In the vast expanse of heaven, the great Atharvan spoke with reverence of Indra, recognizing him as the very essence of himself. Indra’s growth and strength were urged on by the two sisters, Mātariśvan and Bhavarī, who empowered him to flourish. A wondrous sign appeared among the gods: the radiant Sun rose in all directions, its brilliance surpassing all, dispelling darkness and driving away evil. This form was not just a marvel, but the very eye of Mitra, Varuṇa, and Agni. The Sun filled heaven, earth, and the atmosphere, becoming the soul of all that moves and stands. Each day, the Sun, like a young man approaching a maiden, followed the shining dawn. There, men devoted to the gods stretched out the ages, repaying good with good, honoring the divine order. Indra, you are our strength and our manliness, O hundred-powered, wise among men. Bring us the hero who conquers in battle. You are our father, gracious one, and our mother, O hundred-powered; thus we seek your favor. To you, much-invoked and mighty Indra, we call—the winner of prizes—grant us heroic strength. At the meeting place, the cows drank the honeyed draught sweetly. Together with mighty Indra, they rejoiced, following the rule of sovereignty as shining ones. The speckled Prishni cows, beloved of Indra, prepared Soma for him, urging on the thunderbolt and arrow, always adhering to the divine law. With reverence and strength, these wise ones served Indra, observing his ancient vows and following the rule of sovereignty. Let our songs resound for Indra, for whom the Soma has been pressed. Let the poets praise him with hymns. In him all riches abide, where the seven gatherings rejoice. We call upon Indra at the pressing of the Soma. At the Trikadruka festival, the gods honored the conscious one with sacrifice. Let our songs magnify him. Indra, whatever Soma you have enjoyed with Viṣṇu, or with Trita Āptya, or with the Maruts, or whatever you have enjoyed on the distant ocean—may you rejoice in our pressed Soma with its drops. Whether you are with the sacrificer at the pressing of Soma, or delighting in the hymn, may you rejoice in our offering. O slayer of Vṛtra, whatever has arisen today—even the sun in the sky—all is under your control, Indra. If you, Lord of the good, declare, “I am not to be overcome,” then truly, that is the truth. All the Somas pressed far and near, Indra, you reach them all. Indra, listen to both sides; come near to this speech. Let the generous one unite with wisdom, O most powerful, for the drinking of Soma. For him, self-luminous and bull-like, the two goddesses have fashioned a seat of strength; you, foremost among models, take your place, for your mind desires Soma. You are without rival or peer, O Indra, from birth; you desire victory in battle. You do not find a wealthy friend for friendship, but your splendid horses drink. When you perform your mighty deed, you are invoked like a father at the gathering. I have grasped the wisdom of the immortal from my father; I was born like the sun. With ancient thought, I adorn the hymns like the Kanvas, by which Indra gained his strength. Those seers who did not praise you, Indra, and those who did—may you grow for me, well-praised one. Let us not, O Indra, become like those cast out, without shelter; O crusher of foes, may we not be rejected like forests. Let us not be far from your favor. May we not be powerless, O slayer of Vṛtra, nor subject to others. Among the good, O mighty hero, with your great bounty, may we joyfully offer praise. Drink the Soma, Indra, let it delight you—the Soma pressed for you, O lover of horses, the well-guided one pressed by the presser’s arms. That exhilaration of yours, yoked and lovely, by which you slay the Vṛtras—may that intoxicate you, O Indra of abundant wealth. Hear, O generous one, this speech of mine, which Vasiṣṭha utters as praise for you; accept these prayers at the gathering. Be attentive, O lord of might, Indra, with all your protections; for we, O hero, follow you, renowned and knower of wealth, as our portion. You are the lord of horses, the doer of much, the lord of cattle, giver of golden wealth; for giving is never restrained—whatever I seek, grant that. To Indra for the sake of the gods, to Indra at the sacrifice we offer; to Indra in the assembly, the forest-dwellers call, to Indra for the gaining of wealth. By his greatness, Indra expanded the two worlds; Indra made the sun shine. In Indra, all beings are held; in Indra, the pressed Soma flows. I have recited the ancient hymn; let it be spoken to Indra. Many lofty truths of order have been followed; the clouds of the singer have poured forth. Swiftly, the inspired ones have sung the sweet, flowing song. For us, wealth has spread, manly power and strength; for us, the pressed Soma flows. Whenever Indra is invoked by men in the east, west, north, or south, then, being called upon by many, he is present for this help, a champion for Turvasha. Or when Indra delights together with Ruma, Ruśama, or Śyāvaka, the mighty Kanvas, with hymns and songs, invite him—he comes. We approach you, O hero, like cows that have not been milked. You are the lord of this moving world, the lord of the steadfast, O Indra, who sees the light.