the sky. As the generous, well-offered, ghee-anointed one, Agni moves to the right for the gods, advancing. The newborn, mighty bull rises, splendid and well-fed, preparing the cattle. On the sacred grass, when Agni is kindled, the upright priest delights in the rite and stands. Like a herdsman, Agni circles as priest, ascending the threefold seat, moving widely to the gods. With his own friendly form, Agni moves gently, speaks sweetly, and is true to the rite. His flames run swift as horses, and all beings tremble when he blazes forth. Blessed is Agni, with beautiful face and clear vision, lovely amid the terrible and the varied. His flame is untouched by darkness; neither ashes nor smoke stain his radiant body. No one can restrain Agni’s birth—not mother, father, nor any begetter. Even now, like Mitra, the well-offering, the pure Agni shines among the human tribes. Twice five sisters, dwelling together, have brought forth Agni among the people. Like a sharp tooth or a bright axe, he is stirred—quick and keen-edged. Agni, yours are those tawny, ghee-anointed, red ones—straight and noble. The ruddy, mighty ones with straight manes have called you to the gods, O wondrous one. Your companions, strong and tireless, O Agni, move with shining light. Like eagles in splendor, seeking their aim, they roar like the Maruts. A hymn is composed for you, Agni—kindling, praise, and song offered, rites set in order. Men have seated you as priest, worshipping and singing your praise. Here, the first priest is established by the creators—most fit for sacrifice, worthy of praise in the rites. The skillful Bhrigus have kindled him, shining in the forests, wondrous among all peoples. “O Agni, when will your kinship with the gods be manifest? For then mortals have taken you, worthy of praise, among the tribes.” They see the righteous, wise one—like the sky veiled—arranger of all sacrifices, joy-bringer in every home. As the swift messenger of Vivasvat, embraced by all peoples, the Bhrigus have raised up the shining, illustrious one among all. They have seated him as the human priest—wise, splendid, with pure flames, most fit for sacrifice, in seven abodes. He, in the eternal mothers, in the forest, well-invoked, has taken refuge—wondrous, present, placed in secret, well-knowing, sometimes sought after. When separated from the plant, in him they placed the udder of truth. The gods, with reverence, have kindled the great Agni—the bestower of offerings, ever true to the rite. Agni, wise, knows the missions of the sacrificer; he has comprehended both ends of heaven and earth. As a messenger, he goes wide-ranging from the highest heaven, knowing well the doors of heaven. His forms are black, his fronts shining; his flame moves, unique among forms. When the unloosened ones place the embryo, he becomes a messenger immediately upon birth. The strength of the newborn is seen when his flame follows the wind. He chooses his sharp tongue among the logs, devouring even the firmest foods with his jaws. When, with triple food, he grows with triple force, mighty Agni makes himself a triple messenger. He joins with the wind’s friend, ever active, urging and driving the swift one forward. With song, the people praise the messenger, all-knowing, bearer of offerings, immortal, most fit for worship. For he knows the wealth-giving, the great expanse of heaven; he brings the gods to the sacrifice. He knows the approach of the gods, makes them dwell in the home of truth, and even bestows beloved treasures. As Hotar, he undertakes the messenger’s task, wisely moving between, reaching the doors of heaven. May we be among those who give to Agni with offerings—those who nurture and kindle him. These, rich in wealth and heroic strength, are renowned—those who have placed Agni as their light. May much-desired riches come to us day by day; may strength speed toward us. He, the inspired one of peoples, with might, surpasses men like a swift missile. “O Agni, be gracious—you are great. You, who favor this god-seeking people, come and sit on the sacred grass.” He, difficult to deceive among men, mighty among the clans, immortal, becomes the messenger of all. Thus, in reverence, the sages honor Agni—the hidden, shining, all-knowing priest—who carries the offerings, unites mortals and gods, and bestows blessings upon all who seek him with devotion.