The mighty flames of Agni blazed forth, fierce and unconquered, their radiance striking awe and fear like the terrors of old. These flames, ever-vigilant, drove away the demons and foes, consuming every adversary that dared approach. In this sacred atmosphere, the Maruts—the storm-gods—gathered in joy. Invincible and splendid, they rode in shining chariots, as the Kanvas lifted their voices in praise. The Maruts, born in their own brilliance, arrived with speckled steeds, their hands bearing spears, axes, and ornaments that gleamed in the light. The crack of their whips resounded, filling the air with a varied, thunderous sound as their chariots thundered across the heavens. For this troop of Maruts, ever vigorous and radiant with might, hymns were sung in divine worship. Their blessing was proclaimed among the herds, and as the Maruts rejoiced, nourished by the sacred juice, their power grew even stronger. Among these mighty ones, who could say which was the most powerful? Their impulses sprang from both heaven and earth, and even the unshakable was moved by their coming. As the Maruts marched forth, mortals watched in awe. The mountains and hills trembled at their approach, and the earth herself, like a devoted wife, submitted to the lord of the people, quaking in reverence and fear. The children of the Maruts drew strength from their mother, their vigor firm and doubled for her nourishment. The sons of the Maruts lifted their voices upward, strong and eager for the journey, like posts set upon the yoke. Even the long, broad offspring of the cloud—the rain-laden sky—was set in motion by their courses. Whenever people could not withstand the Maruts’ strength, mountains themselves were shaken. As the Maruts advanced, they spoke together along their path, and their voices could be heard by those who listened. With rapid steeds, the Maruts sped forth, their favor resting among the Kanvas, rejoicing along their way. In their presence was joy, and those who honored them wished to live out the full span of their days. The Maruts held their devotees dear, like a loving father holding his son in his hands, adorned with sacrificial grass. Where would these storm-gods go next—descending from heaven, rising from earth? Where did their herds not wander, and where were their blessings not found? The faithful wondered where the Maruts’ new favors and guidance would be revealed. If the Maruts, born of Prisni, were to become mortal, then may their worshipper become immortal in their place. Let not the singer become unpleasing, like a beast at pasture, nor be led onto the path of Yama. May no destruction, whether near or far, strike down the faithful; may the Maruts set their devotees on a path flowing with water and life. Fierce and mighty, Rudra-like even upon the plains, the Maruts brought rain without wind. Their lightning flashed and called out like a cow, and as a mother lets her calf go, so did the rains descend. Even by day, they could bring darkness, joining with Parjanya, the rain-bringer, splitting open the earth with their power. At the roar of the Maruts, all dwellings upon earth trembled; people were shaken from their complacency. With winnowing hands, the Maruts moved across the shining, wide spaces of the sky, their courses unwearied. May their chariot-wheels be firm, their horses strong, their reins well-fashioned. With devoted speech, the faithful addressed Brahmanaspati for the blessings of old age, Agni the radiant friend, visible and near. From their mouths, songs and hymns flowed like rain, honoring the Marut host—mighty, delightful, and shining. May these strong ones, grown in power, always remain close. When the Maruts shone forth from afar, like a distant flame, the people wondered: whose purpose did they serve, whose form did they take, whom did they favor, and to whom did they grant their gifts? May their weapons be firm, casting down foes and repelling the fallen, their power abundant and untouched by mortal deceit. The Maruts hurled away what was firm, set heavy things in motion, loosened the forests, and split the ridges of the mountains. No enemy could find them out, in heaven or on earth. Their power, O Rudras, was called upon to be yoked with the offspring of the faithful, now and always. They made the mountains tremble and shook the forest trees, rushing forth like intoxicated gods with all their host. The Maruts yoked their spotted mares to their chariots, the red one drawing the pole; even the earth hastened at their coming, and people were filled with awe and fear. For swift help, the faithful chose the protection of the Rudras for their offspring, trusting that the Maruts would come to their aid, as they had before for Kanva in his fear. Whomever the Maruts impelled, or mortals impelled against the faithful, whoever sought harm—these were scattered by the Maruts’ might and strength. The wise Maruts had always given protection to Kanva, and with their aids, they would come like rain and lightning, bringing blessings and safeguarding those who honored them.