From the farthest reaches of the heavens, the straight-flying falcon soared, carrying the precious Soma—source of delight and exhilaration. This sacred bird, steadfast and swift, brought the god-invoked Soma down from the highest realms, fulfilling the divine purpose. Having accomplished this wondrous task, the falcon delivered the Soma, not just a little, but in a thousand jars and ten thousand more, all together. In that moment, the wise woman drove away the enemies, and through the joy of Soma, even the foolish found wisdom. Even before birth, knowledge of the gods’ many origins dawned within me, though a hundred iron fortresses sought to shield me. Yet, the falcon, unerring and swift, carried me away from all barriers. He bore no enmity toward me, overcoming all who opposed with his own strength. The wise woman held firm to her resolve, while the eager wind rushed swiftly on. As the falcon descended to earth, the horses neighed in anticipation—perhaps the wind bore the wise woman across the sky, or perhaps she released herself into its currents. The falcon, intent and eager, let fly the bowstring with swift precision. With the speed of a racing horse, he carried Bhujyu, son of Tugra, from the vast expanse, cradling him within the triple-winged flight and delivering him to safety along the path of the swift. Then Maghavan, the generous one, poured the pure, white Soma, mixed with milk, into the shining vessel. Together with the priests, he prepared the foremost of sweet drinks, setting it forth for Indra, the heroic one, to drink and be exhilarated. With Soma as his ally, Indra, for Manu’s sake, split the waters. He slew the serpent, released the seven rivers, and opened the closed channels, as if uncovering hidden passages. With Soma’s power, Indra struck down the wheel of the sun with a single blow, setting in motion the great course and removing every obstacle from the path. In battles of old, Indra struck, Agni burned, and Soma inspired, as the Dasyus were defeated at midday. In their strongholds and dwellings, with wisdom and might, the gods advanced and cast down thousands of enemies. From every side, Indra scattered the Dasyus, making their peoples insignificant, subduing and destroying the foes, and gaining renown through his weapons. Thus, with the generosity of Indra and Soma, the wide expanse became rich in horses and cattle. They broke open what was closed, released the waters, and the fields flourished with abundance. O Indra, praised and mighty, come to us with your steeds, delighting in the Soma and the contest. Even from afar, you reach the many offerings, true benefactor, honored with songs. The wise man, summoned by the offerers, comes to the sacrifice, confident in his horses, rejoicing with the eager, and delighting with the heroes. Let Indra listen for the prize, gladdening the beloved direction, raising his voice for wealth, making the paths easy and fearless. He comes to the singer who calls, never neglecting the inspired one, placing at his side swift horses—hundreds and thousands—Indra of the thunderbolt. With your help, generous Indra, may we, your inspired praisers, share in the great wealth of the broad sky, gaining the abundant, much-desired treasures. None is greater or superior to you, Indra, slayer of Vṛtra; no one is your equal. All the peoples turn to you as spokes to the nave, and together you are renowned as great. Even the gods themselves contended with you, Indra, when you surpassed the night with the day. In the contest for Kutsa, where the embattled wheel fought, you, Indra, stole away the sun. For the distressed gods, you alone conquered all the hosts of enemies. For mortals seeking victory, with your powers you brought forth the sun’s steed. O Indra, slayer of Vṛtra, why such wrath? Here lies the demon’s mother, slain. This heroic deed, this manly act, you performed: you struck down the difficult-to-subdue daughter of the sky. Even she, great and honored, was crushed by you, O Indra, bringer-together. Terrified, she fled from her shattered chariot, when the bull yoked her down at the ford. Her chariot lies broken in the waters of Vipāś, while she ran to the distant shore. You, Indra, split the river Vi-bālya, standing firm upon the earth, surrounding it with your magic. With might, you attacked the stronghold of Śuṣṇa, shattering his fortresses. The Dāsa Śambara, dwelling on the great mountain, you cast down. The Dāsa Varchin you struck down, thousands and hundreds, as if in five gatherings. That son of Agri, cast away, you accepted in the hymns, O Indra of a hundred powers. Turvaśa and Yadu, unwashed, you, lord of might, brought across, knowing their need. The Aryas, too, you struck down on the far side of the Sarayu, the two with bright chariots, in the flood. You, slayer of Vṛtra, abandoned the blind and the lame; that was not your favor for the eighth. For Divodāsa, your worshipper, you shattered a hundred stone-built cities. You cast the Dāsas into fearful sleep—a thousand and thirty—by force and with your magic. Thus, O Indra, lord of wealth, you have become the one who scatters all things, slayer of Vṛtra. And now, whatever heroic deed you will accomplish today, let no one diminish that strength.