Gathered upon the sacred grass, the guardians of the cows stand ready, their hearts filled with hope for great reward. They look to Indra, longing to gladden him, inviting him to drink deeply, as a mighty bull drinks from a cool, clear lake. With voices raised in reverence, they sing to Indra, the lord of the cows, the son of truth, the true and steadfast ruler, honoring him as only those who know his greatness can. The moment is auspicious: the bay steeds, radiant and ruddy, have been released and stand near upon the holy ground where all have assembled. For Indra, the cows themselves have yielded forth pure sweetness, their milk flowing for the wielder of the thunderbolt—for it was he who discovered this hidden treasure. Now, the priests call out: “Come to us, Indra, eager for the Soma, summoned to partake of its sacred essence. Arrive with your two bay steeds, O stone-splitter!” The ritualist priest, seated with care, spreads the sacred grass in order, preparing the morning pressings of Soma, all yoked and ready. Hymns, full of prayer, are composed and offered; Indra is invited to sit upon the sacred grass and enjoy the foremost offering. “Rejoice with us in these libations, O slayer of Vritra! Delight in our praises and hymns, for you are the lover of song.” The mothers of the Soma-drinker cherish Indra as tenderly as mothers cherish a calf. “Delight yourself, O Indra, in the pressed Soma, for your greatness and your strength; do not turn away from your worshippers.” With devotion, the people offer oblations to Indra, growing old in his service, trusting in his generous friendship. “Do not let your beloved steeds depart from us,” they pray. “Come near, Indra, with your own power; rejoice here with us.” They envision Indra carried by curly-haired ones in a pleasant chariot, seated on grass smeared with butter. Again and again, Indra is invoked: “Come to us, Indra, to drink the pressed Soma, rich in cows, with your steeds, you who are friendly to us. Come to this exhilarating Soma, pressed with stones and placed upon the sacred grass; may it satisfy you.” Inspired words are uttered, calling Indra to drink the Soma, and the people hope that, with their hymns and praises, he will come as he did in ancient times. “Indra, these Somas have been pressed for you; receive them, O hundred-powered one, you who delight in strength. We know you as the winner of wealth, steadfast in contests and wise; therefore, we seek your favor. Drink, Indra, this Soma, rich in cows and barley; come with your bull-like strength to the pressed offering. In your own dwelling, let the Soma stir your heart with delight. For the drinking of the pressed Soma, we invoke you, Indra, as of old—the Kuśikas seeking your help.” With Indra’s help, the foremost mortal, blessed with horses, moves among the cows, filled with wealth as rivers, guided by wisdom, flow to the sea. The divine waters approach the sacrificial priest, recognizing the vastness of the sacred space; the gods, delighting in the sacred word, lead the devotee forward. The hymn and the sacred speech are placed upon the two—those who serve and honor—who dwell unbound in their vow, bringing auspicious power to the sacrificer. The Angiras, the ancient seers, first established the sacred way; they kindled the fires with skill and found all the wealth of the Paṇi—the food, the horses, the cows, and the cattle. By sacrifice, Atharvan first established the paths, and from him was born the Sun, Vena, the observer of vows. May Kāvyā Uśanā come together with the cows, and may the immortal offspring of Yama be worshipped. Wherever the sacred grass is spread for prosperity, where the hymn resounds in the sky, where the pressing stone speaks and the inspired poet chants—there, indeed, Indra delights in the offerings. The people pour out the strong, true draught for Indra of the tawny steeds, inviting him to rejoice with the cows, with every hymn, and with every act of power. In every union and contest for strength and prize, Indra is called upon as a friend and helper. “May he come, if he hears, with thousands of aids and prizes, to our invocation.” They call upon the ancient, wise dwelling, the one whom even Indra’s father called upon before him. The bright, ruddy one is yoked, moving among those who stand still, as lights shine in the sky. Indra’s beloved two bays, with flowing manes, are harnessed to his chariot—red, bold, and uniting men. Indra, born with the dawns, brings signs for the unseeing and adornment for the unadorned. “If I, like you, Indra, were the sole lord of wealth, may my praiser be a friend of cows. I would teach and give to the wise one, if I were the master of cattle.” Indra, the cow of sweet speech yields for the sacrificer who presses Soma, granting milk, cattle, and horses. There is no limit to Indra’s bounty—neither god nor mortal can measure it. When praised, he grants riches. Sacrifice strengthened Indra when he set the earth apart and fixed the supports in the sky. Thus, in reverent assembly, with sacred offerings and heartfelt hymns, the people honor Indra, the mighty friend, the granter of strength and wealth, the delight of song and Soma, the eternal protector of those who serve with devotion.