Tremble! The Maruts take up their weapons! Each Marut draws forth a lightning-spear, each blade crackling with the fury of the storm. The weapons glow incandescent. The air around them shimmers with heat. The earth quakes at the sound of them being wielded.

Listen! The shouts of the Maruts rise up! A thousand voices crying out as one, a sound so mighty that heaven itself echoes with the reverberations. The mountains hear that cry and bow down. The oceans hear it and their waves grow vast. The very sky trembles at the sound.

The lightning-spears are hurled! They streak across the heavens, brilliant as meteors, swift as thought. Where they pass, the clouds are split asunder. Where they strike, the earth opens. The spears carry the power of the gods themselves—the power to destroy, to renew, to purify.

When the Maruts cry out, all the lesser powers take shelter. The demons flee into the deepest caverns. The enemies of the gods tremble with fear. The faithful take courage, knowing that their protectors have come. The sky rings with the war-cry of the divine, and all creation holds its breath.

O Maruts, ye terrible warriors! O ye masters of the lightning-spear! Your weapons are our shield. Your cries are our strength. Your terrible wrath falls upon our enemies. The demons flee before thee. The wicked are brought low. Cry out again, O Maruts! Let thy shout shake heaven and earth! Brandish thy lightning-spears! Make thy presence known! Defend us, O terrible ones, with thy weapons and thy strength!