Behold the Ṛbhus, those divine craftsmen, now seated firmly among the Adityas! No sorcerer's spite can touch them, no curse can bind them, no mortal rivalry can diminish their glory. They have passed beyond all danger, having shed the last vestiges of mortality in the sacred fire of their own making.

Sons of Sudhanvan, ye have proven your lineage! Your father was wise and learned, but ye have surpassed him, for ye took his gifts and transformed them into instruments of divine power. You did not merely inherit — ye created, ye innovated, ye brought forth marvels that the very gods themselves looked upon with wonder and admiration.

The Ṛbhus are eternal now. The rains may fall and the seasons turn; empires rise and crumble; men are born and pass away — yet the Ṛbhus remain, unchanging and uncorrupted, dwelling in the golden halls of Indra. Your fame shall never fade, your deeds shall never be forgotten, your names shall be praised as long as the Soma is pressed and the sacred fire burneth.

We mortals do acknowledge your supremacy in all craft and cunning. Whatever is made well, whatever is wrought with skill and vision, we know it is touched by your spirit. You are the patrons of all artisans, all builders, all who labour with their hands to create beauty and utility. When the potter sits at his wheel, when the smith strikes the anvil, when the carpenter shapes the wood, your blessing is upon them.

Therefore hear us now, O Ṛbhus, ye who have transcended the human condition while yet remaining forever honoured as our kinfolk and exemplars! Bless our labours, sharpen our wit, steady our hands, and grant us some measure of that divine vision which ye possess. May we too, though mortal, create things worthy of the immortals' praise.