He who set the great sun’s wheel in motion, who charted the course for the flowing river, draws in the blackness at the root of his domain and consumes it at its source—this is Indra, the mighty. In the sacred waters of the Asikni, the worshipper stands as the Hotṛ priest, offering his devotion. The wise, longing for cattle, approach Indra as a friend; seeking horses, they praise the bull for his strength; desiring offspring, they invoke the begetter of children, the one who cannot be deceived, stirring him as one would stir a hidden treasure for aid. Indra, be our vigilant protector, our renowned helper, destroyer of foes, drinker of Soma—be to us a friend and father, the best of fathers. Let us shape the world for the one who seeks long life. As we praise you, Indra, be our companion and helper, granting life to your singer. By our hymns, we have made you mighty; with our praises, may you be magnified. Indra the bountiful is celebrated, for he alone strikes down the many Vṛtras, unconquered. His singer is dear to him, and under his protection, neither gods nor mortals can hinder. May Indra, generous and far-seeing, perform true deeds for us—he who upholds the peoples and never errs. O king of beings, grant us fame and great glory for the singer. Now, as you are praised and sung, Indra, pour forth wealth for your singer as rivers do. For you, O Harivaḥ, a new hymn is composed—may we, with insight, always be companions of your chariot. This path, ancient and well-trodden, is the very way by which all the gods were born. From here, indeed, the mighty one should arise—let none lead the mother astray from her course. But the one to be born 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 am yet to do; I will fight with you, I will question you.” He watched his mother depart but did not follow the cows, nor pursue them. In Tvaṣṭṛ’s house, Indra drank the hundred-streamed Soma, pressed by Camva. What did he achieve with this strength? He seized a thousand, many autumns before, for none is his equal—neither among those born nor those yet to be born. His mother, thinking him unspeakable, hid the mighty one in secret, but by his own power, clothed in his own might, he arose. At his birth, he filled both heaven and earth. There were voices, lamenting like women without husbands, crying out like those who keep the law. “Ask them what this means, what they are saying—who among the waters breaks the stone enclosure?” The waters bear a secret about him; they wish to declare something blameworthy of Indra: “My son, with a great blow, 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, strong in his might, rose up. Even your jaws, O bountiful one, were split apart; your lower jaw was struck down, and your upper jaw, struck, became the head of the Dasa, crushed by the blow. The cow bore a sturdy, unassailable, mighty bull—Indra—into your house. The mother, wishing her calf to roam free, desired to let him go to wander. Yet the mother followed after the buffalo, and the gods abandoned you, O son. Then Indra, about to slay Vritra, called: “Friend Vishnu, stride forth and extend the path.” “Who made your mother a widow? Who sought 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 taken away, then the falcon carried off the honey for me.” Thus, O Indra, wielder of the bolt, all the gods—easy to invoke—have chosen you here. Both vast heaven and earth have chosen you alone for the slaying of Vritra. The gods released the living waters, O Indra, true-born king. You slew the serpent that lay coiled and unyielding, opening the paths for all the streams. You found him unsatisfied, lying unconscious, asleep, O Indra. With your bolt, you struck apart the serpent that lay across the seven flows. With your might, O Indra, you stirred the dried-up riverbeds; with your strength, you shattered firm barriers; with your force, you struck the mountain ridges. The people rushed forth like offspring, the streams gathered like chariots. You, Indra, released the rivers, sending forth their waves. You made the great, nourishing, ever-flowing earth pour forth for Turvīti and Vayya; with your might, you made the rivers easy to cross for the worshipper. You, Indra, opened up the ancient, youthful, law-abiding rivers, as the sky opens with clouds. You filled the thirsty deserts and subdued the wives of the Dasa. Many dawns and autumns were hidden; you slew Vritra and released the rivers. Indra, having broken the bonds, made the channels flow for the earth. With the humble, you took the son, unoffered, from his dwelling, O Indra. The blind one devoured the serpent, and even the hard-to-reach peaks were conquered. The wise have spoken to you of your former deeds, O knower, recounting your works to one who understands—your acts of strength, your renowned exploits, and your dealings with the waters. Now, praised Indra, now, as you are sung to, grant sustenance to your worshipper, as rivers nourish. For you, O wielder of the bays, a new hymn has been composed—may we, with insight, always be victorious in the contest. May Indra come to us from afar or from near—the mighty one who brings help to the seeker, lord of men, strong-armed with the thunderbolt, victorious in battles, subduer in contests. Let Indra come with his bay steeds, turning toward us for help and riches. The thunderer, the bountiful, stands by our sacrifice, answering our call for strength. You, Indra, will establish this sacrifice at the forefront, granting us wisdom. Like a slayer of foes, O thunderer, for the gaining of wealth—may we, with you, O noble one, win the contest. Gladly, with a gracious mind, approach us, Indra, delighting in the well-pressed Soma, O self-sustaining one. Drink the sweet mead brought before you—rejoice in the exhilarating draught, as you desire. He who, like a tree heavy with fruit or a swift racer, is loosened by the new seers—like a youth exulting over a maiden—so do I, longing, call upon Indra, the much-invoked. Like a mountain, mighty in his own strength, is Indra—born strong for enduring power from the beginning. He has seized the ancient, terrible thunderbolt, as one draws forth a vessel filled with wealth from the water. None can reach his path by birth, nor exhaust his bounty or his gifts. Raising his strength, O mighty Indra, bestow upon us abundant wealth. You watch over the wealth and dwellings of peoples; you open the pen of the kine. O manly one, you are victorious in assemblies, and you lead forth for us a great heap of riches.