From the depths of the primordial ocean, a honeyed wave arose—swelling and foaming, carrying within itself the essence of immortality. Hidden within this wave was the secret name of ghee, the sacred clarified butter, which is known as the tongue of the gods and the very navel of nectar. In the sacrificial rite, the sages declared the name of this ghee, upholding it with the utmost reverence. The inspired poet, attentive to the recited hymn, heard the proclamation made by the four-horned bull—a mysterious being who revealed these truths. This bull was wondrous to behold: it bore four horns, stood on three feet, had two heads, and seven hands. Bound in threefold fashion, it bellowed mightily, for the great god himself had entered among mortals in this form. Long ago, the gods discovered the ghee, hidden deep within the cow. They divided it into three parts, guarding it with their hands. Indra generated one part, Sūrya another, and the third was shaped by Venā through his own power. From the heart of the ocean, streams issued forth—countless, a hundredfold, and difficult to cross. The seer beheld these streams of ghee, golden reeds shining amidst their flow. Like rivers, pure in heart and mind, these waves of ghee rushed forth, eager and wild as beasts returning to their lair. Their movement was like the roaring of a river in flood, swift as the wind. The mighty streams of ghee, like a red stallion, broke through all barriers, swelling with waves of sweetness. Together they flowed, adorned and radiant like smiling women, glancing toward Agni, the fire god. These streams of ghee kindled the sacred fires, which Jātavedas, the all-knowing flame, joyfully received. The seer saw these streams as maidens—anointed, adorned, eager for union—wherever Soma was pressed and the sacrifice performed, there the ghee flowed forth in abundance. Flowing with excellent praise, these streams brought cattle, bestowed auspicious wealth, and led the sacrifice, carrying honeyed sweetness. All the worlds found their resting place within this vast ocean, within the heart and the breath of life. In the waters, in the assembly, wherever beings were sustained, the wise approached that wave, rich with sweetness, seeking the blessing of the dark one. In the midst of the people, Agni, the fire god, awakened with the kindling—like a cow stretching forth to her calf, like young birds rising, his rays streamed towards the sky. The priest arose for the worship of the gods, and Agni, upright and gracious, stood at dawn. The brilliance of his kindled flame was seen, and the great god dispelled the darkness. When the company was assembled, Agni, pure and adorned with pure cows, took his place. The right-hand offering was yoked to the victorious, and upright, Agni placed himself with the ladles. The minds of the worshippers turned to Agni, just as eyes turn to the sun. At the touch of the two dawns, the white steed was born at the beginning of the days. For Agni is indeed born at the beginning of each day, set in his appointed places, bright among the woods. Bearing seven treasures, Agni the priest sat down, most worthy of worship. He settled in the lap of his fragrant mother, in the world, ever young, wise, established in many places, upholding the peoples, and kindled in their midst. With reverence, the people praised Agni, the inspired one, the excellent priest at their sacrifices. He who stretched out the two worlds with truth was always cleansed with ghee, the winner. The house-born Agni was cleansed in his own abode, praised by poets, the auspicious guest, the bull with a thousand horns—his strength surpassed all others. Immediately, Agni became most beautiful, surpassing all, worthy of praise, wondrous, shining forth—the beloved guest of the peoples. To him, the youngest, offerings were brought from near and far. The people sought his favor, asking for his great, splendid, and auspicious protection. Agni was invited to stand upon the radiant chariot, surrounded by worshippers. Knowing the paths of the wide atmosphere, he was called to bring the gods to partake of the offering. The wise, pure poet, the bull, the mighty one, was praised with hymns, shining like gold in heaven, widely spread. The mother, a young woman, bore a boy—awakened, hidden, she held him but did not give him to the father. His face was undiminished among the people; they saw him placed in the front, in the chariot. The seer wondered: “Who are you, young woman, who bears the boy? The powerful one has begotten him. The embryo grew through many seasons; I saw him born when the mother gave birth.” From afar, the seer saw him with golden teeth, pure in color, measuring the fields without weapons. The wise one bestowed immortality upon him. The blameless ones offered their praises, and the seer wondered at their deeds. He saw him moving from the field, newly born, with a splendid herd, shining greatly. Though the pale ones, the young women, became mothers, they could not seize him; he was indeed born. The seer asked, “Who are my noble ones among the many with cows? Those whose guardian is even the wilderness. Those who have taken him, let them release him; the wise one knows the birth of the cattle, let him come near us.” The enemies had placed the king, the sustainer of people, among mortals as a dwelling. The seer prayed that the prayers of Atri would release him, and that those who reviled would themselves be reviled. Even Śunaḥśepa, bound to the sacrificial post, was released, for he was not to be consumed. So the seer prayed to Agni, the wise Hotar, to release them from bonds. Though oppressed, the seer’s exhilaration did not waver. He spoke to the observer of the gods’ ordinances: Indra, knowing, had looked upon him, and by Indra’s instruction, Agni had come. Agni shone forth with great light, manifesting all things. He withstood the hostile powers, sharpening his horns to scatter the demons. Agni’s fierce, weaponed ones were in the sky, ready to slay the demon. Even in intoxication, his blazing ones broke through, and the godless could not withstand their assault. The inspired one fashioned praise for Agni, like a skillfully made chariot, seeking that Agni might accept it and grant radiant glory. The mighty-necked, ever-growing bull, the enemy-slayer, the wise, advanced together with knowledge. Thus the immortals spoke of Agni, granting protection to Manu, who sat on the sacred grass and offered with devotion. Agni, when born, was Varuṇa; when kindled, he became Mitra. In him, the son of strength, all the gods abided. For the worshipper, he was Indra. When bearing the name of the younger ones, Agni became Aryaman, the self-sustaining one, carrying the hidden. Mitra, well-formed, was anointed with cows when Agni united a couple with one mind. For Agni’s glory, the Maruts adorned themselves, for his birth was wondrous and beautiful. The step of Viṣṇu was placed as his counterpart—by it, Agni guarded the hidden name of the cows. By his splendor, the radiant gods, bearing much, partook of immortality. Men established Agni as the Hotar, the inspired ones praised him, desiring favor. No earlier Hotar was more worthy than Agni, none superior in wisdom. For whomever Agni became the guest, that one, by sacrifice, conquered mortals and gained the favor of the gods.