WHEN-Men, Bṛhaspati, imparting names to things, sent out Vāk’s first and earliest utterances, All that was perfect and spotless, hidden within them, was revealed through their love.
Like men sifting cornflour, the wise in spirit created language, Friends recognize each other’s signs of friendship; their speech bears the blessed mark.
Following sacrifice, they followed Vāk, finding her sheltered within the Rishis. They brought her forth, distributed her across many places; seven singers make her tones harmonize.
One man has never seen Vāk, yet sees; one man has hearing but has never heard her. Yet to another she shows her beauty, like a loving woman to her husband.
One man they call a slow friend, dull in friendship; they never urge him to valorous deeds. He wanders aimlessly, without fruit or blossom; the voice he hears yields no benefit.
No part of Vāk does he have who has abandoned his dear friend who knows the truth of friendship. Even if he hears her, he listens in vain; none knows the path of righteous action.
Friends differ in their quickness of spirit, equally endowed with eyes and hearing. Some look like tanks reaching the mouth or shoulder, others like pools fit for bathing.
When friendly Brahmins sacrifice together with the heart’s impulse, They leave one far behind due to their achievements, and some who count as Brahmins wander elsewhere.
Those men who do not falter and do not advance, neither Brahmins nor libation-makers, Having attained Vāk in a sinful way spin out their thread in ignorance like spinsters.
All friends rejoice in the friend who comes victorious, having conquered in assembly. He is blame-averting, fit for vigorous deeds; he is their food provider and ready for action.
One recites verses constantly, one sings the holy psalm in Sakvari measures. One more, the Brahmin, teaches the lore of being, and one lays down the rules of sacrifice.