With the freshly pressed, pure Soma juices in hand, the priests approach mighty Indra, the victorious drinker of Soma. They offer him the sacred drops, inviting him to partake in the essence that brings triumph. As Indra is adorned with the Soma, the wise one who knows all, the bold and skillful, is invoked through the woven threads of the ritual, seeking his presence. For Indra alone, the Adhvaryu brings forth the Soma, hoping that through the strength of this powerful conqueror, the assaults of the hostile may be overcome. It is this exhilarating Soma that once empowered Indra to shatter the fortresses of Śambara for Divodāsa. The same pressed Soma is now offered to him—let Indra drink! By the strength of this Soma, Indra protected the realms, the middle and the ends, upholding the world. In the pastures among the cows, by drinking Soma, he released the imprisoned herds from stone, and so again the Soma is pressed for him—let Indra drink! It was through the joy of Soma that Indra bore great power for the generous. Once more, the Soma is offered—let Indra drink! Indra, the most bountiful, the most glorious, finds his exhilaration in this pressed Soma, for he is the lord of strength. He is the most liberal, the giver of wealth and wisdom; the Soma is his delight. By his might, the strong are not overcome, nor the swift falter; the Soma is his strength. This unconquered lord of power is praised as the greatest, the universal protector. The hymns magnify him, the lord of abundant gifts, honored by the two divine worlds for his strength. For Indra, a seat of praise is spread out, like rivers with rushing waves, where the dwellers move apart. Mitra, ever young, discovered skill, and through drinking became the most generous among the gods. With the Taulā and Dhautari hymns, he became a wide protector for his friends. On the path of truth, the wise one drank; for glory, the gods set their minds. Bearing the name of greatness, with words they fashioned a form for vision—the shining one, the weaver. The prayer is raised: “Bestow upon us the most radiant skill, Indra. Drive away the ancient hostilities of men. Grant us longer life and the gaining of wealth—be mindful of us.” Indra, to you alone, O generous one, our offerings never fail; do not abandon us. Among mortals, none is as generous as you—who could call you reluctant to give? O mighty bull, do not turn away in your thunder; let us not lose your friendship, O radiant one. Grant us your ancient and new favors among people; drive away our foes and uplift those who praise you. Like thunder rising from the clouds, Indra brings forth wealth of horses and cattle. He is the giver from the heavens; let none who seeks his gifts be disappointed. Sacrificers and heroes are called to bring the pressed Soma for Indra, the lord of offerings, who grows strong through ancient and new praises, through the songs of chanting sages. Knowing many forms in his exhilaration, Indra has slain foes without resistance. The honeyed Soma is offered to the hero with the tuft, so that he may drink. Let Indra drink the pressed Soma, let him rejoice and slay the foe with his thunderbolt. May he come to the sacrifice, even from afar, as benefactor, protector of thoughts, guardian of the singer. The vessel of Soma is for Indra’s drinking—the beloved, immortal drink. May it bring joy to the god and drive away hatred and enmity from us. Rejoicing in this, Indra, strike down your enemies, destroy the hostile and unfriendly. With your force, attack those who oppose, and utterly defeat them. O bountiful Indra, fight for us; grant us great and easy passage. Defeat the enemies of our water, offspring, and descendants. Make us lords and secure our share. Your stallions, harnessed and mighty, your chariots with strong reins, are ready. Let them bring you, O thunder-bearer, for our delight, well-yoked to those who praise you. Your mighty ones come to your vessel, O bull, delighting in butter and honey. Indra, the bulls bring you the pressed Soma to drink. You are the bull of heaven, earth, rivers, and women. For you, the Soma swells—the sweet juice, fit for the best, for drinking. This god, born in strength, with Indra as ally, has overcome the demon; he has taken up the weapons of his father, and the Soma has burned away evil magic. He has made the dawns good wives, placed light within the sun, and in the three regions of heaven, in the shining places, has found the hidden nectar. He has supported heaven and earth, yoked the seven-rayed chariot, and by skill placed the ripe Soma among the cows, establishing the tenfold fountain. Indra, who led Turvasha and Yadu from afar with wise guidance, is invoked as our youthful friend. Even for the unskilled, he provides sustenance; even for the swift horse, Indra is the conqueror, granting the desired wealth. Great are his guidance and blessings; his aids never diminish. Friends are called to sing forth to the bearer of prayer, raising voices to Indra, our great support. He alone, the slayer of Vṛtra, is the helper of one and of many—may we be such as he is. He leads the hostile away, brings down those who speak against the hymn, and is called mighty among men. With words, the friend, the singer, the bearer of prayer, is invoked as one calls a cow to milk. In his hands, all treasures are placed without division—he is the hero who conquers in battle. Even the firm strongholds of peoples, O lord of might, you shatter, O stone-wielder; bring down the unbending tricks. Thus, the story of Indra unfolds—mighty, generous, and ever-victorious, the protector and benefactor, delighting in the Soma, the joy of the people, and the strength of the gods.