Atharva Veda 4.35

yam odanaṃ prathamajā ṛtasya prajāpatis tapasā brahmaṇe 'pacat yo lokānāṃ vidhṛtir nābhireṣāt tenaudanenāti tarāṇi mṛtyum

Extolling a rice-mess offering

The rice-mess which Prajāpati, first-born of righteousness, cooked with fervor (tápas) for Brahmán; which, separator of the worlds, shall not harm (?)—by that rice-mess let me overpass death.

yenātaran bhūtakṛto 'ti mṛtyuṃ yam anvavindan tapasā śrameṇa yaṃ papāca brahmaṇe brahma pūrvaṃ tenaudanenāti tarāṇi mṛtyum

That by which the being-makers overpassed death; which they discovered by fervor, by toil (çráma); which the bráhman of old cooked for Brahmán—by that rice-mess let me overpass death.

yo dādhāra pṛthivīṃ viśvabhojasaṃ yo antarikṣam āpṛṇād rasena yo astabhnād divam ūrdhvo mahimnā tenaudanenāti tarāṇi mṛtyum

That which sustained the all-nourishing earth; which filled the atmosphere with sap; which, uplifted, established the sky with might—by that rice-mess let me overpass death.

yasmān māsā nirmitās triṃśadarāḥ saṃvatsaro yasmān nirmito dvādaśāraḥ ahorātrā yaṃ pariyanto nāpus tenaudanenāti tarāṇi mṛtyum

That out of which were fashioned the thirty-spoked months; out of which was fashioned the twelve-spoked year; that which circling days-and-nights did not attain—by that rice-mess let me overpass death.

yaḥ prāṇadaḥ prāṇadavān babhūva yasmai lokā ghṛtavantaḥ kṣaranti jyotiṣmatīḥ pradiśo yasya sarvās tenaudanenāti tarāṇi mṛtyum

That which became breath-giving, possessing breath-giving ones (?); for which worlds rich in ghee flow; whose are all the light-filled directions—by that rice-mess let me overpass death.

yasmāt pakvād amṛtaṃ saṃbabhūva yo gāyatryā adhipatir babhūva yasmin vedā nihitā viśvarūpās tenaudanenāti tarāṇi mṛtyum

From which, when cooked, the immortal (amṛ́ta) came into being; which was the over-lord of the gāyatrī́; in which are deposited the Vedas of all forms—by that rice-mess let me overpass death.

ava bādhe dviṣantaṃ devapīyuṃ sapatnā ye me 'pa te bhavantu brahmaudanaṃ viśvajitaṃ pacāmi śṛṇvantu me śraddadhānasya devāḥ

I beat down the hater, the god-insulter; what rivals are mine, let them be [driven] away; I cook the all-conquering bráhman-rice-mess; let the gods hear me who am full of faith.