Indra, the mighty one, watched as his mother departed, yet he did not follow after the cows, nor pursue them on their way. Instead, within the house of Tvaṣṭṛ, he drank the Soma pressed by Camva—a hundred-streamed, potent draught that would empower him for deeds to come. With this strength, Indra accomplished wonders. Long before, across many autumns, he seized a thousand treasures, for none—neither those born nor those yet to be born—could match his might. His mother, perceiving his destiny as one not to be spoken of, tried to hide the powerful child in secret. But Indra, wrapped in his own strength and glory, arose by his own will, and upon his birth, filled both heaven and earth with his presence. There were those who lamented, like maidens yearning for a husband, crying out in sorrow and confusion like keepers of the law. They questioned among themselves: Who among the waters can break the stone enclosure? What secret do these waters hold for Indra? Some wished to reveal a fault in him. Yet, the truth was this: "My son," the mother said, "by a mighty blow slew Vritra and released the rivers." Even I, she confessed, abandoned you, young woman, left you sleeping on the riverbank. Even the waters, wishing well for the child, forsook you, and Indra, in his strength, arose alone. In the great battle, O bounteous one, your jaws were sundered—your lower jaw struck down, your upper jaw, once struck, became the head of the Dasa, crushed by Indra's blow. The cow bore a sturdy, unassailable bull—Indra—into your house. The mother, desiring freedom for her calf, wished to let him wander as he willed. Yet, she followed after the buffalo, and the gods themselves abandoned you, O son. Then, as Indra prepared to slay Vritra, he called to his friend Vishnu: "Stride forth and extend the path!" But who made your mother a widow? Who sought to end your life as you moved? Which god, O Marut, stood by you when you seized your father by the foot and cast him down? Like a she-wolf, I tore out the entrails, finding no comfort among the gods. I saw my wife taken away, but the falcon brought the honey to me. Thus, O Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt, all the gods here—easy to invoke—chose you. The vast and towering heavens and earth themselves selected you alone for the slaying of Vritra. The gods released the living waters, O true-born king, when you slew the serpent that lay coiled and unyielding, opening the paths for all the streams. You found Vritra lying unsatisfied, unconscious and asleep. With your thunderbolt, you struck apart the serpent stretched across the seven rivers. By your might, you stirred the dried-up riverbeds, broke the firm barriers, and with your force, shattered the mountain ridges. The peoples rushed forth like children, the rivers flowed together like chariots—by your power, Indra, you released the rivers and sent forth their waves. You made the great, ever-flowing, all-nourishing earth pour forth abundance for Turvīti and Vayya. With your might, you made the rivers easy to cross for the worshipper. You opened the ancient, law-abiding rivers, like the sky with its clouds, filling the thirsty deserts and subduing the wives of the Dasa. Many dawns and autumns had been hidden, but you slew Vritra and released the rivers; you broke the bonds and made the channels flow upon the earth. With the humble, you took the unoffered son from his dwelling, O Indra; the blind one devoured the serpent, and even the most inaccessible peaks were conquered. The wise recount your former deeds, O knower, retelling your works to the one who understands. O King, you have entered into acts of strength and glory, and the waters themselves bear witness. Now, praised Indra, being sung to, grant sustenance to the worshipper, as the rivers nourish the earth. 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 helper of the seeker, lord of men, strong-armed with the thunderbolt, victorious in battle, subduer in contests. Let Indra come with his bays, turning toward us with help and riches; the thunderer, the bountiful, stands by our sacrifice, answering our call for strength. You, Indra, will establish our sacrifice at the forefront and grant 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, O Indra, delighting in the well-pressed Soma. Drink of the sweet mead brought before you, rejoice in the exhilarating draught as you desire. He who, like a tree full of fruit or a swift racer, has been loosened by the new seers—like a youth exulting over a maiden—so do I, yearning, 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 gifts. Raising up his strength, O mighty one, bestow upon us abundant wealth, O much-invoked. You watch over the wealth and dwellings of peoples, and you open the pen of the kine. Victorious in assemblies, you lead forth a great heap of riches for us. By what power, O most powerful, do we hear of your mighty deeds, accomplished again and again? You, generous to the worshipper, discerning many gifts, bestow wealth upon the singer. Do not harm us; bring us the gift, grant it to us. Give much of what you have to the worshipper for giving. In this new, excellent, and praiseworthy hymn, let us, praising Indra, declare your glory. Now, praised Indra, now, being sung to, grant sustenance to the worshipper, as rivers nourish. For you, O wielder of the bays, a new hymn has been composed—may we, with insight, be ever victorious in the contest. Let Indra, praised by us, come here for help; let the hero sit with us at the banquet. Ever-growing in might, with powers vast as the sky, may his dominion ever flourish unconquered. Here, let us praise his mighty deeds: those of the strong one, famed and generous to men, whose sovereign resolve rules in the assembly, who calls forth and stirs the peoples. Let Indra come from sky or earth, quickly from the sea or from the waters—the bringer of light for our aid, O Marut-companion, or from the distant seat of truth. Of his great wealth, which he is lord of, we would praise in the assemblies—Indra, who wins by might among the wealthy, who leads the bold to the possession of riches. He who, in reverence, restrains the arrogant, who sets forth speech for the sacrifice; the generous, much-invoked one, with hymns—let him, Indra, be made the Hotar in the gatherings. If, guided by wisdom, you dwell among the swift ones, abiding in the cave of the mountain of the Maujiga, O Hotar, who kindles the fire for us in the assemblies, you are the guardian of the dwelling. Whenever mighty Bhārvara exerts his strength for praise and offering, when he is hidden in the cave of the Maujiga, then, through devotion and striving, he brings forth delight. Thus, the deeds and glory of Indra are recounted—his birth, his battles, his release of the rivers, his generosity, and his unfailing aid to those who worship him with devotion and song.