Let us begin with the story of the three voices, radiant and powerful, that stand at the forefront of creation. These voices draw forth the honeyed essence from the cosmic udder, nurturing all life. They bring forth the calf, the very seed of all plants, and as soon as this bull-calf is born, he bellows aloud, announcing his presence to the world. This divine nourisher, the lord of plants and waters, governs all that moves upon the earth. He is threefold in his nature, sheltering and protecting us with threefold light, and bestowing healing upon all. Through his strength, the charioteer becomes mighty, and the chariot, shaped by his will, moves forth. The mother receives the father’s nourishing milk, and from this, both father and son grow strong. All the worlds are established within him; three heavens and threefold waters flow through his being. Three vessels, filled with honeyed offerings, pour their sweetness around the radiant one, spreading abundance everywhere. Let our words be pleasing to Parjanya, the lord of the sun, and may they find a place within our hearts. May the rains he brings bring us joy, and may the herbs, guarded by the gods, flourish and thrive for our benefit. He is the eternal bull, the bearer of seed among all beings. Within him lies the soul of all that moves and all that stands still. May this truth protect us for a hundred autumns, and may we always be guarded by his well-being. Sing now to Parjanya, the generous son of heaven, for he grants us abundant barley and sustains our fields. He is the creator of the seeds of herbs, the progenitor of cows and horses, and the father of mankind. Offer to him the sweetest oblation, so that he may grant us nourishing food. For a year, the Brahmins, observing their vows, remained silent. But now, inspired by Parjanya, the frogs have begun to speak. When the heavenly waters descend upon the earth, the frogs, once dry like a lake, gather together as cows do with their calves. Thirsty and awaiting the monsoon, they call out to one another, like a son calling to his father. Eagerly, one frog grasps another when the waters overflow, their thirst not yet quenched. The drenched speckled frog mingles its voice with the green. One imitates another’s voice, learning as a pupil from a teacher, and together, their utterances harmonize, singing melodiously in the waters. Among them are brown, black, speckled, and green frogs—diverse in form, yet all bearing the same name and uttering their voices in unison. Like Brahmins at the Soma ritual, speaking around a full lake, these frogs become callers of the monsoon after a year of silence. The Brahmins, drinkers of Soma, have made their speech, performing sacred rites throughout the year. Some priests, heated by the fire, appear, while others remain hidden. They have guarded the divine order, not neglecting the twelfth season, and at the coming of the monsoon after a year, those who endured the heat receive release. The brown, black, speckled, and green frogs have given us their treasures; they grant hundreds and thousands, extending our lives, much like cows bestow their gifts. Now, O Indra and Soma, burn and drive away the demon who increases darkness. Hear our plea, cast him out, slay and freeze him, O mighty sons of Atri. Direct your enmity against the one who proclaims evil, fierce and consuming like fire; place your hatred upon the hater of prayer, the flesh-eater, the one with terrible eyes, the malicious, lawless, and deceitful. Hurl the evildoers into the pit, into the depth without support, into utter darkness, so that none may rise again. Let your wrath and power be thus directed. Bring down the bolt of heaven and the destruction from earth as punishment for the evil-speaker; lift up the heavenly radiance from the mountains, by which you destroyed the swelling demon. Bring down the stone from the sky with your fire-heated, stone-breaking weapons; with deadly, ageless, sharp weapons, strike down the malicious ones and send them into silence. May this prayer surround you on all sides, like a swift horse in the racecourse; the offering I present to you as priests—may you, like kings, grant us wisdom and reward these hymns. Remember, with your victorious weapons, to strike down the treacherous, the demons, the breakers. Let not the evildoer find an easy path; may he never attack us with harm. Whoever looks upon me with evil mind or false words, as if seizing me like water with a sieve—let him be left behind, O Indra, let him be speechless. Those who delight in evil speech or corrupt the good with their own nature—may Soma deliver them to the serpent or let them fall into the lap of ruin. Whoever desires to harm our sap, our drink, O Agni, or our horses, cattle, or people—whether enemy, thief, or robber—let him perish, let him be destroyed in body and offspring. Let him be far away in body and lineage; let him be cast beneath all three earths; let his fame wither, O gods, whoever seeks to harm us by day or night. For the wise, the distinction between truth and falsehood is clear; of the two words that contend, the true and the stronger—Soma protects that one and destroys the false. Soma does not harm the innocent nor the warrior who upholds justice; he destroys the demon and the liar, both defeated under Indra’s might. Even if I have been a false god or useless, O gods—even so, O Agni, what do you hold against us, O knower of all births? Let those who speak deceit join with ruin. If today I am a sorcerer, or if I have harmed a man, then let him be separated from his companions, parted from his men tenfold, whoever falsely calls me a sorcerer. Whoever calls me a sorcerer or says 'I am pure' while being a demon—may Indra strike him down with a mighty blow, may he be cast to the lowest place among all creatures. She who moves by night like a hyena, hiding her form in treachery—let her be cast down into endless pits, let the stones strike the demon with their blows. Rise up, O Maruts, scatter the foes, seize and crush the demons; those who, like birds, fly by night, or those who, as enemies, have taken their place at the sacrifice. Roll down the stone of heaven, O Indra, O generous one, sharpened by Soma; from east, west, below, and above—strike the demons with the mountain. These very ones, with canine jaws, attack and seek to assail Indra, eager to strike the blameless. O Shakra, sharpen the weapon against the slanderers; release the thunderbolt against the sorcerers. Indra became the destroyer of sorcerers for Parashara, driving away those who stir the sacrificial offering. Shakra struck down the demons, as an axe fells a forest, as a vessel splits apart, so he goes against the fiends, ensuring the triumph of divine order and the safety of the righteous.