In a sacred gathering, the worshippers prepare sweet barley and offer cows in honor of mighty Indra, praying that their praises may rise to him in this assembly. Indra alone is the true drinker of Soma, the one who partakes of the pressed, invigorating juice; he pervades all life, moving freely among both gods and mortals. None—neither the brilliant, nor the greedy, nor even the satisfied—can drive away this far-reaching friend. At times, others, with their herds of cows, pursue the Kanvas as hunters pursue their game, seeking them out with their own cattle. For Indra, the god, let there be three pressings of Soma in his own abode, for he is the drinker of the pressed juice. Three vessels pour forth, and three jars are filled to the brim, all set upon the same support, ready for the offering. O Soma, you are pure, established in many places, blended with milk in the midst of the ritual; you are most exhilarating for the heroic Indra. These strong Somas have been pressed for him; the bright ones yearn for the invigorating draught. Prepare for Indra this potent Soma, together with the sacrificial cake, for it is known that he is rich in gifts. Those who partake of the Soma become intoxicated in their hearts, fighting like men overcome by strong drink; like those stripped of all, they leap naked into the vessel. Let the one who praises Indra be truly rich in gifts, O bountiful one—come forth, O tawny one, for the renowned. Even the praised hymn of the cow goes unnoticed, as does the Gāyatra song, though it is sung. Indra, let not our strength be diminished, nor our gifts be taken away; grant us, O Lord of power, strength through your mighty deeds. We, your friends, approach you for this very purpose, Indra; the Kanvas praise you with their hymns. Never have the unwise gained anything, O wielder of the bolt; only your praise has truly been recognized. The gods desire the one who presses Soma; they do not long for the slothful, but go eagerly to the diligent. Come forth now with prizes; do not withhold from us, like a mighty youth among the young. Let not the one who brings trouble today harm us in the evening, like an unwelcome son-in-law. We know well the generous favor of this heroic one, the thoughts of him who is born in three places. Pour forth for the Kanva, for the singer; we know no strength greater than that of Indra, the hundredfold-aided one. With the eldest, press Soma for Indra, the heroic, the mighty; make the offering, let the noble one drink. He who is most to be invoked among helpers gives to the singers horses and wealth, and to the praisers, cattle. One after another, O pressers, hurry for the intoxicating drink, Soma, for the heroic and mighty one. Let the slayer of Vṛtra drink the pressed Soma here; then the hundredfold-aided one restrains the foe from us. Here, let the two bay steeds yoked by prayer bring the famous one, the friend, the one renowned by songs, the lover of hymns. Come to the sweet Somas, come to the shining Somas, O bright-jawed, powerful one; come here to the shared feast like a sage among men. Those who praise you, Indra, increase you for great bounty and manly strength, exalting the mighty doer. And those songs of yours, O lover of hymns, and those hymns for you, all these have united in your powers. This very one, strong in action, the sole wielder of the bolt, bestows prizes without fail. Indra, invoked by many, strikes down Vṛtra with his right hand, great in mighty powers. In him all peoples and even the aging and decaying things abide; in him, O generous one, the decrees of the universe follow in order. This Indra has accomplished all these deeds, renowned for surpassing all, the bestower of prizes among the generous. He sets forth the chariot in search of cattle; even from afar he brings it safely—he is the carrier of wealth, indeed the bearer for you. The inspired one is a provider with horses, a slayer of Vṛtra among men, a true protector who accomplishes what must be done. Worship him, Indra, with dear offerings and united mind, for through the Somas he has become true, the undeceived. The Kanvas sing of Gāthaśravas, the true lord, desiring glory, of wide renown, the winner of prizes. He, even without being asked, gives cattle from his dwelling, a friend to men, powerful; those who seek desire in him. Thus, O stone-splitter, you have made the wise Kāṇva, the pure guest, like a ram, when you led him forth. Grant, O Vibhindu, to him four tens of thousands, and eight thousand more beyond. And as for those who are nourished by milk, let them not be deprived of the joy of battle; may we be born for that very purpose.