t and warm, traverses the heavens on a car
drawn by azure steeds; he it is who hurls the thunderbolt, sends the
rain, and banishes the clouds. India is a country of violent tempests;
the Hindoo struck with this phenomenon explained it in his own
fashion. He conceived the black cloud as an envelope in which were
contained the waters of heaven; these beneficent waters he called the
gleaming cows of Indra. When the storm is gathering, an evil genius,
Vritra, a three-headed serpent, has driven away the cows and enclosed
them in the black cavern whence their bellowings are heard (the
far-away rumblings of thunder). Indra applies himself to the task of
finding them; he strikes the cavern with his club, the strokes of
which are heard (the thunderbolt), and the forked tongue of the
serpent (the lightning) darts forth. At last the serpent is
vanquished, the cave is opened, the waters released fall on the earth,
Indra the victor appears in glory.

=Agni.=--Fire (Agni, the tireless) is regarded as another form of the
sun. The Hindoo, who produces it by rapidly rubbing two pieces of
wood together, imagines that the fire comes from the wood and that the
rain has placed it there. He conceives it then as the fire of heaven
descended to earth; in fact, when one places it on the hearth, it
springs up as if it would ascend toward heaven. Agni dissipates
darkness, warms mankind, and cooks his food; it is the benefactor and
the protector of the house. It is also "the internal fire," the soul
of the world; even the ancestor of the human race is the "son of
lightning." Thus, heat and light, sources of all life, are the deities
of the Hindoo.

=Worship.=--To adore his gods he strives to reproduce what he sees in
heaven. He ignites a terrestrial fire by rubbing sticks, he nourishes
it by depositing on the hearth, butter, milk, and soma, a fermented
drink. To delight the gods he makes offerings to them of fruits and
cakes; he even sacrifices to them cattle, rams and horses; he then
invokes them, chanting hymns to their praise. "When thou art bidden by
us to quaff the soma, come with thy sombre steeds, thou deity whose
darts are stones. Our celebrant is seated according to prescription,
the sacred green is spread, in the morning stones have been gathered
together. Take thy seat on the holy sward; taste, O hero, our offering
to thee. Delight thyself in our libations and our chants, vanquisher
of Vritra, thou who art honored in these ceremonies