From the greatness of Indra alone, his glory spread throughout heaven, earth, and the midspace, renowned in every abode. Indra, radiant and mighty, took up his strength for battle, shining with the promise of victory. By his might, he struck down the withering Vṛtra with his thunderbolt, and, as easily as a herdsman releases cows, he set the imprisoned waters free. Mindful of the eager devotee, Indra won lasting glory. At the sound of his mighty roar, the rivers themselves rejoiced, for with his thunderbolt he shaped their courses. The lord, favoring the devoted, bestowed abundance—swift and generous, he gave Turvani to those who honored him. For Indra, the eager one, the thunderbolt was brought forth, ready to slay the foe. He split the ridges with the sharp goad, drove apart the waters, and made the floods flow for the people’s dwelling. Let the ancient deeds of Indra be spoken—his mighty acts, old yet ever new, to be praised with fresh hymns. When he arms himself for battle, weapons in hand, he fiercely scatters his enemies. At his very birth, the firm mountains, the vast heavens, and the broad earth trembled in awe. Approaching the seat of the wise, the inspired poet gains strength from Indra’s presence. Indra, lord of abundance, is to be followed among the worthy, even alone in the forest. Striving with the Sun for the prize, he gained the swift horses of Suvaśva. For him, the Harijanas and the Gotamas composed splendid hymns, seeking his all-encompassing insight, that the wise one might swiftly come at dawn with understanding. To the mighty Indra, the strong, we offer our hymn—a song of praise to the singer, the descendant of Angiras. With skillful verses, we honor the ancient, the renowned hero. Bring your homage to the powerful one; by such praise, our forefathers, the Angirases, found the hidden cows through their hymns. In the striving of Indra and the Angirases, Sarama discovered the cattle for her offspring. Brihaspati split the rock and revealed the cows, and the people rejoiced with the dawns. With the Suṣṭubh and Stoma, with seven wise ones, and the sound of nine singers, the strong one broke the rock. With the swift and mighty, Indra shattered Vala with ten singers and his thunderous roar. Praising with the Angirases, Indra, wondrous one, you, with the Sun and the cows, dispelled the darkness. You spread out the earth’s surface and upheld the expanse of the sky, keeping it unshaken. Your most manifest deed is visible for all to see—the most beautiful of your wondrous powers—where the four rivers, rich in honey, overflowed at the meeting place. Twice, with hymns sung by the eager ones, Indra opened the ancient, hidden enclosure. Bhaga did not consider in the highest heaven, but the mighty ones supported earth and sky. From ancient times, the vast earth and the diverse heavens have circled, ever renewed in their forms. The dawns, dark and red, move in shining, varied forms, each following the other. The son, observing friendship from of old, upheld all with might and wisdom. Even among these, you placed the ripe milk—the milk in the black and the red, the fertile ones. From ancient times, the lowlands and heights, the winds, and the immortal ones uphold the laws by their strength. Many thousands, like wives, the sisters, honor the unaging one without tiring. In reverence and with new hymns, the youthful ones have always approached the wondrous one, desiring wealth. Like wives to a lord, the shining, radiant ones touch you with might and thought. O wondrous one, your riches have never diminished nor been exhausted. You are resplendent, wise, steadfast—grant us skill, like your own, with your powers. Indra, the hymn of Gotama is renewed for you; may the prayer be formed for the tawny-yoked one. With your strength, O powerful one, guide us well; may the wise, generous one come swiftly to us at dawn. Mighty Indra, by your powers you brought forth heaven and established the earth. With your force, you shattered even the mountains, so that the firm ones trembled as if loosened. When your two steeds are harnessed, the singer places the bolt in your hands. With it, unconquered one, you have destroyed many enemy fortresses. True and bold, Indra, you are the enjoyer of offerings, the heroic and strong. You struck down Śuṣṇa in the field and, while still young, aided Kutsā, the shining one, in battle. Urged on by friends, O wielder of the bolt, you struck down Vṛtra. Eager for battle, you turned the Dasyus away, scattering them like loosened chaff. You are the destroyer of the hostile, even the strong among mortals who are not favored. With your bolt, you have felled our foes as a woodcutter fells trees. Invoked by men in contests for wealth and glory, may your aid be ours in struggle, may your favor never fail in our battles. In battle, you shattered seven fortresses for Purukutsa with your bolt. As for Sudās, you scattered the hostile band, O king, granting wide space for Pūru. You have filled these shining gifts for us, like waters in their course. With these, you protect us on all sides; may your strength, like nourishment, flow for our well-being. For you, Indra, the Gotamas have composed these hymns, spoken with reverence for your steeds. Bring us splendid wealth; may the wise, generous one come swiftly to us at dawn. Now, let a noble hymn be offered to the Maruts—the strong host, gracious and skillful. Like waters, the wise one arranges the songs, manifest in the assemblies. Born lofty from the sky, the vigorous sons of Rudra are divine, unblemished, and mighty. Bright and pure as the sun, steadfast in strength, they are swift as drops, fearsome in appearance. Young, O Rudras, undying and unaging, you have grown, free from harm, like mountains. Even the firm realms of earth you shake, and by your might you stir the heavenly ones. With brilliant adornments, they display their splendor; shining ornaments set in beauty on their chests, weapons fastened on their shoulders. By their own power, these men were born together from the sky. Created by the Lord, the roaring, beneficent ones, like winds and flashes of lightning, have grown strong. Their streams pour forth from heaven, and their showers fill the earth with nourishing waters. The Maruts, generous givers, pour out waters rich in ghee, manifest in the assemblies. Like racers in the rain, they lead the swift horse; they milk the inexhaustible udder, thundering. Mighty as buffaloes, skilled in magic, shining in brilliance, they are like mountains—self-sustaining and swift to aid. Like wild beasts and elephants, they devour the woods when, in their redness, they harness their power. Like lions, the wise ones roar; like the most spotted, all-knowing, they quicken the nights with their speckled spears, conquering the foe in battle, mighty in strength and spirit. O Maruts, renowned among hosts, heroic men with indomitable strength, your radiance shines in your chariots like lightning revealed, and your thought is manifest among your teams. All-knowing, united in will, mighty and shining, the men have set their arrow to the bowstring; with unending power, the bull-like ones are ever ready.