Come, let us recall and celebrate the wondrous deeds of Indra, both those accomplished in the ancient days and those performed anew. Let us honor his mighty thunderbolt, broad and formidable in his arms, and his swift steeds, radiant as the banners of the sun. Indra’s two horses, flowing with ghee and resounding with a clear, pleasing sound, always bring him victory. When he harnesses their power, the very earth, steadfast and unshaken, is spread wide, and even the mountains themselves are set in motion. Once, a mountain, loosened and freed by Indra, rushed forth, rejoicing with its mothers. Its voice swelled far and wide, as the waters flowed in channels opened by Indra’s might. It was Indra, the mighty one, who struck down the great serpent Vritra, master of illusion. At his thunderous roar and the flash of his thunderbolt, both heaven and earth trembled in awe. His thunderbolt, roaring like a bull, resounded as he, the heroic man, struck down the non-human foe. With the strength of the pressed Soma coursing through him, he shattered the cunning illusions of the Danu. “Drink, drink, O Indra, hero!” the people call. “Let the pressed Soma fill you with joy!” The Soma, freshly pressed, fills Indra’s belly, inviting him to come and grant his blessings. Through Indra’s favor, we too have become powerful and wise. With his help, we walk in truth, gaining insight and praise, ever ready to receive his abundant wealth. We pray, “O Indra, let us be among those you protect, those whose strength grows through your help. May we, with the other gods, praise your vigor and receive wealth rich in heroes from you.” “Grant us a dwelling, O Indra, and the gift of friendship. Bestow upon us your force, fierce as the Maruts. Let those who rejoice together be guided by the winds along the foremost path.” May Indra, delighting in those who honor him, drink deeply of the pressed Soma, protecting us in battle, increasing our strength, and upholding the sky with our great hymns. Those who call upon Indra with hymns, spreading the sacred grass in their homes, have won his prize and favor. “O fierce hero,” we sing, “come and drink the Soma from the three vats. Be pleased with the bearded priests who praise you. Come with your steeds and partake of the pressed Soma.” Take up your might, O Indra, the very power with which you struck down Vritra, the Danu, as if scattering a swelling cloud. You uncovered the light for the Aryan, and the Dasyu, subdued, sat down at your right. With your help, may we overcome all hostilities, O Indra, conquering the Dasyus with Aryan strength. Grant us the all-formed wealth of Tvashtar, as once you did for Tritas, your friend. Growing strong with the exhilarating Soma, Indra shattered the dark cloud and, like the sun turning its wheel, split open the cave of Vala, releasing its treasures for the Angirasas. Let the generous reward always come to the singer, O Indra. Teach us, giver of riches, and do not withhold your portion from us who praise you. May we speak mightily and victoriously in the assembly. Indra—he who, at his birth, was the first and most powerful—surpassed all the other gods by his will. By his might, heaven and earth tremble; by his heroic greatness, all men exist. He made the trembling earth firm, set the mountains in motion with his anger, measured out the vast midspace, and propped up the sky—such is the greatness of Indra. It was he who slew the serpent and released the seven rivers; who drove the cows from the cave of Vala; who generated fire between two stones and gathered victory in battles. By him, all moving things are set in motion. He struck down the dark-skinned Dasa hidden below, and like a hunter of wild beasts, destroyed the many wealthy foes. Some ask, “Where is he?”—so fearsome is Indra that others even doubt his existence. Yet he, the noble one, diminishes the wealth of the mighty as if splitting it apart. Let our faith rest firmly in him. He is the encourager of the weak and the poor, the priest who is not honored; he protects the one who presses Soma with stones, O fair-jawed Indra. His horses, his cows, his villages, and his chariots are found in every direction. He generated the sun and the dawn and leads the waters on their course. Both the sorrowful and the joyful call upon him, both the distant and the near, even enemies. Those who ride together yet differ in mind invoke him—such is Indra’s reach. Without Indra, men do not win; fighters call for his help in battle. He is the measure of all things and stands unshaken among all that is unshaken. He struck down the proud and arrogant, those who thought themselves invincible. He never yields to challengers and is the slayer of the Dasyu. He found Shambara hidden among the mountains in his fortieth autumn, slew the growing serpent, and struck down the sleeping Danu. As the bull with seven rays, Indra released the seven rivers to flow. With his thunder-armed might, he struck down Rauhina as he ascended to the sky. Even heaven and earth bow to Indra; even the mountains fear his power. He, the drinker of Soma, is praised as thunder-armed and thunder-handed. He protects the one who presses Soma, who cooks, who praises, and even the silent worshipper. His prayer is his strength, as is the Soma and every gift offered. Even when the Soma is pressed or cooked, Indra grants the prize, even to the weak. Truly, Indra is real. May we, always dear to him, speak mightily and victoriously in the assembly. In the beginning, the season, the mother, gave birth to Indra. From her waters, he quickly entered and grew within her. At his birth, nourishing milk was produced—the first and most excellent portion of the sap. The nourishing streams go forth together, bearing milk for universal enjoyment, flowing along the same path for all humanity. He who made them first is truly worthy of praise. One gives according to his nature, another departs alone. All endure the actions of the one who made them first, who is worthy of praise. They distribute sustenance among their offspring, like wealth spreading from a summit. With sharp teeth, they consume the father’s food, all in accordance with the will of the one worthy of praise. He who made the earth and sky visible, who cleansed the paths and slew the serpent, is the one we praise with hymns and offerings—the gods themselves created him, the worthy one. He gives food and growth, drawing sweet moisture from both dry and wet. He placed the treasure for the shining one and is the sole ruler of all—he is ever worthy of praise. By his law, he upholds all blossoming and flowing things, sustains the gifts, unmatched and radiant, vast in the heavens and all around—he is worthy of praise. He brings down the arrogant and hostile, leads the strong and the generous, and his mouth is filled with nourishing strength. Even today, he is worthy of much praise. Whether a hundred or ten together, in the service of the one, when you urge them on, you bind the enemies for the fearful. Through your renowned protection, Indra, you remain ever glorious. Thus, the story of Indra’s greatness, his victories, his protection, and his generosity is sung—may we ever remember and praise him, the mighty and worthy one.