Where now? On what errand of yours are you going, in heaven, not on earth? Where are your cows sporting? Where are your newest favors, O Maruts? Where are blessings? Where all delights? If you, sons of Priçni, were mortals and your praiser an immortal, then never should your praiser be unwelcome, like a deer in pasture grass, nor should he go on the path of Yama.[16] Let not one sin after another, difficult to be conquered, overcome us; may it depart, together with greed. Truly they are terrible and powerful; even to the desert the Rudriyas bring rain that is never dried up. The lightning lows like a cow, it follows as a mother follows after her young, when the shower has been let loose. Even by day the Maruts create darkness with the water-bearing cloud, when they drench the earth, etc. The number of the Maruts was originally seven, afterwards raised to thrice seven, and then given variously,[17] sometimes as high as thrice sixty. They are the servants, the bulls of Dyaus, the glory of Rudra (or perhaps the 'boys of Rudra'), divine, bright as suns, blameless and pure. They cover themselves with shining adornment, chains of gold, gems, and turbans. On their heads are helmets of gold, and in their hands gleam arrows and daggers. Like heroes rushing to battle, they stream onward. They are fair as deer; their roar is like that of lions. The mountains bow before them, thinking themselves to be valleys, and the hills bow down. Good warriors and good steeds are their gifts. They smite, they kill, they rend the rocks, they strip the trees like caterpillars; they rise together, and, like spokes in a wheel, are united in strength. Their female companion is Rodas[=i] (lightning, from the same root as _rudra_, the 'red'). They are like wild boars, and (like the sun) they have metallic jaws. On their chariots are speckled hides; like birds they spread their wings; they strive in flight with each other. Before them the earth sways like a ship. They dance upon their path. Upon their chests for beauty's sake they bind gold armor. From the heavenly udder they milk down rain. "Through whose wisdom, through whose design do they come?" cries the poet. They have no real adversary. The kings of the forest they tear asunder, and make tremble even the rocks. Their music is heard on every side.[18] RUDRA.