With my heart stirred and my mind intent, I prepared my praises—well-pressed and potent—my strength awakened and my sacred stone ready for the rite. The call of the hymn rang out, vibrant and commanding, as two swift steeds, harnessed to the chariot, were summoned to bear the divine presence to us. Thus adorned, shining with our own power, we yoked ourselves to the great ones, approaching you, Indra, for by your very nature you have become one with us. Yet, I wondered, Maruts—where was your strength when I stood alone in the battle with the serpent? Fierce and mighty, unconquered by enemy or weapon, I endured, upheld by my own vigor. You, Maruts, have accomplished much for us, uniting your bull-like powers. Let us, under your guidance, O Indra, perform mighty deeds by wisdom, for in your command, O Maruts, we are strong. It was your own brilliance, Maruts, that helped slay Vṛtra; by your shining power, you grew in might. I, the wielder of the thunderbolt, cleared the paths for Manu, illuminating the way for all. O generous one, you are without equal; no other god possesses your knowledge. Neither birth nor rebirth is lost to you—do as you will, ever-expanding one. Even with a single power, I could achieve my aims, if only I dared; for I am fierce, knowing the Maruts, and whatever Indra wishes among these, I am able to fulfill. My praise has gladdened the Maruts, for when men composed a worthy hymn for me, Indra, the strong and bountiful, became my friend, and friends joined together in spirit and body. Before me, these Maruts shine, their fame undiminished, their forms radiant; may they gather together, covering and protecting me. Who among you, Maruts, will be my helper? Come forward as friends to a friend, let your wondrous thoughts flow, and be among those who know the truths. When the poet invokes you for the day’s sake, he makes us worthy of honor by his wisdom. Now, Maruts, let the inspired one draw near, let the singer offer you these hymns. This is your praise, Maruts, the poet’s song, worthy of honor. May it go forth for its own sake; may we know this people, long-lived. Let us now recall that ancient greatness—of the eager one, of the bull’s birth, of the sign. Like fire kindled, like the Maruts strong in force, like warriors in battle, you perform mighty deeds, O powerful ones. Ever bearing sweetness for the son, you play joyfully in the assemblies, O vigorous Rudras. You do not harm the reverent, nor injure the sacrificer, but grant favor. To those whom the immortal attendants have blessed with wealth and nourishment, who offer with devotion, the Maruts pour out blessings like friends, with abundant waters across many lands. With your might, you have stretched out the realms; your strength moves forth unrestrained. All beings and dwellings tremble before you; your approach is wondrous in streaming showers. When your force resounds, the mountains shake, the sky trembles, and the trees quake at your coming; the herbs flee as if driven by chariots. O mighty Maruts, with wise counsel, you protect unharmed hosts and bestow good favor. Where your lightning flashes and the storm roars, cattle are scattered as if by a well-built shelter. With firm strength, unwearied in giving, praised in assemblies, you sing to the sun for the joy of the intoxicating drink, knowing the foremost deeds of the heroic one. With a hundred arms, protect from harm; let the Maruts guard those whom they favor. Fierce, powerful, radiant, you defend the people, bringing blessings and prosperity to their offspring. All auspicious powers are placed in your chariots, Maruts, like rivals striving with vigor. Ornaments gleam on your shoulders and along your paths; your axles and wheels turn together, spreading far. Splendid adornments shine on your noble arms and golden ornaments on your breasts; blades are set on your shoulders and shafts, like wings on birds, your splendors are arranged. Great in greatness, abundant in abundance, far-seeing, you are like heavenly beings in beauty. Delightful and eloquent, your voices resound, mingled with Indra, as you sing the stotra, Maruts. This is your noble greatness, your enduring gift, your vow as steadfast as Aditi’s. Even Indra cannot surpass you by force; you grant favor to those who act well. This is your kinship, Maruts, from ancient times—immortal ones bringing blessings. With this thought, you have made yourselves known to Manu, together with your shining weapons. By your protection, O swift ones, we have long praised you. As people spread out, may we reach our desired goal through these sacrifices. This praise, Maruts, this song is from the poet Mandarya, the honored one. May it bring well-being to our bodies; may we know this people, long-lived and strong. O Indra, a thousand are your helps for us, a thousand riches, O golden and most praised one. A thousand joys for delight—may your thousand-bearing steeds come to us. Let the Maruts come to us with their aid, with the eldest, with the great heavens, with wise counsel; when their troops reach the farthest shore, they even cross the ocean. Among them are well-made, shining chariots with golden fittings, sharp as spears. Moving secretly, like a woman among men, speech comes together in the assembly. The bright and swift Maruts have gone forth, moving as one; the terrible ones do not drive away earth and sky, and the gods accept the aged for friendship. When the swift one desires union with the Sun, he fills the two worlds with his strength; like the Sun, he guides the chariot skillfully, his fierce aspect leading it through the sky. The young men set forth the youthful maiden, beautiful and blinking, in the gatherings; when the sacrificial song is offered to you, Maruts, the Soma-pressers sing with devotion. I proclaim their greatness, truly the majesty of the Maruts; when the mighty ones unite, even the firm-born, the blessed, are carried forth by their power. Mitra and Varuna protect from blame, and Yama removes the unworthy; even the steadfast things are shaken, for the generous Maruts increase their gifts. Among you, Maruts, none is the last for us; even from afar, your power reaches its limit. With bold might, shining, you roar like fierce waves, surrounding with strength. Today, we are the favorites of Indra; tomorrow, we shall speak in the contest. In times past and days to come, may the noble Ribhus follow us. This praise, Maruts, this song, is from the poet Mandarya, worthy of honor; may it be granted to our descendants, may we know this people, long-lived. Sacrifice after sacrifice, with united minds, you have spread wisdom, O gods. We invoke you from nearby for good fortune, with strong hymns, for great help. Like calves born of their own strength, the streams have brought forth nourishment and light; mighty, they move upon the waters—these cows, ever worthy of praise, never ceasing.