Hear now the sacred narrative woven from the ancient hymns of the Atharva Veda. Vasiṣṭha, the venerable sage, lifts his voice in praise, addressing Indra, the generous and mighty one, at the assembly of the gods. “Listen, O Indra,” he calls, “to these prayers offered in your honor—accept the devotion of your followers gathered here.” Indra, lord of strength and protector, is invoked with all his power. The people declare, “We follow you, renowned hero, knower of treasures. You are the master of horses, cattle, and golden wealth. Your giving knows no restraint—grant us whatever we seek.” At every sacrifice, in every gathering, in the forest and in the quest for riches, Indra is called upon. By his greatness, he has expanded the two worlds; it is he who made the sun shine. All beings are held within Indra, and through him the sacred Soma flows. The ancient hymn is recited, its lofty truths resound, and the singer’s clouds pour forth blessings. Inspired voices sing sweetly, like flowing ghee; wealth, strength, and manly power spread among the people, and Soma continues to flow for their benefit. Whenever men invoke Indra—be it from the east, west, north, or south—he comes to their aid. He is the champion of Turvasha, present wherever he is called. Whether rejoicing with Ruma, Ruśama, or Śyāvaka, the Kanvas invite him with hymns and songs, and Indra responds. The people approach Indra as calves approach their mother, eager and trusting. He is the lord of all that moves and all that stands firm, the seer of light. No one in heaven or on earth, none born nor yet to be born, can equal Indra. He is invoked as the generous one, master of horses, bringer of cattle. “May we have splendid gatherings with Indra,” the people pray, “rich in gifts and joy. Come to us, mighty one, with your unconquered power, as steadfast as the axle of a chariot that never breaks. Whenever you grant the singers’ wishes, may your strength be with us.” The greatness of the sun is revealed in the sky, yoked to green steeds as night draws her garment away. The sun manifests the forms of Mitra and Varuṇa in the heavens—one power shines without end, another is dark, and both are borne by the green steeds. By what wondrous power does Indra come, ever-growing and friendly? By what aid is he chosen? Among his delights, which is the greatest—who rejoices most in the pressed Soma? Even the firmest are broken by Indra, the giver of wealth. “Be our protector, Indra, of friends and singers; may your aid be a hundredfold.” The people ask, “Which of these worlds shall we reach with Indra and all the gods? May Indra, with the Ādityas, arrange our sacrifice, our bodies, and our offspring. May he and the Maruts safeguard our persons, as when the gods drove away the Asuras and preserved divinity.” With Indra’s powers, the hymn is brought forth, insight reveals nourishing food. “By this, may we win the prize, favored by the gods, and rejoice for a hundred winters with heroic sons.” “O generous Indra, drive away our enemies from every side—east, west, north, and south—so that we may rejoice in your wide protection. Subdue those who possess barley, and prepare food for those who have not honored the sacrificial grass. No journey is in vain, nor is fame gained lightly; the wise seek Indra’s friendship, desiring cows, horses, and strength.” The Ashvins, together with Namuci the Asura, once drank the strong drink; with Indra, the radiant lords accomplish great deeds. Like loving parents, the Ashvins and Indra protected their devotee with words and strength, praised by Shachis and Sarasvati. Indra, wise and kind, knowing all things, is beseeched to drive away hatred and grant fearlessness, so that his followers may possess heroic strength. “May Indra keep us in his good favor and happy mind.” Soma flows forth, and Indra is honored as the supreme god—where even the mighty monkey drank, Indra’s superiority is proclaimed. Yet Indra is said to flee from the monkey, trembling, for there is no other place to drink Soma; still, Indra is superior to all. “What has this monkey done to you, O tawny beast?” the people ask. “Why grow angry over riches? Indra is superior to all.” The beloved monkey, whom Indra protects, is harassed by a dog and a boar, yet Indra’s greatness remains. The monkey has revealed secrets and acted wickedly; he is struck for his deeds, yet still, Indra is superior. “My woman is not the most beautiful or the most pleasant, nor the most active, yet Indra is superior to all. Mother, whatever happens, so it will be—my thigh, my head, all rejoice; Indra is superior.” The question is asked: “O strong-armed one, what do you, wife of the hero, desire from the mighty monkey? Indra is superior.” The monkey, like a woman without a man, thinks little of Indra’s wife, but she is strong, companion of the Maruts. Indra is always superior. Long ago, women went to the common offering; Indra’s wife, the creator, was honored for her truth. Among these women, one is called fortunate, for her husband does not die of old age—Indra is superior to all. Thus, the hymns resound, exalting Indra above all—protector, giver, and unconquered lord—whose greatness is celebrated by gods and mortals alike.