In the ancient days, seekers and worshippers pondered the mysteries of the divine. They wondered: who among them truly seeks Indra, the mighty lord—who praises him, who fears him, who believes he is present and near? Who, desiring offspring, wealth, or personal benefit, will declare their devotion? Who calls upon Agni with offerings of ghee, using the ladle at the proper seasons, hoping the gods swiftly carry their oblations? Who considers the well-worshipped priest a blessing? Amidst these questions, a voice rises in praise: “You alone, O Indra, most mighty, are exalted. None but you, generous lord, helps mortals. I speak these words to you.” The prayer continues, seeking Indra’s unfailing gifts and support: “May your treasures and aid never leave us. Measure out to us all the wealth of humankind, O lord of people.” Then, the story turns to the Maruts, the radiant sons of Rudra. Like shining races, wise and eager for contests, they set forth, causing the two worlds to flourish. The sprinkled ones, the Rudras, have attained greatness, establishing their seat in heaven. Their hymns generate strength, and the speckled-mothered Maruts claim glory. When adorned cows, their bodies shining with ointments, move forth, they display beauty and drive away enemies. Along their paths, clarified butter flows. The Maruts, resplendent and armed with spears, shake even the unshakable with their might. Swift as thought, they yoke their spotted steeds to chariots, forming a strong band of heroes. As they speed to victory, their chariots shatter rocks, and streams burst forth, scattering like water over a hide across the earth. The seven swift-moving ones bring the Maruts with agile strength to the sacred grass, where they rejoice in the sweet libation. Growing in power, the Maruts stand in the sky, making a broad seat. When Viṣṇu strides forth, the bull overflowing with delight, they settle like birds on the beloved sacred grass. Like warriors eager for battle, the Maruts inspire fear in all beings; like kings of terrible aspect, men tremble before them. When Tvaṣṭṛ fashioned the golden thunderbolt with a thousand edges, Indra, the wise, seized it for heroic deeds. With it, he struck down Vṛtra, releasing the waters into the ocean. The Maruts, with their strength, drove the cloud upward, split mountains, and, in the joy of Soma, performed glorious acts. They drove the crooked cloud aside, pouring streams for the thirsty Gotama. With shining help, they satisfied the inspired one’s desire with their gifts. Whatever shelter and threefold protection they possess for those seeking joy, they grant generously, bestowing wealth and heroic strength. Those blessed to have the Maruts dwell in their homes are the most well-guarded among men. Whether by sacrifice or inspired thought, the Maruts hear the call. Those whose swift ones follow the inspired will reach herds rich in cattle. For these heroes, on sacred grass, the pressed Soma is praised in heavenly places, with hymns and exhilaration. May all peoples heed their call, and even the sun, eager for riches, hasten to them. With many autumns, may the Maruts share their blessings among peoples. Blessed is the mortal whom the Maruts safely lead on the paths of sacrifice. Let all know the desires of the one who, seeking joy, sweats with strength. The Maruts, truly mighty, reveal their power in greatness, striking down demons with lightning. They drive away hidden darkness, scatter all restraints, and bring forth light. With forward faces and might, shining and steadfast, the Maruts are adorned like bright mares with harness. When they rush through valleys like birds, vessels pour out, and ghee flows honey-colored on their chariots. The earth trembles beneath their wheels; their bands, playful and shining-eyed, manifest greatness. The young troop with dappled horses is self-born, powerful, surrounded by strength, true, debtless, and praiseworthy—the protector of prayers. The ancient birth of the Father is spoken of, as Soma’s tongue advances with vision. When the singer seeks Indra, worthy names are established. For glory, the Maruts measure themselves with beams and rays, bringing delight through hymns. Bannered and courageous, they know their beloved abode. They come with shining, lightning-laden chariots, spears, and adorned horses, flying forth with nourishment like skilled birds. With ruddy, tawny horses, they go in splendor, their chariot wheels striking the earth like golden ornaments with sharpened axes. Their bands bring glory, standing upright; the well-born, mighty Maruts break rocks. The greedy ones have surrounded their days, but divine inspiration prevails. The Gotamas, with hymns, raise the well for drinking. Their yoking reaches its goal as Gotama sings for them, beholding their golden-wheeled, iron-toothed, swift, boar-like forms. Their followers praise their power, singing with skilled voices and hands. The story closes with a prayer: “May auspicious thoughts come to us from every side—flawless, unimpeded, springing forth. May the gods always protect us, granting growth day by day, as long-lived guardians. May the gods’ favor be straight for us, their generosity turned toward us. May we approach their friendship, and may they grant us life for living.” Thus, through praise, prayer, and wonder, the tale of the gods and their blessings unfolds, echoing in the hearts of those who seek and honor them.