Let us contemplate the wondrous deeds and profound truths woven through the hymns addressed to Indra, the mighty one, and the eternal power of truth. The sages, reflecting on the nature of intimate friendship, ask: what is true companionship, and when shall we truly proclaim the brotherhood that binds us? Indra, in his radiant splendor, stands as the embodiment of this ideal—his form is perfectly shaped, his creations shine with the brilliance of the dawn, luminous as the light that pours from the cow. Desiring to destroy deception, Indra, the powerful, sharpens his fierce weapons. Even among those burdened with debts, harshness does not prevail in his presence. At the coming of dawn, he repels the unknown and the alien, driving them far away. Many are those who attend to the truths, for the very thought of truth is potent enough to destroy falsehood. When truth is proclaimed, it pierces even the ears of the deaf, awakening the pure-hearted as they approach. The foundations of truth are firm and manifold, shining with wondrous forms. From truth flow the long, nourishing streams; by truth, the cows themselves enter into the realm of truth. He who walks the path of truth alone attains truth. The strength of truth wins the contest for the cows, and for the sake of truth, the earth is made broad and deep; for truth, the cows are milked in the highest abode. Now, Indra, praised and lauded, may you grant nourishment to your worshippers as rivers nourish the land. For you, O wielder of the bay steeds, a new hymn is composed; may our thoughts always be united as those who ride together in the chariot. What praise is it that draws Indra, the mighty son, near with bounty? The hero bestows riches upon the singer; as lord of cattle, he does not drive his people away. He is to be invoked in the slaying of Vṛtra; he is to be praised as truly generous. Indra, the bountiful, comes to the mortal’s aid and opens a wide path for the worshipper’s song. In the assembly, men call upon him, striving for strength and the gain of offspring and progeny. The peoples, strong and eager, compete for abundance; when the clans unite in their might, they call upon Indra in their gathering. Then, indeed, they honor Indra’s power: offerings are prepared, sacrificial cakes are spread, Soma is pressed, and the eager pour out libations, rejoicing in the bull offered for sacrifice. Indra clears a path for the one who presses and offers Soma with devotion. United in mind, they come together, and he becomes their companion in battle. Whoever today presses Soma for Indra, cooks the offering, or roasts the grains—toward him are directed the thoughts and the wide paths; in him, Indra places his manly strength. When the mighty one divided Samarya and declared the long contest to the Arya, he summoned his manly vigor for his wife, into the house, together with those who skillfully press the Soma. Even the lesser, moving with greater wealth, remained unbought; though he returned, I did not buy him again. Though lesser, he did not diminish by much; the poor and skillful draw forth their speech in praise. Who will buy this my Indra with ten cows, when he has struck down the foes? Let him then return him to me. Now, praised and sung, Indra, may you pour forth wealth for the worshipper as rivers do. For you, O charioteer of the bay steeds, a new hymn is composed; with insight, may we ever be chariot-borne. Who today, seeking the gods, delights in Indra’s friendship? Who seeks his great protection and prays at the kindled fire with pressed Soma? Who will proclaim with speech for the Soma? Who will become a friend to the mindful, seeking Indra’s friendship and kinship with the sage, asking for his aid? Who today chooses the help of the gods, seeking the light of Aditi among the Ādityas? For whom do the Aśvins, Indra, Agni, and Soma unite in one-minded joy? For him, Agni, the Bharata, grants protection so that he may clearly see the rising sun—he who says, “Let us press Soma for Indra,” the manly, heroic, best of men. Many do not surpass him, nor do the few; for him, wide Aditi grants protection. Dear to the doer of good, dear to Indra, is the mindful one—the well-guided, the Soma-presser. The well-guided, swift, and strong quickly prepare the portion for Indra alone. For the ill-guided, there is neither helper, nor friend, nor kin; the voiceless one is carried away. Indra, the Soma-drinker, does not join in friendship with the wealthy Paṇi or with one who does not press Soma. His knowledge grieves; he strikes the naked one. For the well-guided, he alone prepares the portion. Indra is invoked by those before, those after, and those in the middle; those seeking help, those dwelling, and those fighting all call upon him. Men seeking victory invoke Indra. Now, the inspired sage speaks: “I am Manu, I am Sūrya; I am Kakṣīvat, the sage. I have guided Kutsa, son of Arjuna; I am the poet Uśanā—behold me. I gave the earth to the Arya; I gave rain to the worshipping mortal. I led forth the waters, eager to flow, and the gods followed my guidance. I destroyed the cities of the arrogant, together with ninety of Śambara’s; I overthrew the hundredth stronghold for Divodāsa and Atithigva. Let the hero’s strength go forth for the Maruts; let the falcon, swiftest of birds, fly. When the eagle, by his own power, brought the offering, beloved by the gods, to Manu. If the strong and wise one brings it, let him carry the offering on the broad path, swift as thought. He went with your honey, O Soma; here the falcon found lasting fame. The straight-flying falcon brought the Soma, the delightful exhilaration, from afar; the bird, holding fast, bore the god-invoked Soma from the highest heaven. Having brought it, the falcon carried the Soma, a thousand jars and ten thousand together. Here, the wise woman drove away the enemies; in the joy of Soma, even the foolish became wise. Even while still in the womb, I came to know all the births of the gods. Though a hundred iron fortresses protected me, the swift falcon carried me away. He bore no enmity toward me, not even for a moment; with his own strength, he overcame the hostile ones. The wise woman did not abandon her resolve, and the eager wind moved swiftly. When the falcon descended, the horses neighed; whether the wind carried the wise woman across the sky, or she released herself, the bowstring was swiftly loosed, mind intent and eager. With the speed of a racing horse, the falcon bore Bhujyu, son of Tugra, from the vast expanse; within the flight of the triple-winged one, in the path of the swift, he carried him to safety. Then Maghavan poured the pure, white Soma, mixed with milk, into the shining vessel; with the priests, prepared and foremost of the sweet drink, Indra, the hero, set it forth to drink for his exhilaration. With Soma as his ally, Indra, streaming for Manu, cleaved the waters. He slew the serpent, released the seven rivers, and opened the closed channels as if uncovering hidden passages. With Soma as his ally, Indra, with a single blow, struck down the wheel of the sun; with his vast might, he set in motion the great course, removing all obstacles from the path. Indra struck, Agni burned, O Soma, in ancient times at midday, the Dasyus in battle; in the stronghold, in the dwelling, with wisdom they advanced, and the mighty cast down thousands of enemies. Thus, the hymns recount the deeds of Indra, the power of truth, the glory of Soma, and the wisdom of the sages—ever guiding, ever victorious, ever sustaining the world in brilliance and truth.