The sons of the Maruts, eager and strong, lifted their voices high, reaching upward like sturdy posts fixed to a yoke, yearning to be recognized for their journey across the heavens. With their powerful courses, they set in motion even that vast, unyielding offspring of the cloud, the long and broad rain-bearing masses. Whenever mortals could not withstand their might, the Maruts shook even the steadfast mountains. As they moved forth, the Maruts spoke together upon their path, their voices echoing so that someone always heard them. Swiftly they rode with their rapid steeds, their favor shining among the Kanvas, and there they found joy, rejoicing along their way. For truly, joy awaited them, and the Kanvas, feeling their presence, prayed that they might live out their full span of life under the Maruts’ protection. “O Maruts,” the people cried, “how do you hold us so dear? You hold us as a father holds his son in his hands, you who are adorned with sacrificial grass. Where now do you go for your aim, from heaven or from earth? Where do your cows wander, and where do your new favors and good guidance dwell? Where are all your blessings?” The prayer continued, “If you, born of Prisni, were to become mortal, then let your worshipper become immortal. Do not let your singer become unpleasing to you, like a beast at pasture, led along the path of Yama. Let neither distant nor near destruction, hard to overcome, strike us. Instead, set us on a path together with water, ever-flowing and life-giving.” The Maruts, fierce and mighty like Rudra himself, were powerful even upon the open plain. They made the rain fall without need for wind. When their rain was released, the lightning bellowed like a cow, and like a mother, she let her calf go forth. Even by day, they could bring darkness, joining with Parjanya, the rain-cloud, as they split the earth apart. At the roar of the Maruts, all the dwellings on earth trembled, and people were shaken with awe. With winnowing hands, the Maruts sped along the shining, wide spaces of the sky, their courses unwearied. Their chariot-wheels were firm, their horses strong, and their reins well-fashioned. The people raised their voices in devoted speech, addressing Brahmanaspati for long life, and Agni, the radiant, visible friend. They fashioned songs from their mouths, as the rain-giver stretches forth, singing hymns and chants. They honored the host of Maruts—mighty, delightful, and shining—praying that these strong ones might always be near. When the Maruts shone forth from afar, blazing like a flame, the people wondered, “Whose purpose is this? Whose form do you take? Whom do you favor, and whom do your gifts support?” They prayed, “May your weapons be firm and cast down the foe. May they repel the fallen, and may your power be abundant, untouched by the deceit of mortals. O Maruts, you hurl away what is firm, set in motion what is heavy, loosen the forests, and split the mountain ridges. No enemy has found you out in heaven or on earth, O destroyers. May your power, O Rudras, be with us and our offspring, now and always.” The Maruts made the mountains tremble and shook the forest trees. They rushed forth like intoxicated gods with all their host. Spotted mares were yoked to their chariots, the red one drawing the pole, and even the earth hastened at their coming, filling people with awe and fear. For their swift help, the people called upon the Rudras, choosing their protection for their children. The Maruts had come to their aid before, especially for Kanva in his fear. “Whoever seeks to harm us,” they prayed, “scatter him with your might, your strength, and your aids.” The wise Maruts had always granted protection to Kanva, coming like rain and lightning with their blessings. They bore unconquered strength and generosity, and their gifts and might were invincible. Hating the foe, they shot their arrow at the enemy. The people invoked Brahmanaspati, calling him divine, and invited the generous Maruts and Indra to be present. To Brahmanaspati, the son of strength, mortals called when seeking wealth, hoping to obtain heroic power and good horses through the favor of the Maruts. They prayed for Brahmanaspati and the goddess Good Speech to advance, and for the gods to lead their sacrifice to the noble, generous giver of abundance. The one who gives wealth to the worshipper, they said, gains unfailing fame, and for him, they offered rich, heroic praise and abundant food. Brahmanaspati now spoke the hymn and chant wherein Indra, Varuna, Mitra, Aryaman, and the gods had established their abodes. The people proclaimed that auspicious, flawless hymn among the gatherings of the gods, urging all to heed the speech so that all desirable things might come. They wondered, “Who among men, devoted to the gods, attains the one who spreads the sacred grass with praise?” The generous one, established among his dwellings, had set up a lasting home. They urged all to approach power, for it destroys even among kings, but in fear, grants a secure dwelling. For the wielder of the bolt, there is neither opponent nor rival, whether in great wealth or in youth. And so, the one whom the wise guardians—Varuṇa, Mitra, and Aryaman—protect, such a person is never harmed.