To Vâta

Now for the greatness of the chariot of Vâta. Its roar goes crashing and thundering. It moves touching the sky, and creating red sheens, or it goes scattering the dust of the earth. Afterwards there rise the gusts of Vâta, they go towards him, like women to a feast. The god goes with them on the same chariot, he, the king of the whole of this world. When he moves on his paths along the sky, he rests not even a single day; the friend of the waters, the first-born, the holy, where was he born, whence did he spring? The breath of the gods, the germ of the world, that god moves wherever he listeth; his roars indeed are heard, not his form—let us offer sacrifice to that Vâta!

Now hear of the greatness of Vâta’s chariot. Its roar crashes and thunders. The chariot moves, touching the sky and creating red glows, or scattering the dust of the earth. Then Vâta’s gusts rise and go toward him, like women going to a feast. The god rides with the gusts in the same chariot. He is the king of this whole world. As he travels his paths across the sky, he does not rest for even a single day. He is the friend of the waters, the firstborn, the holy one. Where was he born? Where did he come from? The breath of the gods, the seed of the world, this god moves wherever he wishes. His roars are heard, but his form is not seen. Let us offer sacrifice to Vâta!