The wild band rides forth! The untamed Maruts, the unconquerable ones, tear across the sky like a river breaking its banks. Mountains quake at their approach. The clouds split asunder before them. The very air roars with their passage.

Nothing can contain them! They are wild as the wind itself, for they ARE the wind—made manifest, made terrible, made glorious. They shake the mountains from their roots. They shatter the peaks and scatter the stones. They split the clouds as one splits fruit, releasing the waters that have been locked away in the heavens.

Hear their voices! Each Marut shouts with the sound of thunder. Together they roar as a thousand bulls roar, as a thousand lions roar. Their voices crack open the sky. Their voices shake the very pillars upon which the world stands. In their clamor is power unimaginable, energy without bound.

They stride across the earth like giants, each step a mile, each breath a gale. They leap over forests and forests bow before them. They wade through rivers and rivers are driven back. They run swifter than any creature that flies or runs or crawls. No chariot, no horse, no wind can overtake them.

O Maruts, ye wild and unstoppable ones! Ye who know no master save Rudra, your father! Ye who obey no law save that of your own fierce nature! Come now to this altar. Accept the praises of mortals. Show us thy terrible grace. Let thy wildness be turned toward the protection of thy people. Shake the sky for our sake! Split the clouds and bring forth the rain that sustains all life!