In the vast and mysterious lap of creation, where all the gods dwell and the laws of the universe are upheld, the sun and the moon shine forth in their appointed courses. There, in that sacred realm, the noble ones—those radiant and powerful beings—are called upon to sing, to praise, and to celebrate the Maruts, so that they may delight in the drinking of the Soma offering. Soma, freshly pressed and ready, awaits the gods. The Maruts, those stormy sons of Rudra, drink of it, as do the Ashvins, radiant sovereigns who bring light and healing. Mitra, Aryaman, and Varuna partake of the purified Soma, swiftly descending from their triple-seated thrones. Indra, the mighty, is drawn to this rich libation, savoring the taste of the Soma as a priest delights in the morning’s first offering. O shining Maruts, when will you burst forth, rushing like waters freed from their barriers, displaying your pure skill and might? Today, with a devoted heart, I seek the favor of the great gods and the strength of those whose brilliance is wondrous. You Maruts, who spread yourselves across all the realms of earth and the luminous expanses of the sky, come—partake of this Soma. I call you down from heaven, you of pure skill, to drink the sacred draught. You who uphold both heaven and earth, you who dwell upon the mountains in strength, I summon you: come, drink this Soma. To Indra, the thunderer, the songs of praise gather as charioteers hasten to the offerings; they encircle him as mothers surround their beloved calf. For Indra, the bright and powerful, the pressed juices of Soma flow freely—this libation is meant for him in all things. Indra is invited to drink, to be exhilarated by the Soma brought by the swift falcon, for he is the lord and king over all peoples. Hear us, Indra, even from afar! Listen to the one who worships you and grant us the wealth of strength, cattle, and greatness, for your might knows no bounds. To you, Indra, is born the newest and most delightful song—the wise thought, the ancient and ever-flowing inspiration of truth. Let us praise that Indra whom hymns have strengthened; let us seek his heroic deeds and strive to win his favor. Now, let us praise Indra with pure hearts and pure song; may he, grown strong through these pure hymns, drink the pure Soma. Indra, pure one, come to us with pure aid; grant us pure wealth, drink the pure Soma, and bestow upon your worshippers treasures and victory. Pure, you slay the foes; pure, you seek the prize. For Indra, the dawns themselves have crossed the darkness of night, singing aloud for his glory. The seven motherly rivers, swift and steadfast, stand ready to aid the hero. Even the mighty peaks—three times seven of them—have been split by his power, for neither god nor mortal can withstand what the mighty Indra, the bull, has done. His thunderbolt is iron, unyielding; the greatest strength lies in his arms. His resolute thoughts, set firmly in his head, spring forth, eager for praise and attentive to the call. Among all who are worshipped, Indra is most worthy; among the unshaken, he is the shaker; among the strong, he is the sign; among peoples, he is the bull. When Indra takes the thunderbolt in his arms, exhilarated for battle, the mountains yield, the cows are released, and the prayers of the faithful reach him. Let us praise him who has created all beings, great and small. With Indra, may we win the friendship of Mitra through our songs, and with reverence, may we approach the bull. All the gods, seeking help against the breath of Vṛtra, chose Indra as their friend. With the Maruts, O Indra, may your friendship be with us, and thus may you win all battles. Sixty-three Maruts, growing in strength and shining like herds of cattle at dawn, attend upon Indra. Grant us our share, make us mighty, and accept our offerings, O powerful one. Who could withstand your thunderbolt, Indra, among the sharp-armed hosts of the Maruts? The weaponless demons and the ungodly you scattered with your whirling wheel. Raise a splendid hymn for the great, fierce, and powerful Indra, the bringer of the most auspicious wealth. For the song-knower, offer many praises—may he take notice. Let our thoughts flow to him like a river to its farthest shore; let our insight touch the body of the well-heard, the most pleasing—may he take notice. Know what delights Indra; praise him with a fine hymn, call upon him with reverence, and adorn him, the invulnerable, with your song—may he take notice. Once, a black drop, adorned with ten thousand beauties, descended into the shining river Aṃśumatī. Indra, with his power, retrieved it, casting aside the sticky ones with his strength. I saw the drop move apart in the gathering place by the river’s banks; like a dark cloud in the sky, I watched, longing for the strong ones to triumph in battle. Then, in the lap of Aṃśumatī, the drop held its shining form, even as the godless hosts approached. But Indra, yoked with Bṛhaspati, overcame them. From birth, Indra became the foe of the foe-less, discovering hidden heavens and earth, and from the abundant worlds, he brought forth battle. With unmatched strength, he struck down his enemies with the thunderbolt, emboldened by his weapon, and destroyed Śuṣṇa, finding the cows by his power. Indra, the bull among peoples, became the slayer of foes, the thundercloud among adversaries; he released the rivers, held back the obstructors, and conquered the wives of the Dāsas. He, the wise one who roars in the pressings, whose wrath is unmatched and who is splendid like a serpent, is known as the slayer of Vṛtra by all. That Vṛtra-slaying Indra, supporter of the people, we invoke with excellent praise as one to be worshipped. May that generous Maghavan be our protector, our advocate, and the giver of strength and renown.