O Rudra, the Howler, the Archer, he whose eye is the sun and the storm! We tremble before thy majesty. We tremble at thy name. Thou art the wild one, the unbowed, the untameable force that moveth through heaven and earth.

Thou art the father of the Maruts, those terrifying winds that shake the mountains and split the clouds. When thou drawest thy bow, the very stones quake. When thou speakest, the thunder answers. Thy arrows fly unseen, striking the sinner and the fool, yet thou art healer also — physician of the gods and of men.

O Rudra, lord of beasts, herdsman of the wild things that roam the forest and the high places — we do not presume to comprehend thee. Thou art beyond our knowing, beyond our mortal understanding. Thou art the necessary danger, the sacred terror, the destroyer who must be feared even as he is revered.

We offer unto thee the finest herbs, the sweetest butter, the Soma most precious. We offer unto thee our fervent prayers, our stammering words, our trembling voices. Have mercy upon us, O Red One! Let not thy shafts find their mark upon our flesh. Let not thy wrath descend upon our houses and our fields.

Yet we know thee also as the healer, the gentle one, the physician. Thou who healest the wounds of gods and men alike — heal us of our sicknesses both seen and unseen. Cure us of our follies. Purify us of our transgressions. Make us worthy of thy protection even as we acknowledge thy terrible power.

O Rudra, thou ancient one, thou whose song is sung in the heart of mountains and in the howling of wolves — accept our worship. Grant us thy peace, which passeth understanding, yet feedeth the soul. Guard us always, in thy awful, sacred wisdom.