Indra, the mighty lord, gathered his vigor and brilliance, and with their union, he enveloped the heavens like a vast covering. Armed with his thunderbolt, knotted a hundred times, Indra struck down the head of the resisting Vritra, shattering the enemy’s power. Among all beings, he stands greatest—born fierce and heroic, he destroys foes from the moment of his birth, and all powers rejoice in him. Ever increasing in might and abundant strength, Indra brings fear to the enemy for the Dasa, protecting and defending them. All his gifts are offered amidst the intoxications of the Soma. Wisdom fills him abundantly—twice and then threefold—when these powers combine, releasing the sweetest joy, sweeter than sweet, as honey mingles with honey in the intoxicating draught. Even when sages praise him as victorious in battle, Indra strengthens his firm body, remaining untouched by harm from the evil-minded or sorrowful. With Indra, victory is gained in battles, witnessing many acts of war; his weapons are urged by words, his strength sharpened through prayer. Indra places his force in both the lower and upper realms, dwelling in the home, establishing the mother, stirring many treasures. Praise is offered to him who dwells in the heights, who moves upon many paths, the most powerful among the mighty. By his strength, vast energies are revealed, and he extends the measure of the earth. Hymns born of the great heaven shout for Indra and for Agni, bringers of light. The lord of the great clan rules in splendor; the swift one, full of power, surpasses all with his austerity. The great Atharvan of the vast heaven has spoken of Indra, describing him as his very self. Mātariśvan and Bhavarī, the two sisters, urge Indra on and by their strength cause him to grow. A wondrous sign of the gods arises: the radiant form of the Sun, shining in all directions. The maker of day, surpassing in glory, dispels all darkness, driving away every evil. This wondrous form is the eye of Mitra, Varuṇa, and Agni—the Sun fills heaven, earth, and atmosphere, and is the soul of all that moves and stands. The Sun, like a young man approaching a maiden, follows the shining dawn. There, men devoted to the gods stretch out the ages, answering good with good. Indra is invoked as the source of strength and manliness, the hundred-powered, wise among men. The people call upon him to bring forth the hero who conquers in battle. Indra is both father and mother, gracious and hundred-powered; his favor is sought by all. To Indra, much-invoked and mighty, the people call, asking him to grant heroic strength. At the meeting place, the cows drink the honeyed draught, rejoicing with Indra, the mighty, shining ones who follow the rule of sovereignty. The speckled Prishni cows prepare Soma for him, beloved of Indra, urging on the thunderbolt and arrow, shining ones who uphold sovereignty. With reverence and strength, wise ones serve Indra, observing his many ancient vows, shining ones who follow the rule of sovereignty. Songs resound for Indra, for whom the Soma has been pressed; poets praise him with hymns. In him all riches abide, and the seven gatherings rejoice; Indra is called upon at the pressing of the Soma. At the Trikadruka festival, the gods honor the conscious one with sacrifice, and songs magnify him. Whatever Soma Indra has enjoyed with Viṣṇu, Trita Āptya, or the Maruts, or whatever he has enjoyed on the distant ocean, may he rejoice in the pressed Soma with its drops. As the supporter of the sacrificer, whether at the pressing of Soma or delighting in hymns, may Indra rejoice in the pressed Soma. O slayer of Vṛtra, all that has arisen today, even the sun in the sky, is under Indra’s control. If Indra thinks, “I am not to be overcome,” then indeed, that is the truth. All the Somas pressed far and near, Indra reaches them all. Indra is called to listen to both sides, to come near to the speech offered. The generous one comes together with wisdom, most powerful, for the drinking of Soma. For him, the self-luminous bull, the two goddesses have fashioned a seat for strength; Indra, foremost among models, takes his place, his mind desiring Soma. Indra is without rival or peer, by birth from the beginning, always desiring victory in battle. He does not find a wealthy friend for friendship; his splendid horses drink. When he performs his mighty deeds, he is invoked like a father at the gathering. The wisdom of the immortal is grasped from the father, born like the sun. With ancient thought, hymns are adorned like the Kanvas, by which Indra gained his strength. Whether praised or not by seers, Indra is urged to grow for those who honor him. The people pray not to become like those cast out or without shelter, not to be rejected like forests, nor to be far from Indra’s favor. May they not be powerless or subject to others; among the good, with Indra’s great bounty, may they joyfully offer praise. Indra is invited to drink the Soma, to let it delight him—the Soma pressed for him, lover of horses, guided well by the presser’s arms. That exhilaration of his, yoked and lovely, by which he slays the Vṛtras, may it intoxicate Indra, the one of abundant wealth. Thus, the story unfolds: Indra’s power, his wisdom, and his triumphs are celebrated in the hymns and offerings, as he is invoked for strength, protection, and joy, ever united with the gods, the Soma, and the shining Sun.