The Seer of the Hymns

A seer, in the old sense, is one who sees a hymn and gives it to the world. In the first book of the Ṛgveda there is a long run of hymns that came through Agastya: hymns to Indra and to the storm-gods called the Maruts, to Agni the fire, to the Aśvins, the twin horsemen of the dawn, to all the gods together, to Bṛhaspati, to Heaven and Earth, and to food itself. His wife Lopāmudrā speaks in one of them.

In some of these hymns the gods speak to him and he speaks back. Agastya had made ready an offering, and he meant to give it to the Maruts, the bright, roaring sons of Rudra who ride the storm. Indra felt himself passed over, and he spoke of Agastya's wavering mind. Nothing is certain today, nothing tomorrow, Indra says in the hymn; who knows what wonder is coming? Another's mind is fickle, and what was intended comes to nothing. And then, more plainly: Why, brother Agastya, do you, who are our friend, set us aside? We know what your mind is. You do not wish to give to us.

Agastya answers for the storm-gods: Why do you want to strike us, Indra? The Maruts are your brothers. Deal well with them, and do not kill us in the clash. And Agastya turns the quarrel into a sacrifice. Let them make the altar ready, he says, let them kindle the fire in front. You rule over riches, lord of riches; you are the most generous of friends, lord of friends. Indra, speak in agreement with the Maruts, and then eat the offerings in their due season.

In the end Agastya gave way to Indra: in fear of him he set aside the offering he had made ready for the Maruts. Then he turned to the storm-gods to make his peace with them. I come to you with this homage, he says in another hymn; put away your anger and unyoke your horses. I fled from this mighty Indra, trembling with fear, Maruts. The offerings had been made ready for you, and we set them aside. Be gracious to us.

In another hymn the Maruts and Indra speak with each other, each side praising its own deeds, until Indra is won over by their praise, and at the end the poet speaks in his own voice. This praise is yours, Maruts, he says, this song. May it come here with nourishment for our bodies. May we find food, a strong home, and gifts that quicken.

The last hymn of his book is a charm against poison and against the unseen creatures that bite and sting in the grass and the reeds. In the east rises the sun, it says, seen by all, the slayer of the unseen, crushing all the unseen ones and all the sorceresses. I hang the poison on the sun. Heaven is your father, Earth your mother, Soma your brother, Aditi your sister. Unseen ones, seen by all, stand still. Thrice seven peahens, seven sister rivers, have carried your poison away, as women carry water in their jars. The scorpion's poison is without strength. Scorpion, your poison has no strength.