Prayer to Aita (Hades/Pluto)

 

Etruscan prayer to Aita

Hark, Aita, thou steadfast Ruler of the sunless expanse, to whom all souls must, in their appointed season, render account. Thy domain, it is known, lies deep within the depths of the earth, where the clamour of mortal life doth not penetrate, nor the warmth of Tinia’s light extend.

It is thy decree, immutable and just, that all which draws breath upon the surface of the world—be it man or beast, the mighty Lucumo in his carved chariot or the humble servant at the kiln—shall, at the destined hour, cross the threshold into thy silent kingdom. Neither the warrior’s brazen shield, nor the priest’s chanted lore, nor the accumulation of much treasure may purchase an exemption from this common fate, preordained and resolute. Thou art the ultimate gatherer of spirits, the receiver of that which has run its course; this truth we acknowledge with grave certainty.

Therefore, it behoves us, who yet walk beneath the arch of the heavens and feel the winds upon our faces, to conduct our lives with sober industry and to uphold with diligence the sacred rites owed unto the ancestors. For as the grain is sown in the furrow and the full head is reaped in its due time, so too is the life of man measured and brought to its inexorable ending under thy remote yet ever-watchful gaze. We shall not neglect the observances, nor the lamentations, nor the due honours for those who have passed into thy keeping, lest their shades find disquiet.

The shadows of thy realm are vast, and its ways are profound beyond our mortal comprehension. We aver that thy law is absolute and the order thou dost maintain is without challenge. Within thy territories, each soul, divested of worldly trappings, findeth its ordained and unchanging station, as determined by the balance of its days. Aita, stern guardian of that final gate, unyielding keeper of the eternal record that none may alter, thy sovereignty is assured through all ages. Thy encompassing silence commands our deepest, unspoken reverence, for in that silence rests the fate of all that lives. We offer what is due. Hark, Aita, Thou of the shadowed realm below, to whom the silent legions inevitably gather. We, who yet tread the sunlit lands, acknowledge Thy dominion, vast and unyielding. Thy gates, once passed, permit no return; this decree stands immutable. Before Thee, all vanities of our brief days cease. The boast of the warrior, the wealth of the merchant, the song of the poet – these hold no currency in Thy muted halls. Thy attendant, Charun, with his unblinking gaze and appointed hammer, ensures the tally is exact; none may evade his summons. And Vanth, the winged messenger, with scroll or with key, doth guide the departed soul to its appointed place within Thy sovereign darkness. Let those who approach Thy threshold do so with due reverence, for Thy laws are ancient and without appeal. We pour forth this libation, not in hope of altering Thy grand design, but in solemn recognition of Thy power, which underpins the order of endings. From Thee, no secrets are hid; the heart laid bare, the life’s work weighed. Thy silence is the great arbiter.

Therefore, let us conduct our days with the knowledge of Thy inevitable claim. For as the leaf falls in its season, so too must all life descend to Thy embrace. Aita, Unseen King, Thy reign is absolute over that which lies beyond the breath of life. Be it known that we hold Thy name in awful respect.