In the sacred realm where hymns and offerings intertwine, the divine energies of the cosmos unite in a dance of reverence and power. The hymn, a vessel of devotion, is placed upon the two who serve with the ladle, a pair bound in purpose. Their unrestrained ordinance brings forth prosperity for the sacrificer pressing the Soma, a drink of celestial delight. It was the Angirases, wise and diligent, who first established the sacred way, kindling fires with right action and uncovering the hidden treasures of the Panis—the horses, cows, and cattle that sustain life. From Atharvan, the first to tread the paths of sacrifice, the sun, the guardian of order, was born, illuminating the world. In this sacred communion, the wise Kāvyā gather with the cows, worshipping the immortal born of Yama, the lord of the dead. In the celestial expanse, where the sacred grass is spread and hymns rise to the sky, Indra, the mighty lord, delights in the offerings. Here, the atmosphere fills him with strength, as the sun does with its rays. Indra’s steeds, powerful and swift, carry him forth to the praises of seers and the sacrifices of men. Mounted on his chariot, the slayer of Vṛtra, Indra is called upon with hymns, his mind turning towards the devoted, as the stone speaks and the sound of the hymn draws him near. "Drink this Soma, O Indra," the worshippers implore. "The greatest, immortal delight flows to you." They offer their reverence, honoring the eldest and mightiest among the gods. No one can match Indra in chariot-driving; his speed and wealth are unmatched, and he alone grants prosperity to those who serve him. The faithful wonder when he will listen to their songs and swiftly come to those in need, just as one steps into a field. Among the many, whoever calls upon Indra with pressed Soma, to him belongs the power of the great god. The cows, drinking sweet, flowing honey, rejoice in strength, shining with wealth, following the sovereignty of the sun. The speckled Prishni cows prepare Soma for him, dear to Indra, urging on the thunderbolt and arrow. Those wise and strong serve him with homage, accompanying his ancient ordinances, all while basking in the light of prosperity. Indra, unconquered, has slain foes with the bones of Dadhichi, a testament to his might. He sought the hidden horse’s head among the mountains, guided by the falcon, and there, in the house of the moon, he followed the name of the cow, the lower form of Tvashtar. The cows, eager and shining, are yoked to the yoke of truth, their hearts full of joy, their sisters close, fulfilling the service of life. As the faithful ponder who seeks Indra, who is praised and feared, who calls upon him for offspring, wealth, or for the people, they recognize the power of their devotion. They desire Agni, the fire, with oblations of ghee and ladles, offering their prayers to the well-worshipped priest. "You alone, O god, are the mightiest, the generous Indra, the true helper of mortals," they declare, beseeching him for gifts and aids that never fail, asking him to measure out all human wealth. In the realms of the Maruts, the sons of Rudra, who shine like races, the heroes rejoice in their contests. The sprinkled ones have attained greatness, establishing their heavenly seat. Praising, they produce hymns and generate strength, while the adorned cows move forth, driving away hostile forces along paths flowing with clarified butter. The Maruts, resplendent and armed with spears, shake even the unshakable with their might. Like swift thoughts, they yoke spotted steeds to their chariots, a band of strong heroes. As they speed towards victory, they shatter the rock, and the streams of the red one burst forth, scattering abundance across the earth. Invoking the seven swift-moving ones, the faithful call them forth to take their seat on the sacred grass, rejoicing in the sweet libation. Mighty in their power, the Maruts grow in greatness, standing in the sky and creating a broad seat. When Viṣṇu strides forth, overflowing with delight, they settle upon the beloved sacred grass. Like warriors eager for battle, they inspire fear in all beings, their terrible aspect making men tremble. In the creation of the golden thunderbolt with a thousand edges, Tvaṣṭṛ crafted a weapon for Indra, who took it to perform heroic deeds. With it, he struck down Vṛtra, releasing the waters into the ocean and driving the cloud upward. The Maruts, blowing their trumpets in the joy of Soma, perform glorious deeds, quenching the thirst of the inspired with their shining gifts. "Grant us shelter, O Maruts, for those who seek joy, and bestow upon us wealth and heroic sons," the faithful implore. They recognize that he whose dwelling the Maruts inhabit is the most well-guarded among men. Whether through sacrifices or the thoughts of the inspired, the Maruts hear the call. The one who follows the swift ones will find himself among herds rich in cattle, for for him, on the sacred grass, the pressed Soma is praised in the heavenly realms, accompanied by hymn and exhilaration.