As the wise ones gather and their voices rise in song, they invoke Indra, the mighty god born of the devas. With reverence, they call upon him, acknowledging the uncertainty of human life—for none among mortals knows his own lifespan. Their prayer is simple yet profound: may Indra, with his divine power, lead them safely past all dangers. Indra, ever eager for the hymns, approaches in his chariot drawn by two swift bay horses. Delighting in the praises, he listens as the singers honor him. His strength is unmatched; he has split apart earth and heaven, conquering every obstacle, never defeated. Even the waters, swelling like cows, respond to his might, never failing in truth. As the singers praise him, Indra comes like the wind with his teams, bestowing abundant gifts through his insight. The exhilaration of the ritual delights Indra, whose bounty is great for those who sing his praises. Among all the gods, it is Indra alone who shows favor to mortals. The hero rejoices in the pressing, his heart gladdened by devotion. The Vasiṣṭhas, renowned sages, honor Indra with their hymns, praising his thunderbolt-strong arm. They pray that he, pleased by their worship, grant them heroic strength, cattle, and protection, showering them with blessings. Indra, swift and mighty, armed with the thunderbolt, comes as a bull, a king, a slayer of obstacles, and a drinker of soma. Once again, he yokes his two bays and arrives at the midday pressing to rejoice with his devotees. The hymns rise for Indra’s glory, and Vasiṣṭha praises him in the assembly. Indra’s might pervades all things; he listens eagerly to the words of his worshippers. The ritual repeats, the sound of the invocation echoing: "I come with this sound, O Indra, born of the gods, as the wise ones sing aloud; among people, none knows his own lifespan—may you lead us past these dangers." Indra’s chariot is yoked, he approaches the hymns, delights in them, splits earth and heaven, conquers obstacles, undefeated. Waters swell like cows, singers praise, Indra comes like the wind, grants abundant prizes. The exhilarations delight him; he alone shows favor to mortals. The Vasiṣṭhas honor him, seeking heroic strength, cattle, and protection. Indra, swift, armed with thunderbolt, bull, king, slayer of obstacles, drinker of soma—let him come to the midday pressing to rejoice. Those who bear Indra as their support call upon him, the unprecedented one, as if carrying a heavy load. In the contest for prizes, they invoke the wondrous god. They approach him for help in their work, choosing Indra as their helper and friend, the unassailable one. He who has brought prosperity before is praised again—Indra, the friend, for help. May he, the lord of fine horses, strong among peoples, ever vigorous, bring cattle and horses; may Maghavan grant a hundred gifts to the singers. A devotee offers his thought to Indra, the most mighty, possessor of vast wealth, whose power is true and strength renowned. Indra’s riches, difficult to hold, flow freely for the energetic, like water down a slope. All desired things follow for Indra, as waters flow for sacrificial offerings. When his golden thunderbolt was released on the mountain, it shattered what could not be subdued. To this awe-inspiring lord, worship is offered, as the radiant dawn brings light for the journey. Indra’s domain, famed for its name and power, created shining brilliance to guide the green ones. The devotees, praised by many, rely on Indra, moving about with abundance. No other supports their words as he does—just as the earth upholds all, Indra delights in their speech. Indra’s heroic power is vast; the singer’s wish is placed before him—may Maghavan fulfill it. The sky and earth both bend to his strength. With his thunderbolt, Indra broke apart the great mountain, released the confined waters, and established all with his might. Meanwhile, the Angiras, like birds rising with loud voices, approach Bṛhaspati with their hymns. With cows, striving, they lead Aryaman like Bhaga; among people, like Mitra unites a couple, they pray Bṛhaspati grant swift strength in contests. The sacrificial offerings, guests, and seers are precious, golden, flawless. Bṛhaspati, breaking through the mountains, releases the cows from their hiding as one shakes out barley from the stalks. He sprinkles honey, casting the hymn into the womb of truth, like a meteor from the sky. Bṛhaspati, lifting from the stone, breaks through the earth as one splits the skin from the udder. With light, he drives away darkness from the midspace, as wind blows away the fleece from the udder. Searching, Bṛhaspati scatters Vala’s cloud, as wind breaks apart the cows. When Bṛhaspati, with fire and hymns, breaks Vala’s stronghold, he seizes the concealed treasure, revealing the hidden wealth of the cows. Knowing their names, he finds the abode of the singers, hidden within the mountain, and releases the cows by his power, like breaking an egg’s shell. They see honey, tightly enclosed, like a weak fish in water. Bṛhaspati shakes out the ladle from the tree, breaking it apart with his cry. He finds the sun and fire, and with his hymn dispels darkness. From Vala’s cow-form, Bṛhaspati seizes the hidden one as one takes from the joints. Like leaves stripped by frost, he makes Vala release the cows, restoring what was not imitated. Those who moved together bring forth the sun. The ancestors, like a dark horse among thin ones, adorn the sky with stars. In the night, they place darkness; in the day, light. Bṛhaspati splits the mountain and releases the cows. All this is done for the Unharmed One, with reverence, who follows ancient paths anew. May Bṛhaspati, with cows, horses, heroes, and men, grant long life. Towards Indra, all inspired thoughts, knowing the light, go together, shining. As wives embrace a husband, so the peoples press close to the generous Lord for help. The devotee’s mind does not turn away from Indra; in him alone is desire placed. Like a mighty king, Indra is invited to sit on the sacred grass and drink soma with the worshippers. Indra, the strengthener, drives away want and hunger; he is the lord of wealth. For him, seven rivers flow in these slopes; the wings of the mighty bull grow strong. Like birds settling on a well-leaved tree, the joyous ones approach Indra, the drinker of soma, for the feast. His face, flashing with power, shines forth; he finds the light for the worshipper. The dog-killing weapon does not scatter the divine wealth when the generous one wins the sun. None can match Indra’s strength, neither ancient nor new. The generous one stands alone, unmatched in power and favor. Thus, through song, praise, and ritual, the devotees honor Indra and Bṛhaspati, recounting their wondrous deeds, seeking strength, abundance, and protection, and celebrating the divine gifts that sustain the world.