The flocking birds, the companions, devoured the poison. He did not perish; he did not slay us. May he join with this binding of ours—Harishṭha made honey for you, the honey-giver.

That little insignifcant bird has swallowed your venom; she does not die; nor shall we die; for, although afar off, yet drawn by his coursers, (the Sun) will overtake (the poison); the science of antidotes has converted you, (Poison), to ambrosia.

This little bird, so very small, hath swallowed all thy poison up. She will not die, nor shall we die: his path is far: he whom Bay Horses bear hath turned thee to sweet meath.