In ancient times, amidst mortals, I abandoned all worldly desires and lived as one among them. Serving as a mortal, I walked this earth, and yet, when intoxication took hold, those who sought to enjoy my company found no pleasure; those who grasped at the chariot, the horses, all vanished, fading from sight. When a mortal, unconcerned with the immortal women, refrains from sharing in their rituals with the dwellers of earth, then those radiant forms reveal themselves—shining and restless, like playful colts adorned in their own beauty. One day, she fell like lightning—flashing brilliantly but without thunder—and carried away my dearest desires. This noble-born woman, Urvashi, was born among the waters. O Urvashi, may you grant long life to the man who seeks you! You were born, Urvashi, for the work of a herdsman, and for that, O Pururavas, you placed your strength. I desired you, wise one, but you did not remain with me. You did not listen to my pleas—what joy did you find elsewhere? When does a newborn son seek his father, bringing tears to flow, knowing the truth of his origin? Who can separate a husband and wife who are of one mind, especially when Agni, the sacred fire, burns among the in-laws? I declare this truth: she brings tears, making the mother-in-law weep aloud for her well-being. Therefore, I send you away from me—go to another; do not touch me, foolish one. Let the good god depart today, unrestrained, to the farthest distance, to the most remote place. There, let him rest in the lap of destruction; there, let the wolves, eager and hungry, devour him. Pururavas, do not die, do not leave; let not the cruel, wicked wolves destroy you. Truly, there is no friendship in women; the hearts of she-wolves are like this—unpredictable and wild. Whatever strange conduct I practiced among mortals, I dwelled for four autumns and nights. I ate only a small portion of clarified butter once a day; with that, now satisfied, I depart. Vasishtha, who moves in the space between earth and sky, seeks out radiant Urvashi. The reward of good deeds stands near you—do not turn away, for my heart burns with longing. Thus the gods speak to you, O Aila: as you are, you are kin to death. Your offspring offer oblations to the gods; you, too, rejoice in heaven. Now, O mighty one, I proclaim your praise in the assembly. For you, I seek the delight of the eager, the joy of the strong. May the hymns, adorned with your golden form, reach you as beautifully as clarified butter poured by the Haris. It is Hari whom the worshippers invoke and pour forth in the heavenly abode. They fill him with the Haris, as cows fill a vessel with milk—praise be to Indra, the strong one, accompanied by the Haris. His weapon is the tawny, iron thunderbolt—Hari, the unconstrained, Hari in his hands. Glorious and fair-cheeked, Indra’s forms are fashioned with the fury of Hari. Like a beacon in the sky, the sign of the tawny one is set; the thunderbolt shines forth like the tawny. He struck down the serpent, the iron-jawed one with a thousand points, bearing the strength of Hari. You, O Indra of tawny hair, have been praised by former worshippers. All your might is tawny, your favor is tawny-born, most delightful. Those two tawny steeds, yoked to the chariot, bring Indra, the thunderer, joyous and praiseworthy, to the pressing of Soma. For him, many tawny libations are prepared; the tawny ones pour out Soma for Indra. For desire, the tawny ones are poured; for the steadfast, the tawny steeds are harnessed, swift. He who rejoices in the tawny horses and steeds attains his desire, filled with tawny delight. With tawny beard and hair, iron-clad, Indra grew strong under the protection of the tawny one. Pleased with the mighty steeds, the leader of hosts overcomes all evils with the tawny ones. Like two ladles, his tawny ones are set apart; the swift ones, for the prize, are divided. When, for the offering, the tawny ones are cleansed in the vessel, they drink the exhilarating, delightful Soma. In the house of the exhilarating one, the stallion neighed for the prize, like a racer. The great, nourishing, exhilarating one has established mighty power, even among the exhilarating. Across heaven and earth, O Indra, you are exalted in greatness; ever anew, you delight in my hymn. O lord, reveal the exhilarating dwelling of the cow for the worshipper, for the sun. Let the yoked horses bring you here, O Indra of the tawny mane, to the chariot. Drink as you desire of the offered mead, O exhilarating one, and accept the sacrifice with the ten priests in the assembly. Of the earlier pressed Somas, O exhilarating one, and now, this pressing is solely for you. Drink the honeyed Soma, O Indra, with strength; let the mighty one pour it into your belly all at once. Now, let me tell of the plants—those that were born long ago, three ages before the gods. I declare their hundreds and their seven abodes. A hundred are your abodes, O mothers, and a thousand are your forms. Therefore, O hundred-powered ones, make this man free from disease. Rejoice, O plants, rich in flowers and bearing fruit; like swift horses, may the healing herbs carry us across suffering. O plants, I address you as goddesses, as mothers: may I gain a horse, a cow, clothing, and your spirit, O man. Your seat is beneath the ashvattha tree, your dwelling is in the leaf. It is said you are born from the cow when you bring forth a man. Where the plants gather, like kings in assembly, the sage is called the healer, the guardian who drives away disease. May all the plants, possessing horses and Soma, bestowing strength and vigor, come to us for complete protection. The potent energy of the plants is kept, like cows in a pen; they grant wealth to those who seek it, and your spirit, O man. Iṣkṛtir is your mother’s name, and you are the Iṣkṛtis; you are the sinews, the winged ones, driving away disease. You have crossed over all obstacles, as a thief leaps over a pen; the plants have shaken off whatever defilement clung to the body. When, desiring strength, I take these plants in my hand, the spirit of sickness departs, as the snare of life is loosened. Wherever you, O plants, spread—limb by limb, joint by joint—drive away disease from there, like a fierce one with a middle finger. Depart together with disease, with the screeching owl; depart with the wind’s blast, perish with the departing darkness. Let one of you follow another, and another follow yet another; all of you, being united, grant me this utterance. Those that bear fruit, those that do not, those without flowers, and those with blossoms—born of Brihaspati—may they release us from affliction. May they free me from curse, from Varuna’s wrath, from Yama’s fetters, and from every divine transgression. Thus, the stories of longing and separation, of thunder and healing, of gods, mortals, and the sacred plants, weave together the tapestry of the ancient wisdom.