1We know the father of the arrow, Parg-anya, who furnishes bountiful fluid, and well do we know his mother, Prithivi (earth), the multiform!

2O bowstring, turn aside from us, turn my body into stone! Do thou firmly hold very far away the hostile powers and the haters!

3When the bowstring, embracing the wood (of the bow), greets with a whiz the eaoer arrow, do thou, O Indra, ward off from us the piercing missile!

4As the point (of the arrow) stands in the way of heaven and earth, thus may the muñga-grass unfailingly stand in the way of sickness and (excessive) discharge! {02003}