Day by day, Indra, you bring forth the nourishment that you have placed in the sky as delightful food. With heart and mind, the Soma prepared for you is offered—accept it and drink, O mighty one. Soma, born for strength, is pressed and offered; your mother herself proclaimed your greatness. Indra, you have filled the vast space between earth and heaven, carving a path for the gods through your battles. When you faced those mighty and proud opponents, you subdued those who resisted with your arms. In your battles among men, may we join you and win renown. I recount your earliest deeds, Indra, and now the new feats you, Maghavan, have accomplished. When even the goddesses could not withstand your power, Soma became yours alone. All the world is your pasture, whatever you see with the sun’s eye. You are the herdsman, the sole lord of the cows—may we partake of your wealth. O Bṛhaspati, you and Indra are the rulers of heavenly and earthly riches. Grant prosperity to those who praise you, to singers and devotees; always protect us with well-being. Beyond all measure and form, you grow, O Viṣṇu, and none can reach your greatness. We know both your realms; you comprehend the highest expanse. Neither before nor after birth has anyone attained the utmost limit of your greatness. You have upheld the lofty, broad heaven and established the eastern quarter of the earth. Let the earth be rich in refreshment, abundant in milk, yielding good things for humankind. O Viṣṇu, you stretched apart the two worlds and established the earth with your rays. You created a wide space for sacrifice, bringing forth the sun, the dawn, and Agni. Even the cunning magic of the Dāsa, with strong armor, you and your companions destroyed in battle. O Indra and Viṣṇu, together you shattered the strongholds of Śambara—nine and ninety. You slew a hundred of Varcin’s, and a thousand warriors at once, those who could not be withstood. This lofty hymn, exalting your mighty steps, grows by your power. I offer you praise in the gatherings, O Viṣṇu; may my songs bring forth abundance in the contests, O Indra. For you, Viṣṇu, I perform the vaṣaṭ-call; accept this oblation, O wide-striding one. May my well-praised songs increase you; may you all always protect us with well-being. Let mortals seek to win and serve Viṣṇu, the wide-striding, with devotion. Whoever worships with steadfast mind and sacrifice, Viṣṇu does not abandon. You, Viṣṇu, grant favor to all peoples, unfailing and ever-moving in wisdom. Prosper us with abundant fortune—with horses and shining wealth. Thrice you strode out this earth, O Viṣṇu of a hundred songs, in your greatness. May Viṣṇu, most mighty, advance; for his is the ancient, enduring name. You strode out this earth for the field, prospering mankind. Your praises are firm, your peoples steadfast; you made a wide, well-founded dwelling. Today, I proclaim your noble name, O wide-striding one, knowing your deeds. I praise you, mighty one, dwelling in the wilds, upholding the farthest expanse of this realm. What, Viṣṇu, could be hidden from you, when I, the wide-striding one, have declared it? Do not hide your form from us—especially when you appear in another shape at the assembly. For you, Viṣṇu, I perform the vaṣaṭ-call; accept this oblation, O wide-striding one. May my well-praised songs increase you; may you all always protect us with well-being. Let the three voices shine forth, drawing out the honey-flowing udder. They make the calf, the embryo of plants; as soon as born, the bull bellows aloud. He who nourishes plants and waters, lord of all that moves—the god, threefold—brings shelter and protection, threefold light, with his own healing for us. The charioteer becomes strong through you; the chariot, shaped by your will, moves forth. The mother receives the father’s milk; by it, the father grows, and by it, the son. In him all worlds are established—three heavens, threefold waters flow. Three vessels, with their sprinklings, pour honey all around the radiant one. Let this speech be pleasing to Parjanya, lord of the sun; may it dwell within the heart. May the rains bring us joy; may fruitful herbs, guarded by the gods, flourish for us. He, the bull, bearer of seed, eternal among beings—in him is the soul of moving and unmoving things. May that truth protect for a hundred autumns; may you always guard us with well-being. Sing forth to Parjanya, son of heaven, the generous one. May he grant us abundant barley. He who creates the seed of herbs, of cows, and horses—Parjanya, the progenitor of men. Offer to him the sweetest oblation; may he grant us nourishing food. For a year, the Brahmins, observing vows, remained silent; now, inspired by Parjanya, the frogs have begun to speak. When the heavenly waters come upon him, lying dry like a lake, the frogs, like cows with calves, gather together. When rain pours upon them, thirsty and awaiting the monsoon, like a son calling to his father, each approaches another speaking. One grasps another, eager, when the waters overflow and they have not yet been satisfied; when the frog is drenched, the speckled one mingles its voice with the green. When one imitates another’s voice, learning like a pupil from a teacher, all their utterances seem harmonious as they speak melodiously in the waters. One is brown, one is black, one is speckled, one is green among them; though bearing the same name, they are diverse, yet everywhere they utter their voices together. Like Brahmins at the Soma ritual, speaking around a full lake, so on that day after the year, the frogs have become monsoon callers. Brahmins, Soma drinkers, have made their speech, performing sacred rites throughout the year; the priests, heated by the fire, appear, though some remain hidden. They have guarded the divine order, not neglecting the twelfth season; at the coming of the monsoon after a year, the heated ones receive release. The brown gave, the black gave, the speckled gave, the green gave us their treasures; the frogs, like cows, grant hundreds and thousands, extending our life. Finally, O Indra and Soma, burn the demon, drive him away, cast him down, mighty ones who increase darkness. Hear us, cast him out, slay him, drive him away, freeze him, O sons of Atri.