Gathered around the sacred altar, the priests and singers, their hearts filled with reverence, prepare to honor Indra, the great protector of riches and sure helper of those who press the Soma. They sing to him, the mighty and steadfast lord renowned in battles, whose strength is unmatched and whose generosity knows no bounds. None can restrain his power, nor match his words or gifts; Indra stands alone in his magnificence. Their prayers are never neglected—every offering, every pressed Soma is received, and nothing is wasted. With voices united, they declare hymns of praise and perform the sacred rites, invoking what is praiseworthy so that abundance may flow to them, protected by Indra’s strength. He increases the worshipper, blessing them with thousands of gifts. Indra moves freely among the peoples, responding to their calls. Invited to drink the pressed Soma, he comes according to his own will. The priests urge him to drink with his own power, from the Soma prepared especially for him, and from that which is pressed with strength. They invite him eagerly to the offering, to partake in the gift of Soma, and to visit the three gatherings and the five peoples, for even the cows call out to him. Their songs, like the sun’s rays, reach out to Indra, flowing together as waters unite in a common depth. The officiant pours the Soma for the heroic, tawny-armed Indra, bringing forth the drink for the mighty one who split open the enclosing cloud, released the rivers, and protected the cows and their milk. Indra, who slew Vṛtra—the cloud-like, oceanic archer—and struck down Arbuda with ice, is honored with sacred hymns for his irresistible, fierce, and victorious nature. In the intoxication of Soma, Indra surpasses all ordinances, yet remains mindful among the gods. His two tawny-haired steeds, companions at the feast, bring the offering at his command, praised by Priyamedhas, drawing Indra near for the drinking of Soma. The Kanvas, having pressed the Soma, sit around Indra like waters encircling a well-covered altar. At the outpourings of the filter, the singers gather, calling out to the slayer of Vṛtra. Men sing with one voice, offering hymns to the treasure-giver, longing for Indra to come to their home like a bellowing bull seeking his herd. With the Kanvas, Indra sees the bannered, thousand-gifted, tawny-hued leader of men; they swiftly seek the one rich in cows. Indra, honored guest, is urged to drink the exhilarating Soma, mixed for him and accompanied by his two bay steeds, thunderbolt, and golden chariot. Indra, well-praised and wise, is the source of thousands and hundreds of gifts. He has shattered forts, bold and unconquered, established among the bearded ones, radiant and moving by his will like a bull among cows. Who truly knows him, who drinks the pressed Soma? Whom did the two mothers establish? Indra, with his strength, shatters fortresses and delights in the foaming Soma. Like a wild beast or an elephant, Indra sets his course in many places. None can restrain him at the Soma pressing; with great power, he moves freely. Fierce, unassailable, and steadfast, he is ever prepared for battle. If he hears the singer’s prayer, let him not be drawn away from his path. Indra is truly a bull, unrestrained and vigorous. He hears from afar and is renowned nearby. His whips, golden goad, chariot, and steeds are all vigorous, and he himself is hundred-powered and vigorous. Let the vigorous streams pour for Indra, let the vigorous one bring the Soma; vigor fills the rivers for the leader of the steeds. Indra is called to drink the sweet Soma, the most powerful one, and the singers pray he will not turn away from their songs and hymns. His bay steeds, yoked to the chariot, carry him even across enemy gatherings, bringing the hundred-powered slayer of Vṛtra to the offering. Today, the most exalted praise is offered; may the offerings be pleasing to Indra, the divine Soma-drinker. No praise excels in the rite but that which has brought forth the heroes. Even Indra has spoken: a woman’s mind is not to be trusted, for he has found her intent to be fickle. The two yoked steeds, intoxicated, pull the chariot together, standing uppermost among all. The priests are reminded to look below, not above; to cross over and lift their feet, avoiding the two little pools—for the priest has become a woman. Indra is invoked to come with his bay steeds to the praise of Kaṇva. By the command of the one in heaven, Indra is called to the heavenly dwelling, O day-bringer. The stone speaks aloud, calling Indra for the Soma with its sound, again urging him to the heavenly realm. Here, the axle of the chariot does not break, nor does the wolf scatter the assembly. By the command of the one in heaven, Indra is called to the heavenly dwelling, the bringer of the day. Thus, the priests and singers, with hearts full of devotion, celebrate Indra’s deeds and invite him to partake in their offerings, praising his might, generosity, and unwavering presence among them.