In the ancient days, the vast sky itself claimed to be the origin of Indra’s heroic power. The most skillful beings shaped him, the one who would bring forth the sun and forge the mighty, unyielding thunderbolt—Indra, whose strength was as steadfast as the foundation of the world. Indra alone stretched out the two realms of earth and heaven, reigning as king among people, much invoked and beloved. All the gods rejoiced in his truth and in the generous bounty he bestowed, praising him as the giver of gifts. All the Somas, all the exhilarating draughts, became Indra’s possession. He became the lord of riches for those who gave wealth, distributing prosperity among all peoples. From the very beginning of his birth, Indra, the bountiful, divided and apportioned the peoples. With his thunderbolt, he cut down the coiled serpent that lay across the path, clearing the way for all. I uphold Indra—the mighty, powerful, boundless bull wielding the good thunderbolt—who slew Vṛtra, won the prize, and gave gifts, the bountiful Maghavan, rich in treasures. Maghavan, chosen by the gods, acts in righteousness and hears the prayers of those who call upon him in battle. He brings the prize, wins what he seeks, and may we ever be dear to him in friendship. Indra is heard when conquering and when striking; he sets cattle free by force. When his wrath is true, all that is firm trembles and moves aside. Indra gathered cattle, gold, and horses together, dividing wealth among his followers, gathering riches for the most heroic of men. How much does Indra surpass his mother and father, the very ones who begot him? He stirs his might again and again, like the wind driven by roaring thunderclouds. Maghavan, you make the perishable imperishable, stirring up dust in confusion. Like the sky breaking with thunderbolts, grant wealth to the worshipper. You set the wheel of the sun in motion, made the path of the flowing rivers move, drew in the darkness, and devoured the skin at the root of your domain. In the Asikni, the worshipper is like the Hotṛ priest, offering praise. The wise, seeking cattle and horses, approach Indra for friendship and strength; desiring offspring, they praise the begetter of children, stirring him as one stirs a treasure for help. Be our protector, our helper, renowned destroyer of foes, drinker of Soma; friend, father, best of fathers, grant long life to those who seek it. Be our friend, our helper, O Indra, as we praise you, granting life to the singer. With these hymns, may you be magnified, made mighty by our praises. Indra, the bountiful, is praised for striking down many Vṛtras alone, unconquered; his singer is dear to him, protected beyond the reach of gods or mortals. May Indra, wide-seeing and bountiful, perform true deeds for us, uphold peoples, and place upon us fame and great glory for the singer. Now, praised and sung, may Indra pour forth wealth for the singer as rivers do. For you, Harivaḥ, a new hymn has been made—may we, with insight, always be companions of your chariot. The path by which all the gods were born is ancient and well-trodden. From here, the mighty one should be born—let no one lead the mother astray from her course. Yet the way is hard to pass, difficult; I will cross by the sides, not by the middle. Much have I done and much remains; I will fight and question you. Indra looked after his departing mother, but did not follow the cows nor go after them. In Tvaṣṭṛ’s house, he drank the hundred-streamed Soma pressed by Camva. With that strength, he accomplished much—seizing a thousand, many autumns before. No one equals him, neither among the born nor those yet to be. His mother, thinking him unspeakable, hid the mighty one in secret. But by his own strength, clothed in power, Indra rose and, upon birth, filled both heaven and earth. Some, like women without husbands, lament and cry out, keeping the law. Ask them what they mean—who among the waters breaks the stone enclosure? The waters speak a secret for him, wishing to declare something blameworthy of Indra. Yet it was my son, by a great blow, who slew Vritra and released the rivers. Even I abandoned you, young woman, left you sleeping on the bank; even the waters, wishing well for the child, abandoned you, and Indra, with his strength, rose up. Indra’s jaws were split apart, his lower jaw struck down; then, the upper jaw became the head of the Dasa, crushed by the blow. A cow bore a sturdy, unassailable, mighty bull—Indra—into your house; the mother, wishing her calf to roam freely, desired to let him go. Yet she followed after the buffalo, and the gods abandoned you, O son. Then Indra, about to slay Vritra, called to his friend Vishnu: “Stride forth and extend the path.” 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? Like a she-wolf, I tore out the entrails; I found no comforter among the gods. I saw my wife being taken away, then the falcon carried off the honey for me. Thus, O Indra, wielder of the bolt, all the gods, easy to invoke, chose you for the slaying of Vritra. Heaven and earth, grown vast and high, chose you alone. The gods released the living waters, O Indra, true-born king; you slew the serpent lying around, unyielding, and opened the paths for all streams. You found him unsatisfied, lying unconscious and asleep; with your bolt, you struck apart the serpent across the seven flows. With your might, you stirred the dried-up riverbed, broke firm barriers, and struck the mountain ridges. The people rushed forth like offspring, the streams gathered like chariots; Indra, with his force, released the rivers, sending forth the waves. You made the earth pour forth for Turvīti and Vayya, made the rivers easy to cross for the worshipper. You opened up ancient, youthful, law-abiding rivers, filled thirsty deserts, and subdued the wives of the Dasa. Many dawns and autumns were hidden; you slew Vritra and released the rivers, breaking the bonds and making channels flow for the earth. With the humble, you took the son, the unoffered, from his dwelling; the blind one devoured the serpent, and even the hard-to-reach peaks were conquered. Such is the story of Indra, the mighty, the generous, the unconquered—slayer of Vritra, releaser of waters, giver of gifts, and protector of all.