In the sacred hour of the Soma sacrifice, the pressing stones come to life. They speak as if they have witnessed the passage of centuries, their voices rising together in chorus, their green backs gleaming with freshness. Crafted with care and skill, these stones are set in motion by the first Hotar, who begins the ritual by pressing out the new offering. Though the stones do not know the taste of honey, still they speak as they press down upon the cooked flesh placed before them. Resting on the branch of the reddish tree, these strong, bull-like stones yearn for the Soma; with a mighty roar, they announce their longing. Intoxicated by the sweet essence that flows, the stones call out loudly to Indra. Though they do not know the honey’s nature, they are stirred to action, moving in wise harmony with their companions. Together, with their bands, they resound upon the earth, their movement echoing the rhythm of the ritual. The fair-winged stones utter their speech, while above them, the dark, driving stones resound as they move in their courses. Downward they descend to their resting place, and many shining streams, radiant as the sun, carry forth the seed of Soma. With great might, the stones rush forth, yoked together in strength. Bound by the yoke, they breathe and roar, eager for their work. Their thunderous voices are like the neighing of horses, urging all to listen. Ten stones are set on the base, ten on the sides, ten on the yokes, ten on the spans. Let the ten ageless whips resound, urging on the ten yokes and the ten yoked stones who bear the ritual’s burden. Swiftly, the stones move in ten bands, circling in a delightful setting. They partake of the first draught of the sweet Soma, savoring the very essence of the pressed juice. From the Soma, Indra’s two bay steeds draw near; extracting the juice, they settle upon the sacred cow. With them, Indra drinks the sweet milk of Soma, and by this divine nourishment, he grows in strength and might. The portion of Soma given to the stones is strong, never failing, always present and undiminished. Stand firm, O stones, with radiant power, as you did in the splendor of Raivata, delighting in the sacrifice. These stones are steadfast—firm, unwearied, unshaken, and immortal. They are untroubled, ageless, steadfast, vast, well-nourished, never sated, and born from a thirstlessness that knows no end. In every age, your forefathers, seeking safety, have yoked you to the ritual as to a sacred seat. Undecaying and golden-hued, with golden movement, you have made the heavens and earth resound with your mighty roar. At the moment of release, the stones speak out, like horses neighing as their harness is loosed. Pouring out the Soma as if sowing grain, they press the juice, never failing, ever eager. At the pressing, at the sacrifice, they utter their speech, as playful sons strike their mother. Release the wise stones who have pressed out the juice; let them roll forth, ever eager in their work. In another tale, the voice of a husband speaks to his wife: “O wife, remain steadfast in mind; let us compose our words together, even in this moment of dread. Our spells have not been uttered in vain—they bring us happiness, even across the farthest shore.” She replies, “What shall I do with your words? I will depart, like the first light of dawn. O Purūravas, return to your home; I am hard to reach, like the wind.” She continues, “My speed is swift, like an arrow from the quiver, like a hundred cows rushing forth. In a man without strength, resolve scatters like streams dispersing water—none, not even the wise, can grasp the measure.” She describes her journey: “She who bears wealth goes to her father-in-law’s house if the dawn so wills, leaving her home. I have reached the place where the path bends, bound at night by the Vaitasa cord.” “Three times in the day, the Vaitasa cords have bound me, and you, O unchanging one, have filled me with longing. O Purūravas, after your sign, this king, my hero—that was my body.” She recalls, “That well-joined line, full of favor, like a heart’s vision, not knotted but swift—those bright, ruddy ones ran forth for glory, like cows, like milch cows, bringing forth.” “At my birth, the divine ladies gathered, and the waters, praised, increased. When the gods made you, O Purūravas, they made you great for battle, for the slaying of foes.” She reflects, “When, with them, I abandoned desire among mortals, I, a mortal, served among mortals. Yet, intoxicated, they did not enjoy me; those who touched the chariot, those horses, vanished.” “When a mortal, indifferent among immortal women, does not join their rituals with earth-dwellers, then those forms shine forth, like playful horses, like restless colts, adorned in their own beauty.” She laments, “Like lightning, she fell, flashing without thunder, carrying away my cherished desires. The noble-born woman was born among the waters—O Urvashi, grant a long life to the man.” Urvashi addresses Purūravas, “You were born for the work of a herdsman; for that, O Purūravas, you placed your strength. I desired you, wise one, but you did not stay with me; you did not listen—what did you enjoy?” She questions, “When does a son, newly born, seek his father, causing tears to flow, knowing the truth? Who can separate a husband and wife of one mind, when Agni burns among the in-laws?” She declares, “She causes tears to flow, she makes the mother-in-law weep for her well-being. Therefore, I send you away—go to another; do not touch me, foolish one.” With finality, she says, “Let the good god depart today, unrestrained, to the farthest distance, to the most distant place. There let him lie in the lap of destruction; there let the eager wolves devour him.” But Purūravas pleads, “Do not die, do not depart; let not the cruel, wicked wolves destroy you. Indeed, there is no friendship in women; the hearts of she-wolves are like this.” She reflects on her time among mortals: “Whatever strange conduct I practiced, I dwelled for four autumns and nights. I ate a small portion of clarified butter once a day; with that alone, now satisfied, I depart.” Vasishtha, moving in the midspace, seeks out radiant Urvashi. “The reward of good deeds stands near you; do not turn away—my heart burns.” The gods declare to Aila, “As you are, you are kin to death. Your offspring offer oblations to the gods; you, too, rejoice in heaven.” In praise of Indra, the mighty one, a new hymn is sung. “For you, O mighty one, I proclaim praise in the assembly; for you I seek the delight of the eager, the joy of the strong. Like clarified butter beautifully poured by the Haris, may our hymns, adorned with your golden form, reach you.” It is Hari whom the worshippers invoke and pour forth, filling him as cows fill with milk. Praise is offered to Indra, the strong one, accompanied by the Haris. Indra’s weapon is the tawny, iron thunderbolt; Hari is unconstrained, Hari is in his hands. Glorious and fair-cheeked, with the fury of Hari, Indra’s very form is fashioned from the Haris. Like a beacon in the sky shines the sign of the tawny one—the thunderbolt gleams like the tawny hue. Indra struck the iron-jawed serpent with a thousand points, bearing the strength of Hari. “O Indra of tawny hair, you have been praised as of old. All your might is tawny, your favor is tawny-born, most delightful.” The two tawny steeds are yoked to Indra’s chariot, bearing the thunderer to the Soma pressing. For him, many tawny libations have been prepared; the tawny ones pour out Soma for Indra. For desire, the tawny ones pour out; for the steadfast, the tawny steeds are harnessed, swift. He who is pleased with the tawny horses attains his desire, full of tawny delight. With tawny beard and hair, iron-clad, Indra grew strong in the protection of the tawny one. Mighty leader of hosts, he overcomes all evils with the tawny ones. Like two ladles, his tawny ones are set apart; the swift ones, for the prize, are split in two. When, for the sake of offering, the tawny ones are cleansed in the vessel, they drink the exhilarating, delightful Soma. Thus, through the ritual, the longing, the separation, and the praise, the ancient hymns flow—celebrating the stones, the Soma, the gods, and the mysteries of life and sacrifice.