In the days of old, our ancient fathers—the Navagvas and the seven sages—sought victory and glorified the mighty Indra. With deep thoughts and unwavering praise, they honored him who stands upon the mountain, whose words are ever true. They called upon Indra, the lord of wealth and countless heroes, the youthful and ageless giver of abundance, radiant with light. “Bring him here,” they implored the charioteer, “that he may gladden our hearts.” Turning their prayers to Indra, they asked, “Tell us, O Indra, did the singers of old win your favor? What is your share, your strength, your vigor, O much-invoked, rich in gifts, slayer of demons?” Even she who questioned Indra, standing upon his chariot, found her voice trembling and quivering, for his grasp is strong, his form mighty, his generosity boundless. She sought to approach the powerful one, hoping for his blessing. By his own wondrous power, Indra grew, swift of mind and self-reliant, standing with the mountain. He shattered the unshaken, broke the strong, and split the firm with his boldness—he, the great destroyer. To him, the most powerful, ancient yet ever new, all thoughts turned for protection. Indra, the good helper, was invoked to carry his devotees safely beyond all difficulties. For the sake of the people, fires were kindled—earthly, heavenly, and those of the midspace. “Burn, O bull, with your flame on every side,” they prayed, “consume those who hate prayer and harm the earth.” For Indra is king of the heavenly people, of the earthly world, and of all that moves, his vision fierce. With the bolt in his right hand, he protects from all harm and defeats all sorcery. “Bring us unbroken welfare, Indra, so we may triumph over our foes, as you subdued the Dasa, the Arya, the Vritra, and the Nahusha with your thunderbolt. Come to us, wise and much-invoked Indra, bring your bands and all your gifts, O worthy of worship. Come with those powers which neither godless nor god can withstand, delighting in the Soma.” Indra, like a bull with sharp horns, is fearsome—he alone stirs all peoples. He ever leads the eager to life, the wise one who knows the way for the prosperous. In battle, Indra aided Kutsa, listening to his call, and subdued the Dasa Shushna and Kuyava, granting victory to Arjuneya. With his boldness, he led Sudas to triumph, aided Paurukutsa and Trasadasyu, and helped Puru win land and slay Vritra. Among men, Indra, the manly one with tawny steeds, slew many Vritras in the worship of the gods. He cast down the Dasyus, Cumuri and Dhuni, making them sleep for the sake of his friend. By his deeds, he overthrew ninety-nine cities at once, entered the hundredth, and slew Vritra, Namuci, and Ahi. These ancient gifts he bestowed upon the worthy worshipper, such as Sudas; to the strong, he yoked his strong steeds, and hymns brought abundant rewards. “Let not the mighty one assail you with violence at the beginning of the contest, O Harivaḥ,” the people prayed. “Protect us with your unbroken defenses; may we be dear to the generous among men.” They sought Indra’s favor, wishing to rejoice in his shelter, and prayed that he would subdue Turvaśa and Yadu, and grant worthy praise to Atithigva. Even now, in Indra’s favor, men sang hymns and praises, driving away the miser with their invocations, choosing alliance with the generous one. These praises, O best of men, were for Indra, who brought gifts to his devotees. “Be gracious in the slaying of Vritra,” they prayed, “be a friend, a hero, a protector of men.” Indra, heroic and praised, was invoked to grow strong with prayer and his own might, to grant riches and food, and to always guard his people with well-being. “Come hither with delight, O Indra,” the worshippers invited. “Drink this Soma. This is my seat, my sacred grass.” With prayer, they yoked his tawny steeds and called him to listen to their hymns. The Soma-offerers invoked Indra, drinker of Soma, at the pressing of the sacred juice. The singers raised their voices with loud chants, praising Indra, calling upon him in every way. Indra, united with his two bay steeds, wielded the golden thunderbolt. With far-seeing vision, he caused the sun to rise in the sky, and with the cows, he split the rock. From every direction, the people called upon Indra, wishing him to be theirs alone. He traversed the midspace, radiant with the exhilaration of Soma, and shattered the enclosure that held back abundance. With the Angirases, he drove upward, revealing the hidden, and pushed the enclosure forward. By Indra’s power, the shining realms of heaven, firm and established, were unshaken. Praise rushed to Indra for victory, like the exhilaration of rushing waters, and his exhilarations spread forth. With Indra, the people saw together, united in equal splendor, unafraid. The festival shone forth in strength, with Indra’s desirable hosts and blameless, shining companions. They entered again into the womb of being, following their own law and upholding the sacrificial name. Indra, with the bones of Dadhīci, unconquered, struck down ninety-nine foes. Desiring the horse’s head, hidden among the mountains, he found it in the sanctuary, wondrous in deed. There, the seekers found the name of the cow, the lower form of Tvaṣṭṛ, in the house of the moon. One voice declared, “I take up speech with eight steps, new-garlanded, touching immortality; from Indra I draw forth my form.” Both worlds followed Indra as he strode, when he became the slayer of foes. Thus, the story of Indra is sung—a tale of power, protection, and generous gifts, of battles won and blessings bestowed, of the ever-youthful, ever-mighty lord who stands on the mountain, whose words are ever true.