The Navagvas, after pressing the sacred Soma, offered their praises to Indra, and the Daśagvas too honored him with their hymns. Such was their devotion that, longing for his favor, they opened even the wide, hidden pastures for him, revealing their abundance. O men, how can one recount all of Indra’s deeds, knowing the measure of his generosity? What new and mighty acts will he yet perform, he who is most powerful? Let him declare them now in the contests of the gods. Indra has accomplished countless feats, surpassing all in birth and might. Whatever bold deeds he has wrought with his thunderbolt, none can rival his power. May Indra accept these hymns composed in his honor, celebrating his newest exploits. Just as a craftsman fashions a fine garment, so the wise have shaped his chariot, seeking fortune and favor. Where is that hero who has seen Indra, riding with ease in his chariot drawn by his tawny Bays? Indra, the wielder of the thunderbolt, comes to the house of the generous, drawn by the call of many and the allure of the pressed Soma. I sought the path of that resounding one, desiring the seat of the treasure-giver, and I asked others, “Where is Indra?” They replied, “We, O men, seeking, have found Indra.” Now, as the Soma is pressed, we declare your deeds, O Indra—those that have pleased us and those that have brought joy to the wise. The unwise may only hear, but the wise know: this generous lord of hosts holds all these acts within himself. From birth, Indra made his mind firm, standing alone, adorned for battle even against many foes. With his might, he split the stone and revealed the wide pastures of the cows for his worshippers. When Indra was born far away, in the highest place, bearing a renowned name in the distant realm, even the gods feared him. From there, he conquered all the waters and the wives of the Dasyus. For Indra, the gracious Maruts sing and offer Soma, pouring libations in his honor. With his power, Indra struck down the lying, cunning serpent as it lay hidden. At his birth, Indra scattered his enemies; seeking the cows, he gathered wealth. When he turned the head of the Dasa Namuci, he opened the path for Manu, granting passage where there was none. Indra yoked his devotee, crushed the head of Namuci, and even made the shining, moving stone manifest for the Maruts, as if he had fashioned the two worlds anew. The Dasa, thinking himself clever, made weapons like women—weak and powerless. His armies could do nothing. Both his cows were hidden within, but Indra rushed to battle and destroyed the Dasyu. All around, the cows lowed when separated from their calves, but Indra, delighted by the well-pressed Soma, brought them together with his might. When the tawny Somas, shaken and potent, delighted him, the great bull roared in his seat. Indra, destroyer of cities, having drunk, restored the cows to his worshippers. Auspicious indeed was the act of the Rushamas, O Agni, who gave four thousand cows. The generous one who pays his debts is honored, and we have accepted the gifts of the most generous among men. The Rushamas, O Agni, sent forth a splendid gift of thousands of cows, gladdening Indra with strong Somas at the dawn of Paritakmya’s day. That night shone forth when the Rushamas’ king, Rnamcaya, was present, and like a swift horse urged on, the brown one gained four thousand. We have accepted four thousand cows and cattle from the Rushamas, O Agni. Even the heated vessel, set down in offering, we, the wise, proclaim as theirs. Indra makes a path for the chariot, for the one who stands in the midst, striving for the prize. Like a herdsman separates cattle, the uninjured one goes first, eager for victory. Drive forward, O Indra, with your tawny steeds; do not delay—come near! For there is no wealth apart from you; even among people, you alone have accomplished these deeds. Indra, mighty from birth, displayed all his powers. He set in motion the ever-yielding cow within the enclosure, dispelling gathered darkness with his light. Artisans fashion a chariot for the horse, and Tvashtar makes the brilliant thunderbolt for you, O much-invoked one. Priests, praising Indra with hymns, made him grow mighty, so he might slay the foe in battle. Let the strong sing a hymn to Indra with the stones, Aditi in harmony. Even those without horses or chariots, driven by Indra, turned back the Dasyus. I have spoken of your former deeds, O bountiful one, and now of your recent acts as well. Like one who is mighty, you bear both heavens, conquering the waters and granting wondrous gifts to man. Indeed, this is your deed, O wondrous one, praised by the wise: when, slaying the foe, you measured your strength here. You seized the illusions of Shushna and, driving the Dasyus from the waters, restored their ancient flow. For Yadu and Turvasha, you made the waters flow, making them richly yielding. You brought the fierce Ayu and Kutsa safely across, and the gods rejoiced with you. Indra and Kutsa, carried by the chariot, let the two lovely ones bear their song to your ears. Drive away the silent ones, those who sit apart, O generous one, and remove the darkness from our hearts. Even the well-yoked horses of the wind and the wise have come to seek your favor. All the Maruts, your friends, O Indra, have increased your strength with their hymns. Even the sun circles the chariot on its path, preparing and urging it onward. The wheel, bearing the swift, joins together and sets forth in front, establishing our resolve. People look toward Indra as he approaches, seeking his friend who has pressed the Soma. The stone proclaims, “Let the altar be filled,” for whom the priests move about with the aged one. Those who have praised and those who praise you now, O immortal Indra, let no harm come to them. Accept our worship, and place your strength among those people in whom we may dwell with you. Indra shattered and released the channels, opening the paths and breaking through all barriers. When he split the great mountain, the streams flowed forth, and he slew the Dānava. With his thunderbolt, Indra broke through the barriers at the right time, releasing even the udder of the mountain. The mighty serpent, lying with countless coils, was slain by fierce Indra’s strength. Of that great, wild beast, Indra struck down the slayer with his might. The one who thought himself unrivaled was overcome, and from him another, more powerful, was born. Even among those delighting in their own power, the offspring of the mist, grown strong in darkness, Indra, bearing the thunderbolt, struck down the fierce Shushna, the Dānava, with his weapon. Even those settled by cunning, Indra found their weakness. Filled with the strength of the draught, he cast the contender into the darkness of the house. Lying thus, swelling in the sunless dark, Indra, rejoicing with the pressed Soma, struck down the foe from above. Indra raised his weapon high for the great Dānava, seeking an unfailing blow. When he took up the bolt, he made the lowest of all creatures. Even the roaring, honey-drinking, fierce one lying in the hollow was struck down by mighty Indra. Footless and handless, with a mighty blow, he cast him into a dark place, his speech forever stilled. Thus, the hymns recount Indra’s wondrous deeds—his battles, his gifts, his victories over darkness. The wise remember, the generous honor, and the world is filled with his greatness.