1 I LAUD the Heroes Twain, this heaven's Controllers: singing with songs of praise I call the Aśvins, Fain in a moment, when the morns are breaking, to part the earth's ends and the spacious regions.
2 Moving to sacrifice through realms of lustre they light the radiance of the car that bears them. Traversing many wide unmeasured spaces, over the wastes ye pass, and fields, and waters.
3 Ye to that bounteous path of yours, ye mighty, have ever borne away our thoughts with horses, Mind-swift and full of vigour, that the trouble of man who offers gifts might cease and slumber.
4 So ye, when ye have yoked your chariothorses, come to the hymn of the most recent singer. Our true and ancient Herald Priest shall bring you, the Youthful, bearing splendour, food, and vigour.
5 With newest hymn I call those Wonder-Workers, ancient and brilliant, and exceeding mighty, Bringers of bliss to him who lauds and praises, bestowing varied bounties on the singer.
6 So ye, with birds, out of the sea and waters bore Bhujyu, son of Tugra, through the regions. Speeding with winged steeds through dustless spaces, out of the bosom of the flood they bore him.
7 Victors, car-borne, ye rent the rock asunder: Bulls, heard the calling of the eunuch's consort. Bounteous, ye filled the cow with milk for Śayu: thus, swift and zealous Ones, ye showed your favour.
8 Whate’er from olden time, Heaven, Earth! existeth great object of the wrath of Gods and mortals, Make that, Ādityas, Vasus, sons of Rudra, an evil brand to one allied with demons.
yá īṃ rā́jānāv r̥tuthā́ vidádhad rájaso mitró váruṇaś cíketat | gambhīrā́ya rákṣase hetím asya dróghāya cid vácasa ā́navāya ||
9 May he who knows, as Varuṇa and Mitra, air's realm, appointing both the Kings in season, Against the secret fiend cast forth his weapon, against the lying words that strangers utter.
10 Come to our home with friendly wheels, for offipring; come on your radiant chariot rich in heroes. Strike off, ye Twain, the heads of our assailants who with man's treacherous attack approach us.
11 Come hitherward to us with teams of horses, the highest and the midmost and the lowest. Bountiful Lords, throw open to the singer doors e’en of the firm-closed stall of cattle.
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Maṇḍala I