Anila Vatayana sings Vata, the wind, in trishtubh. Now the greatness of Vata's chariot: it goes breaking, thundering is its roar; touching heaven it goes, making things red,. The gusts rush after him and come to him like women to a gathering; with them the deva goes on one chariot, king of this whole world. Friend of the waters, first-born, keeper of rta: where was he born, from where did he come? Breath of the devas, germ of the world, he moves as he wills. His sounds are heard, his form is not seen. To that Vata we offer.