Desiring wealth and glory, the worshippers gathered, their hearts drawn to Indra, the mighty one who delights in the well-praised. They approached him as at the soma-offering, longing for splendor and rejoicing in hymns, as if seeking a vision of abundant riches. To this Indra, easy to invoke and famed for his heroic deeds, they called out, for he brings swift rewards and wondrous aid to those who worship him. When Indra’s sharp thunderbolt falls among men, striking in their assemblies, and his fierce wrath rises against his foes, the people pray that he, their guardian, will remember to protect their bodies. Indra, protector of Vāmadeva’s prayers, is both friend and, in the contest for the prize, a wolf to the competitors. All thoughts and aspirations follow him, the widely-praised, and the worshippers beseech him to be their universal aid. With his loyal companions, Indra leads his people to victory in every contest. They wish to be supported by noble ones, shining like the heavens, and to rejoice through many nights and autumns. The hymn is dedicated to Indra the bull, the mighty, just as the Bhṛgus dedicate their chariot; the people pray that, as before, he will not abandon their friendship, and will continue to guard their bodies. Now, as Indra is praised and lauded, the worshippers ask him to pour forth sustenance, as rivers flow, upon those who honor him. A new hymn has been composed for the wielder of the bay steeds, and the people hope, with insight, always to be his charioteers. Indra’s greatness is celebrated by earth and sky alike, who recognize his supreme power. With his strength, he slew Vṛtra, released the rivers, and devoured the coiled ones. At his birth, the sky trembled, the earth shook with fear, the mountains and hills quaked, valleys split, and the waters rushed forth. Indra split the mountain with his thunderbolt, revealing what was hidden and delighting in the defeat of Vṛtra; the waters surged forward, their strength restored. The sky regarded itself as the begetter of Indra’s heroic power, and the most skillful fashioned him, the one who begot the sun and the mighty, steadfast thunderbolt. Indra alone stretches forth the two worlds, king of peoples, much-invoked and rejoiced in by all the gods, who delight in his truth and generosity. All the Somas and exhilarating draughts became his, and he became the lord of riches for the givers of wealth, distributing blessings among the peoples. From the very beginning, Indra has apportioned all peoples, and with his thunderbolt, he cut down the coiled one who blocked the path. The people uphold Indra, mighty and boundless, the bull with the good thunderbolt, the slayer of Vṛtra, the giver of gifts, and the bountiful Maghavan, rich in treasures. Maghavan, chosen by the people, acts with righteousness and is ever attentive in battle. He brings the prize and fulfills desires; the people seek to be dear to him in friendship. Indra is heard when conquering and when striking, setting cattle free by battle. When his wrath is true, all that is firm trembles and flees before him. Indra gathers cattle, gold, and horses together, dividing wealth and gathering riches among his heroic followers. He surpasses even his mother and father, stirring his might again and again, like the wind driven by thunderclouds. Maghavan makes the perishable imperishable, stirring up confusion like dust, and, like the sky breaking with thunderbolts, grants wealth to those who worship him. He has set in motion the wheel of the sun and made the path for the flowing waters. Drawing in darkness, he devours the skin at the root of his domain, at its very source. In the Asikni, the worshipper is like the Hotṛ priest, performing sacred duties. The wise, seeking cattle and horses, approach Indra for friendship and strength; desiring offspring, they praise the begetter of children, the undeceivable, stirring him as one stirs a treasure for help. Indra is called to be protector, helper, destroyer of foes, and drinker of Soma—friend, father, best of fathers—so that the world may be made for those who seek long life. The worshippers praise Indra, asking him to be their friend and helper, granting life to the singer. Through these hymns, they have made him mighty; may he be magnified by their praise. Indra, the bountiful, is praised for striking down many Vṛtras alone and unconquered; his singer is dear to him, and under his protection, none—god nor mortal—can hinder. May Indra, the bountiful and wide-seeing, perform true deeds for his people, upholding them without error. As king of beings, may he grant fame and great glory to the singer. Now, praised and sung, may Indra pour forth wealth as rivers do; for him, a new hymn is composed, and the worshippers, with insight, wish always to be his chariot companions. The story turns to the ancient path, well-trodden, by which all the gods were born. From this path, the mighty one should be born, and none should divert the mother from her course. Yet, one declares, “I will not go by that way—it is hard and difficult to pass. I will cross by the sides, not the middle. Many deeds have I done and will do; I will fight and question you.” Indra watched over his departing mother but did not follow the cows nor pursue them. In Tvaṣṭṛ’s house, he drank the hundred-streamed Soma, pressed by Camva. With that strength, what did he achieve? He seized a thousand, many autumns ago, for none is equal to him—neither among the born nor the unborn. His mother, thinking him unspeakable, hid the mighty one in secret, but by his own strength, clothed in power, Indra arose and, at his birth, filled both heaven and earth. There were those who lamented and cried out, like women without husbands, or those who keep the law; they questioned who among the waters broke the stone enclosure. The waters wished to declare some secret, perhaps blameworthy, about Indra. They said, “My son, by a great blow, slew Vritra and released the rivers.” Even I, his mother, abandoned you, young woman, left you sleeping on the bank; even the waters, wishing well for the child, abandoned you, and yet Indra, by his strength, arose. Indra’s very jaws were split apart; his lower jaw was struck down, and the upper, having been struck, became the head of the Dasa, crushed by the blow. The cow bore a sturdy, mighty bull—Indra—into your house. The mother, wishing her calf to go freely, desired to let him wander. Yet the mother followed after the buffalo, and the gods abandoned Indra, her son. Then, as Indra prepared to slay Vritra, he called out, “Friend Vishnu, stride forth and extend the path.” The question remains: who made your mother a widow? Who wished to kill you as you moved? Which god, O Marut, was with you when you seized your father by the foot and cast him down? Thus is sung the story of Indra: his birth, his might, his victories, and the prayers of his people who seek his friendship, protection, and abundant gifts.