At the heart of the gathering, the sages and worshippers raised their voices, yearning for the arrival of the great Indra. With devotion, they called upon him, hoping he would hear their invocation and come, attended by thousands of aids and bearing prizes, to bless their assembly. They invoked the ancient, wise presence, the very one their forefathers had revered, seeking his favor as their ancestors once did. As the sacred rites unfolded, the priests yoked the shining, ruddy steed—ever in motion, circling those who stood still. Brilliant lights shimmered in the sky, a celestial sign of Indra’s presence. His beloved pair of bay horses, manes flowing, were harnessed to his chariot—red and bold, drawing people together in awe. Indra, born with the dawns, became a sign for those who could not see, an adornment for the unadorned, illuminating the world with his radiance. The worshippers reflected, “If I, like Indra, were sole lord of wealth, may my praiser be a friend of cows.” They longed to teach and give generously, as the lord of might would, if only they possessed the bounty of cattle. Indra, the granter of sweet speech, bestowed upon the sacrificer who pressed the Soma—the sacred drink—not only milk, but cattle and swift horses. His bounty knew no bounds; neither god nor mortal could limit his generosity. When praised, Indra granted riches beyond measure. It was through sacrifice that Indra’s strength grew, enabling him to set the earth apart and fix the pillars of the sky. Ever-increasing in might, the people sought all treasures from him, choosing Indra’s aid above all others. In his intoxication with Soma, Indra split the midspace and the shining realms, striking down the barriers that confined the world. For the Angirases, he drove forth the hidden cows, revealing what was concealed and pushing obstacles aside. By Indra’s power, the shining regions of the sky remained firm and unshaken. Like the swelling of mighty waters, hymns rose to him, their vigor spreading far and wide, echoing the exhilaration he brought. Indra was celebrated as the increaser of hymns and praises, the bestower of good fortune upon singers. His tawny-maned steeds, adorned and eager, drew him swiftly to the Soma drink, approaching the sacrifice rich with gifts. With the foam of waters, Indra struck off the head of Namuci, conquering all contests. He shook down the Dasyus and scattered those who did not press Soma, becoming the supreme drinker of the sacred libation. In the great assembly, the people praised Indra and invoked his steeds, wishing that the delight of the vigorous would be his—like clarified butter poured by his horses, their hymns entering him whose form shone like gold. United in song, they stirred his horses as in the celestial realms, filling him with steeds as cows fill a vessel, exalting Indra, mighty and horse-rich. His thunderbolt was tawny, forged of iron; his desire, his arms, even his wrath—all tawny, all splendid and measured in him. Like a beacon in the sky, the tawny thunderbolt shone victorious, striking down the serpent with a thousand flames. Ancient sacrificers had long praised Indra as tawny-haired, and his deeds, born of this tawny radiance, were most worthy of acclaim. The joyous, exhilarated Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt, was drawn by tawny steeds to the place of Soma. Many libations were prepared for him, the tawny ones placing the sacred drink before him. His tawny beard and hair, his iron body, and his swift, tawny horses made him strong, driving away all misfortunes. His mares scattered for victory and cleansed the cup for the Soma, drinking in the exhilaration of the tawny juice. Across heaven and earth, Indra’s greatness was praised again and again. The people entreated him to reveal the dwelling for the tawny one, for the cow, for the sun. His tawny-cheeked horses drew him among the people, where he drank the sweet beverage and delighted in sacrifice and assembly. The earlier pressed Somas, and now this exclusive, honeyed libation, were his to enjoy, filling his belly with the strength of a bull. “Indra, drink here the pressed, purified Soma with us,” they called. “Grow strong with the intoxicating juices, bringer of exhilaration and hymns.” They offered him the true and powerful drink, rejoicing with nourishing streams and praising him with all their might. With Indra’s protection and strength, the wise and truthful singers took their place in the home, eager to share in the divine feast. Indra, born first and most powerful, surpassed all other gods by his will. By his might, heaven and earth were kept apart. He made firm the trembling earth, calmed the angry mountains, measured out the wide midspace, and propped up the sky. He slew the serpent, released the seven rivers, freed the cows confined by Vala, and generated fire between stones in contests. By him, all moving things were set in motion; he hid the Dasa race in secret and seized the wealth of the living like a skillful hunter. Some, in fear, wondered, “Where is he?” Others doubted his existence. Yet Indra, noble and mighty, diminished the wealth of the prosperous as if splitting it, and in him, faith was placed. Among men, among gods, he was and is Indra—the mighty, tawny, ever-generous lord, the unconquered hero of heaven and earth.