In the ancient days, the people gathered to honor the mighty Indra, the wielder of power. With reverence, they prepared the offerings, spreading the sacred sacrificial cake, pressing the Soma, and pouring it out with eager hands. Their hearts rejoiced in the bull brought for the sacrifice, delighting in the rituals that pleased the king of the gods. For those who pressed and offered Soma to Indra, a path was made clear. United in purpose, they came together, and Indra himself became their companion in battle—standing beside those who honored him with devotion. Whoever, on this day, pressed Soma for Indra, cooked the offerings, or roasted the grains, became the focus of all aspirations and blessings. To such a one, Indra granted his own strength and valor. When the mighty Indra divided Samarya and declared the long contest to the Arya, he summoned his manly strength and brought it home, accompanied by those skilled in pressing Soma. There was one who, though lesser, moved about with greater wealth, yet he was not bought nor sold again upon his return. Though not greatly diminished, the poor and the skillful drew forth their eloquence and speech. A question arose: “Who will buy my Indra with ten cows, now that he has struck down the foes? Let him, then, give him back to me.” Now, Indra was praised and sung. The worshippers prayed, “May you, O Indra, pour forth wealth for us as the rivers flow. For you, O charioteer of the bay steeds, a new hymn has been composed; may we always ride with insight and inspiration.” “Who today,” they asked, “seeking the gods, has delighted in Indra’s friendship? Who seeks great help for protection, who prays at the kindled fire with pressed Soma?” “Who will proclaim the glory of Soma? Who will befriend the mindful one and seek Indra’s kinship and aid?” “Who today chooses the gods’ help, who seeks the light of Aditi among the Ādityas? For whom do the Aśvins, Indra, Agni, and Soma unite in offering with one mind?” For such a one, Agni, the Bharata, grants protection so that he may see the rising sun, he who says, “Let us press Soma for Indra, the heroic and the best of men.” Many do not surpass him, nor do the few. For him, the wide embrace of Aditi brings protection. The mindful one is dear to the doer of good, dear to Indra, dear is the well-guided, and dear is his Soma-presser. The well-guided, swift, and strong man quickly prepares Indra’s portion. But for the ill-guided, there is neither helper, nor friend, nor kinsman; voiceless, he is carried away. Indra, the drinker of Soma, does not join in friendship with the wealthy Paṇi or with those who do not press Soma. He grieves for those lacking wisdom, strikes down the naked, and prepares the portion for the well-guided alone. Indra is invoked by those who came before, those who come after, and those in the middle. Whether seeking help, dwelling in peace, or fighting in battle, all call upon Indra. Those who seek victory invoke him. Then a voice proclaimed, “I am Manu, I am Sūrya; I am Kakṣīvat, the inspired sage. I have guided Kutsa, son of Arjuna; I am the poet Uśanā—look upon me.” “I gave the earth to the Arya; I gave rain to the worshipping mortal. I led forth the eager waters; the gods followed my guidance.” “I destroyed the cities of the arrogant, together with ninety of Śambara’s strongholds. I overthrew the hundredth for Divodāsa and Atithigva.” “Let the hero’s strength go forth for the Maruts; let the falcon, swiftest of all, fly. When the eagle, by its own power, brought the beloved offering to Manu, the gods rejoiced.” “If the strong and wise one brings the offering, let him carry it on the broad path, swift as thought. With your honey, O Soma, the falcon gained fame.” The straight-flying falcon, holding fast, brought the delightful Soma from the highest heaven, bringing exhilaration from afar. Having brought it, the falcon carried the Soma—thousands upon thousands of jars. There, the wise woman drove away enemies; in the joy of Soma, even the foolish became wise. Even while still in the womb, there was one who knew all the births of the gods. A hundred iron fortresses protected him, yet the swift falcon carried him away. There was no enmity—by his own strength, the falcon overcame the hostile ones. The wise woman held firm to 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 archer swiftly let fly his bowstring, his 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, on the swift path, he was carried to safety. Then Maghavan poured the pure, white Soma mixed with milk into the shining vessel. With the priests, Indra, the hero, prepared and set forth the sweet drink for his own exhilaration. With Soma as his ally, Indra cleaved the waters for Manu. He slew the serpent, released the seven rivers, and opened the hidden channels, uncovering what was closed. With Soma as his companion, Indra struck down the wheel of the sun with a single blow, setting in motion the great course and removing all obstacles. Indra struck, Agni burned, and Soma flowed as, in ancient times, they defeated the Dasyus at midday in battle. In their strongholds and dwellings, the wise advanced and cast down thousands of enemies. From every side, Indra scattered the Dasyus, making their peoples insignificant. He subdued, destroyed, and struck down the foes, gaining renown by his weapons. Thus, Indra and Soma, generous and mighty, made the wide world rich in horses and cattle. They broke open what was closed, released the waters, and made the fields abundant. The people called, “Come to us, O Indra, praised and delighted by Soma. Come even from afar for the contest, O true benefactor.” The wise man, summoned by the offerers, came to the sacrifice, rejoicing with his swift horses and with eager heroes. Let Indra incline his ears for the prize, to gladden the beloved direction, raising his mighty voice for wealth, making the paths easy and fearless. He who comes to the singer, never neglecting the call, is greeted with praise and invocation. Indra, with his thunderbolt, places at his side hundreds and thousands of swift horses. With your help, O generous Indra, may we, the inspired ones, ever be your praisers, sharing in the great wealth of the wide sky, and gaining the abundant treasure we desire. For, O Indra, none is greater or superior to you, slayer of Vṛtra; none is your equal. All peoples turn to you, as spokes to the nave of a wheel; together, you are renowned as great. Even all the gods once contended with you, O Indra, when you surpassed the night with the coming of day.