LIKE AN ARROW ON THE BOW, THE HYMN WAS LOOSE-DOWN, LIKE A YOUNG CALF TO ITS DAM'S UDDER. As one who comes first with a full stream, she is milked, the Soma is compelled to this man's holy rites.
THE THOUGHT IS DEEPLY FIXED; THE SAVOURY JUICE IS SHED; THE TONGUE WITH JOYOUS SOUND IS STIRRING IN THE MOUTH. And Pavamana, like the shout of combatants, the drop rising in sweet juice, is flowing through the fleece.
HE FLOWS ABOUT THE SHEEP-SKIN, LONGING FOR A BRIDE; HE LOOSES ADITI'S DAUGHTERS FOR THE WORSHIPPER. The sacred drink has come, gold-tinted, well-restrained; like a strong bull, he shines, whetting his manly might.
THE BULL IS BELLOWING; THE COWS ARE COMING NIGH; THE GODS APPROACH THE GOD'S OWN RESTING-PLACE. Onward has Soma passed through the sheep's fair bright fleece, and has, as if, endowed a newly washed garment.
GOLD-HUED, IMMORTAL, NEWLY BATHED, PUTS ON A BRIGHTLY SHINING VESTURE THAT IS NEVER HARMED. He made the ridge of heaven to be his radiant robe, by sprinkling of the bowls from moisture of the sky.
EVEN AS THE BEAMS OF SURYA, URGING MEN TO SPEED, THAT CHEER AND SEND TO SLEEP, TOGETHER THEY RUSH OUT. These swift outpourings in long courses of holy rites: no form save only Indra shows itself so pure.
AS DOWN THE STEEP SLOPE OF A RIVER TO THE VALE, DRAWN FROM THE STEER THE SWIFT STRONG DRAUGHTS HAVE FOUND A WAY. Well be it with the men and cattle in our home. May powers, O Soma, may the people stay with us.
POUR OUT UPON US WEALTH IN GOODS, IN GOLD, IN STEEDS, IN CATTLE AND IN CORN, AND GREAT HEROIC STRENGTH. Ye, Soma, are my fathers, lifted up on high as heads of heaven and makers of the strength of life.
THESE PAVAMANAS HERE