Where, O Maruts, is the top, where the bottom of the mighty sky
where you came? When you throw down with the thunderbolt what is strong,
like brittle things, you fly across the terrible sea! As your conquest
is violent, splendid, terrible, full and crushing, so, O Maruts, is your
gift delightful, like the largess of a liberal worshipper,
wide-spreading, laughing like heavenly lightning. From the tires of
their chariot-wheels streams gush forth, when they send out the voice of
the clouds; the lightnings smiled upon the earth, when the Maruts shower
down fatness. Prisni brought forth for the great fight the terrible
train of the untiring Maruts: when fed they produced the dark cloud, and
then looked about for invigorating food. May this praise, O Maruts, this
song of Mandarya, the son of Mana, the poet, ask you with food for
offspring for ourselves! May we have an invigorating autumn, with
quickening rain!
VI
The Maruts charged with rain, endowed with fierce force, terrible like
wild beasts, blazing in their strength, brilliant like fires, and
impetuous, have uncovered the rain-giving cows by blowing away the
cloud. The Maruts with their rings appeared like the heavens with their
stars, they shone wide like streams from clouds as soon as Rudra, the
strong man, was born for you, O golden-breasted Maruts, in the bright
lap of Prisni. They wash their horses like racers in the courses, they
hasten with the points of the reed on their quick steeds.
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