As the solemn rites of passage unfolded, the priests and mourners turned to the earth with reverence, their voices carrying prayers both tender and profound. “Rise up, O Earth,” they intoned, “do not press down upon him who comes to your embrace. Be gentle, be easy to approach and to part, just as a loving mother wraps her child in comfort—so, O Earth, cover him softly.” They called upon the Earth to stand firm, well-settled, rising up to offer her support. “Let a thousand measures rest upon her,” they prayed, envisioning her as a home filled with abundance, her houses flowing with ghee, all becoming shelters for the one they now entrusted to her care. With ritual precision, they laid the earth, setting a log to mark his dwelling. “May the ancestors uphold this pillar,” they invoked, “and here, may Yama, the lord of the departed, assign you a seat among those who have gone before.” The one departing was placed facing west, like a leaf set gently upon the ground. He took up the western speech, as a rider takes the reins of a horse, ready for the journey ahead. Yet, the hearts of those left behind yearned for return and reunion. “Turn back, do not go away from us,” they pleaded to the shining ones. “Remain here, Agni and Soma, O returning ones, and grant us wealth and blessing.” Their voices rose in urgent supplication: “Turn him back again, settle him here among us. Let Indra restrain his departure, let Agni bring him back. Let these return again, let them thrive under our protection. Here, O Agni, may all our wealth remain; let it not depart from us.” They called upon the guardian who brings back and restores, invoking his power over all comings and goings—departures, returns, recognitions, and ventures. “Whoever departs or goes forth, whoever returns or comes back, may the guardian turn them back again. Return, bring him back again; grant him to us once more, O Indra, so we may enjoy life together with the living.” With hope for abundance, they prayed, “Distribute everywhere strength, ghee, and milk. May all the gods who are worthy of sacrifice unite us with wealth. Turn back, make to return—from the four directions of the earth, bring him back to us by this means.” Their thoughts turned to the divine, seeking guidance and auspicious inspiration for their minds. “May you inspire our minds toward what is good,” they prayed. They turned to Agni, the sacred fire, praising him as the youngest and strongest, the ruler and friend, difficult to restrain, whose laws are honored by singers as children honor their mother. Women, in their devotion, nurture him—the radiant one, adorned and shining forth, marked by his own light. Agni, noble and wise, leads peoples as he stretches to the ends of heaven, shining brilliantly, flashing without a cloud. They invited him to accept their offerings, standing upright and mighty in sacrifice, measuring the dwelling as he comes forward. For Agni is the secure one, the hearer, the leader, the possessor of riches, made so by the gods. With a longing for sacrifice, they sought Agni, the ancient and gracious one, the son of the stone, the bringer of life. All the men, whoever they are or may be, increase Agni with offerings, praying for blessing. His form is manifold—black, white, tawny, dark—yet he is also bright, swift, and red, glorious, created in golden form by the divine creator. “Thus, O Agni, may our praises, joined with hymns, approach you, child of strength, together with the immortal ones. May our voices bring you goodwill, nourishment, strength, and a perfect dwelling.” In their rituals, they chose Agni as the Hotar, the priest, for the sacrifice laid on the sacred grass, seeking his delight and favor. The self-born ones adorned him, the sprinklers knew him, and for his delight, the offerings were brought. In him, the laws are established, as with ladles pouring forth; his forms are black and white, and he bears all glories for their utterance. They prayed, “Whatever wealth you, Agni, immortal and powerful, think of—bring that to us for strength. For your delight, bring us wonders in the sacrifices.” Agni, born of Atharvan, knows all wisdoms; he became the messenger of Vivasvat, beloved by Yama. Agni is invoked at every proper ritual, bestowing all desirable treasures for the worshipper’s delight. As the lovely officiant, men seat him in the sacrifices, his face shining with clarified butter, swift and bright-eyed. With his bright flame, Agni spreads widely, roaring and strengthening himself, placing his seed among kin, desiring to be spoken of. Their prayers then reached out to Indra. “Where is Indra heard today? In which people is he known? Like Mitra, is he not spoken of? Is he among the seers, or hidden, delighting in song?” They called for Indra to be heard among them, praised as the wielder of the bolt, eager for hymns, famed among the people like Mitra. Indra is the lord of greatness and might, the awakener of manliness, bearer of the bold bolt, a father to his dear son. For Indra, the horses of the wind are yoked, carrying him along the shining path. He is praised for his journey, none can compete with him as driver or knower. Those who seek food and shelter turn to him, for he comes from afar, from heaven and earth, to the mortal world. “Come to us, Indra, for our praise and exalted hymn,” they entreated, remembering his victory over Shushna, the human foe. “Strike down the lawless Dasyu, the hostile, the inhuman—slayer of foes, subdue that Dasa.” Indra, hero among heroes, is exalted with his supporters; his gifts are spread in many places, as the lands bow before him. He urges men to slay Vritra, the obstructer, wielding the bolt, even when the wise and powerful are hidden among the people. Thus, in their prayers and rituals, the people honored the earth, the departed, the returning, Agni the sacred fire, and Indra the mighty. They sought blessing, return, protection, wisdom, and victory—binding themselves to the gods with reverent words and the hope of unity, abundance, and auspiciousness for all.