In ancient times, Bṛhaspati, the wise and thunderous sage, gathered with his companions like swans conversing joyfully among friends. Together, they broke through stone barriers, their voices rising in a mighty song as Bṛhaspati approached the hidden cows, sending forth a high, resonant chant. The cows stood concealed at the boundary of falsehood, some paired, one apart, shrouded in darkness. Yet, Bṛhaspati, seeking light amid the gloom, brought forth three radiant beings from their enclosure, unveiling their brilliance. He shattered the fortress lying in the west, cleaving through three obstacles and even the ocean itself. With a roar echoing like the sky, Bṛhaspati discovered the dawn, the sun, the cows, and the light, restoring what had been hidden. Indra, the mighty, joined in with his own thunderous cry, breaking through Vala, the guardian of the milch cows, as if with a powerful hand. Yearning for the butter-clad treasure, Indra made the Paṇis—those who withheld the cows—weep, and released the herd into freedom. With companions shining in truth and radiance, Indra shattered the iron fortress, distributing wealth with bulls of unmatched strength, and sweat-born heat. With pure minds and inspired thoughts, Bṛhaspati and his companions sought the lord of cows, advancing together, exchanging mutual praises. Through their unity, the shining ones were released, each with their own teams. In the assembly, voices rose in auspicious thoughts, roaring like lions, exalting Bṛhaspati, the mighty, victorious in every contest. When he harnessed the prize of all forms, the upper realms of heaven resounded, and the light became their banner, diverse yet united. They prayed, “Grant us true blessing for long life, O Bṛhaspati. Aid even the singer with your own powers. May all hostilities be left behind, and may heaven and earth hear this prayer, all around.” Indra, by his greatness, thundered at the summit of the mighty serpent, slaying it and releasing the seven rivers. With the gods, heaven and earth, he offered protection to all. Now, let us sing to the lord of cattle, the mountain-king, the son of truth, the true master. The tawny cows stirred, reddish, upon the sacred grass, where all gathered in assembly. For Indra, the cows milked sweet drink, the nectar of Soma, for the wielder of the thunderbolt, when he discovered it in its hidden place. “Rise up, Indra, to the summit of the shining one! Come with the cows to the house. Having drunk the honeyed Soma, unite in friendship at the thrice-seven steps of the companion.” The hymns resounded, beloved in sacrifice, inviting all sons to sing boldly, their voices strong as a fortress. The lowing of the bull echoed, the cow circled, the tawny one moved about. The hymn for Indra was raised high. When the easy-to-milk Soma flew forth, unwearied, it was seized for Indra to drink. Indra drank, Agni drank, all the gods rejoiced. May Varuna dwell here, as the waters approached, like cows to their calf. Varuna, good god, for you the seven rivers flow in succession to your summit, like the sun to a clear opening. He who loosened the yoke for the worshipper, the driver, the leader—this is the wondrous form of the one who was released. Indra, mighty one, overcame all hatreds, splitting the unboiled porridge cooking on the far side of the mountain with his word. Like a young boy, standing on the lower chariot, he apportioned the buffalo, the beast, to father and mother, with wise intent. “Come, fair-bearded lord of the household, mount the golden chariot; unite with the shining one, the thousand-footed, the ruddy, bringing well-being and free from harm.” To him, the reverent ones approached the self-ruling king, again and again, seeking his wealth as fuel for the fire. In accord with ancient tradition, those beloved in sacrifice sought the former path, spreading sacred grass, intent on offering. He who is king of the peoples, charioteer, unwearied, destroyer of all hosts, eldest, the slayer of Vritra—they praised him. “Glorify Indra, much-invoked for help, in whose two hands the thunderbolt was placed, visible like the great sun in the sky. No one by action can harm him who has done ever-growing deeds; like Indra, famed everywhere, unconquered, strong and full of vigor.” He is not weak, fierce in battles, unconquered, in whom great powers are set. When he is born, cows do not diminish, nor do heaven and earth decrease. Even if Indra had a hundred heavens, a hundred earths, or thousands of suns, not even a thousand thunderbolts could surpass him, nor all that exists in the eight regions. Indra expanded with his might and manliness, powerful and strong. “Protect us, generous one, in the herd rich with cattle, O wielder of the thunderbolt, with your splendid aids.” Let hymns praise Indra, the stone-wielder, and grant us wealth. Strike down those who hate sacred knowledge. With your foot, drive away the stingy and the wealth-withholders, for you are great and none can oppose you. Indra is lord of the pressed Soma and the unpressed, king of the people. Longing, all look upon Indra, the born one, worshipping him and seeking to share in his heroic strength. He is established in strength, born of power and vigor, excelling in might. Indra is the slayer of Vṛtra, surpassing the midspace, upholding the heavens with his power. He bears the thunderbolt with both arms, united in purpose, grasping the weapon with strength. Indra conquers all, surpassing all that has come into being, the source of all existences. Let Indra, lord of wealth, come for exhilaration, steadfast in law, eager and powerful, whose form is turned toward all victories, with boundless, great manliness.