The sages raised their voices in reverence, calling upon Indra, the heroic one, and praised him with heartfelt prayer. “Grow strong, O Indra, with our devotion and with your own might. Grant us riches, grant us sustenance, and may you and your hosts ever protect us with well-being.” With eager anticipation, they invited Indra to their midst: “Come hither with delight, O Indra, and drink this Soma we have prepared. This sacred seat and consecrated grass are set for you alone.” They yoked his tawny steeds with the power of their prayers, hoping these swift horses would bring the mighty god swiftly to their gathering, attentive to the hymns that rose up to him. At the pressing of the Soma, the offerers invoked Indra, the drinker of the sacred juice, their voices and chants resounding through the air. Singers and praisers alike lifted up songs to Indra, their hymns swelling in volume and devotion, calling upon him from every direction. Indra, the wielder of the golden thunderbolt, arrived, united with his two bay steeds, yoked together by the force of sacred speech. Indra’s far-seeing vision was celebrated: it was he who made the sun rise in the sky, and with the cows he split open the rock, releasing hidden treasures. The people called upon Indra from all quarters, desiring that he be theirs alone, their special protector. They remembered how, filled with the radiance of Soma, Indra traversed the midspace and shattered the enclosures that confined the world. With the Angirases, he drove upward, revealing what was hidden and pushing forward the boundaries that had been set. By Indra’s might, the shining realms of heaven stood firm and unshaken. Like the surge of water, praise rushed to Indra, seeking victory and spreading exhilaration throughout the hosts. In unity and without fear, the people saw together with Indra, their splendor equal and joined. The festival shone forth in strength, surrounded by Indra’s blameless and shining companions, his desirable hosts. All entered again into the womb of creation, following the eternal law, upholding the sacred name of sacrifice. The sages recalled Indra’s great feats: with the bones of Dadhīci, unconquered, he struck down ninety-nine foes. When he sought the horse’s head, hidden among the mountains, he found it in the holy sanctuary, wondrous and mysterious. In the house of the moon, they searched for the name of the cow, the lower form of Tvaṣṭṛ. A voice spoke: “I take up speech in eight steps, newly garlanded, touching immortality itself. From Indra I draw forth my very form.” Both the worlds followed Indra as he strode forth, the slayer of foes. Rising in strength, he shook his jaws and drank the pressed Soma, his might undiminished. The people prayed: “Break apart all hatreds, O Indra. Drive away and destroy our enemies. Bring us that desirable wealth, whether it is loose or firm, hidden in the stone or in the open. All humanity knows the gifts you have given—bring us more of that wealth.” Let the singer praise Indra, king of the peoples, with fresh songs. He is the man-slayer, the mightiest among men, in whom all hymns and fame resound like waters in the ocean. With excellent praise, the eldest king is summoned—the all-accomplishing, the great giver of prizes to his companions. Some mysteries, like a pigeon in the womb, are hidden from view, yet Indra does not disregard such speech. “O lord of gifts, bearer of songs, heroic one—may your glory be abundant, may truthfulness be yours. Stand upright for our aid, O hundred-powered one, as we contend in this world; let us speak boldly among the assemblies.” “Guide us, Indra, to wealth and to light in our battles, to victory over our foes. Carry us to safety, beyond all hatreds, as you have filled us with your presence. Gladden us with strength and with the right path, and lead us into your good favor.” The sages urged Indra on with strength, that he might strike down the great foe and be a mighty bull among them. Indra, made for conquering, most powerful, radiant, renowned, and ever loving of Soma, was invoked. His speech, like a gathered thunderbolt, was strong and unfailing; he stood exalted, unshaken, and towering. Again, the singers chanted to Indra, the great one; the praisers lifted hymns, and voices called upon him. Indra, with his two bay steeds, mingled and yoked with the power of speech, arrived, wielding the golden thunderbolt. With far-seeing vision, he made the sun rise in the sky, and with his rays he split the mountain, revealing hidden treasures. Finally, the sages called to him once more: “Come here, O Indra, for you are eager. Drink this Soma; this is my seat of offering.” And thus, with devotion and song, the people honored Indra, their mighty protector and bestower of blessings, upholding the sacred order and seeking his favor in all things.