The swift-moving Angirases, ever vigilant, discovered a hidden treasure as they approached the gracious gifts bestowed by the god Savitar. In this sacred moment, a prayer arose for acceptance—not only from the mighty and revered father, but from all the assembled gods, that they might receive these offerings together. With deep reverence and devotion, the worshippers turned their praise to Heaven and Earth, honoring them through sacrifice and song. These two vast and divine beings, ancient children of creation, had long been placed at the forefront by the sages of old, their greatness acknowledged by generations past. To them, ever-new hymns were offered at the seat of truth, calling upon the ancient Father and Mother to assemble with their hosts, bringing their great protection to those who seek it. Heaven and Earth, generous with countless treasures for Sudas, were invoked to grant what is good and enduring, to bestow well-being and steadfast guardianship upon the people. The prayer continued to the Lord of the House, the divine Agni, asking him to recognize his devotees, to be gracious and harmless, to accept their offerings, and to bring welfare to all creatures—bipeds and quadrupeds alike. Agni, as the Lord of the House, was entreated to act as a safe crossing, to expand the devotees’ lives with cattle and horses, and to maintain an unfailing friendship, accepting them with the warmth of a father for his sons. They prayed to reach his assembly, a place filled with happiness and song, asking for his protection in times of need and for well-being always. Agni was further invoked as the destroyer of disease, the one who pervades all forms, to be a steadfast friend and bringer of good fortune. The prayers turned to Arjuna Sārameya and Piśaṅga, guardians and companions, asking that their weapons rest among the garlands, that peace may reign and all may sleep undisturbed. Sārameya, the vigilant dog, was called upon to drive away thieves and robbers, to guard the wealth of Indra’s worshippers, and to cease his barking so that tranquility might prevail. Even the boar, a symbol of disturbance, was asked to be at peace, ensuring that all guardians and protectors rest, allowing the worshippers to sleep. A profound desire for peace was expressed: let the mother be at peace, the father, the dog, the lord of the house, all kin and all people nearby—may peace enfold everyone. To ensure this, the eyes of all who might disturb—those who sit, move, or gaze—were symbolically bound, just as the house is secured. A mighty image was invoked: the thousand-horned bull, risen from the ocean, whose power could lull all people to sleep. Even the women—whether lying on their backs, sides, on soft beds, or adorned with pleasant fragrance—were gently called to rest, so that peace would embrace the entire household. The narrative then shifted to the enigmatic companions of Rudra—the Maruts—whose origins are hidden even from each other, their lineage unknown. These noble ones, shining in their own forms, resound like the wind, untouchable even by the swift eagles. The wise perceive their mysteries, recalling the time when the spotted cow bore the mighty one. With the Maruts, strong and heroic, ever victorious, nourishing strength, the worshippers sought alliance. The Maruts were praised for their desirability, their radiant beauty, their united glory, and their formidable might. Their power was fierce, their strength unwavering, their energies enduring—a host exceedingly mighty. Their force shone bright, their wrath was intense, and their minds stirred like a sage rousing a troop to action. A plea was made for safety from lightning, for their ill will to be kept far away. Their beloved name was invoked, especially as they delight in offerings. Adorned with weapons and ornaments, each Marut shone forth in individual splendor. Their offerings were pure, their rites approached with truth, their birth and being radiant and unsullied. On their shoulders gleamed ornaments, on their breasts lay golden decorations. Like flashes of lightning accompanied by showers, they moved in ordered ranks, weapons at the ready. Their great deeds were awakened and their names proclaimed in sacred rites; a thousandfold share was offered to them as their noble portion. The worshippers prayed that if the Maruts listened to the inspired praise of the strong sacrificer, they would swiftly grant wealth and heroic strength, ensuring that none would surpass their devotees. The Maruts were likened to swift, adorned horses, to young men shining in appearance, dwelling in bright palaces, playful as calves. A plea for mercy followed: that the Maruts make the worlds easy to traverse, that their slaughter be kept far from cattle and men, that with goodwill they accept the homage offered. The priest, seated and eager, called upon them for generous gifts, invoking their strength and protection. The Maruts, it was said, bring strength, bow to might, and protect the praise of the worshipper, turning away hatred and placing it upon the hostile. They help even the weak, favoring the humble, and are asked to drive away all darkness, granting offspring and descendants. The prayer continued: let their gifts never be withdrawn, let the worshippers not be last in the division of wealth, but receive the desirable share, if the Maruts’ power is truly noble. When people gather—heroes, strong in horses, among plants and clans—the Maruts, children of Rudra, are called to be protectors in battle, granting victory. Much have the Maruts accomplished, their ancestral hymns long praised. Fierce in battle, victorious with the Maruts, one wins the swift steed. The prayer concluded with a wish for a mighty hero among the people, a lord and arranger by whom safe dwelling may be attained, and a hope that, with their own household, they may come near to the Maruts. Finally, the worshippers invoked Indra, Varuṇa, Mitra, Agni, the Waters, the Plants, and the Forests to accept these offerings. They sought shelter in the lap of the Maruts, praying for their constant protection and well-being.