Indra, the mighty and eager one, grew vast in his power, filling both heaven and earth with his greatness. From this overflowing majesty, his glory spread outward, for he became the very substance of all the worlds. Shakra, who knows every heroic deed, distributed the waters with his companions—by his will alone. Even the stones yielded to their words, and the Ushijas released the cattle rich in milk. With his thunderbolt, Indra drove away Vritra, who had held back the waters. The earth became conscious of his might as he released the streams and oceans, establishing himself as lord by his strength. When Indra, much-invoked, shattered the ancient rock, Sarama appeared for him. As the Angiras praised, Indra led them, perceiving abundant wealth and breaking open the enclosures. O Maghavan, approach the sage with your shining companions, striving nobly. Grant him strength at his call, and let not the cunning, unholy Dasyu harm us. Come, destroyer of Dasyus, with your mind to that place; let Kutsa be your companion in friendship. Sit in your own abode, in your true form, and let the wise woman discern your nature. With Kutsa, you shared the chariot as a helper, lord of the two bay steeds of the wind, swift as thought, blazing and adorned, seeking the prize in the wide spaces. For Kutsa, you cast down Śuṣṇa, the parched one, from his seat—the ancient foe, the thousandfold Kuyava. At once you destroyed the Dasyus with Kutsa, and the sun revealed the great wheel in the distance. You struck down Pipru, the roaring beast, for Ṛjiśvan and for Vaidathina, casting down fifty black fortresses from the thousand, as age shatters cities. At dawn, you were clothed in the form of the sun, bearing the visible sign of immortality—like a wild beast, an elephant seizing strength, like a fearsome lion with weapons in hand. Those who desired wealth came to Indra, delighting in his praise and the soma-offering, longing for glory and rejoicing in hymns, as in a splendid abundance. We call upon Indra, easy to invoke, who has accomplished countless heroic deeds and swiftly brings the prize to the worshipper with wondrous aid. When your sharp thunderbolt falls among people, O hero, in some gathering, and your fierce wrath rises against the foe, O guardian, remember our bodies. You have become the protector of Vāmadeva’s prayers, friend and wolf in the contest for the prize. All our thoughts follow you, O widely-praised one; may you be universal aid for the worshipper. With these men, O Indra, with your companions, may we prevail in every contest. Like the heavens with their splendors, may the noble ones support us, and may we rejoice through many nights and autumns. To Indra, the bull, the mighty, we offer our hymn, as the Bhṛgus to their chariot. May you not abandon our friendship, strong one, guardian of our bodies, now as before. Now praised and lauded, O Indra, may you pour out sustenance for the worshipper as rivers do. For you, wielder of the bays, a new hymn has been composed—may we, with insight, always be your charioteers. O Indra, you are great; for you, the earth and sky, by your might, acknowledge your supreme power. With your strength you slew Vṛtra, released the rivers, and devoured the coiled ones. At your birth, the sky trembled with your force, and the earth shook in awe of your might. Mountains and fair hills quaked, valleys split, and the waters rushed forth. With your thunderbolt, you split the mountain, revealing what was hidden. Delighting in the deed, you slew Vṛtra, and the waters rushed swiftly, their strength destroyed. The sky itself considered it begot your heroic power, O Indra; the most skillful made you, who begot the sun and the mighty thunderbolt, unshaken as the foundation of the seat. He alone stretches forth the two worlds—king of peoples, much-invoked Indra. All the gods rejoice in his truth, in the bounty of the generous god. All the Somas became his, all the exhilarating draughts of the great one. O Indra, you became lord of riches for the givers of wealth, to distribute among all peoples. From the beginning of your birth, O Indra, you apportioned all peoples; with your thunderbolt, you cut off the coiled one lying across the path. I uphold Indra, the mighty, the powerful, the boundless bull with the good thunderbolt—he who slew Vṛtra, wins the prize, gives gifts, and is the bountiful Maghavan, rich in treasures. This chosen Maghavan acts with righteousness; alone he hears in the battles, brings the prize, and wins what he seeks. May we be dear to him in friendship. He is heard when conquering and when striking; he sets the cattle free by battle. When Indra’s wrath is true, all that is firm trembles and flees. Indra won the cattle, the gold, the horses—Maghavan, who has many gifts. With his men, the most heroic, he divides wealth and gathers riches. How much does Indra surpass his mother? How much his father, the begetter who begot him? He stirs his might again and again, like the wind driven by roaring thunderclouds. Maghavan, you make the perishable imperishable; you stir up dust in confusion. Like the sky breaking with thunderbolts, grant wealth to the worshipper. He set in motion the wheel of the sun and made the path of the flowing one move. Drawing in the blackness, he devours the skin at the root of his domain, in its source. In the Asikni, the worshipper is like the Hotṛ priest. The wise, seeking cattle, approach Indra as a friend, seeking horses, praising the bull for strength. Desiring offspring, the begetter of offspring, the undeceivable, let us stir him as one stirs a treasure for help. Be our protector, O seer, our helper, renowned destroyer of foes, drinker of Soma. Friend, father, best of fathers, let us make the world for the one who seeks long life. Be our friend, our helper, O Indra, as we praise you, granting life to the singer. For we have made you mighty with these praises; with these hymns, may you be magnified. Indra, the bountiful, is praised—he who alone strikes down the many Vṛtras, unconquered. His singer is dear to him, and under his protection, neither gods nor mortals can hinder. Thus may Indra, the bountiful, the wide-seeing, do for us true deeds—the upholder of peoples, the unerring. O king of beings, place upon us fame and great glory for the singer. Now, praised and sung, O Indra, may you pour forth wealth for the singer as rivers do. For you, O Harivaḥ, a new hymn has been made—may we, with insight, always be your companions on the chariot. This path, ancient and well-trodden, is the one by which all the gods were born. From here, indeed, the mighty one should be born—let no one lead the mother astray from her course. “I will not go out by that way,” says the seeker, “for it is hard to pass and difficult. I will cross over by the sides, not by the middle. Many deeds have I done, and yet to do; I will fight with you, I will question you.” Thus, the story of Indra’s greatness, his deeds, and the path of the gods is sung and remembered, a source of strength, guidance, and praise for those who seek his aid.