In the ancient times, when the world was young and the battles between gods and men shaped the destinies of all, a voice spoke—one who had vanquished the godless in war. Yet, the speaker confessed, “I do not know the one who makes such a claim, who boasts of slaying the faithless in battle. When the dangers of war are declared, then truly, my strong bulls proclaim their power.” Journeying among unknown settlements, the speaker found favor with the generous-hearted. “I conquer,” he declared, “I know the one who stands secure, and I bring him down, catching him by the foot even upon the mountain’s heights.” Neither the settlements nor the mountains could restrain his will; when he set his mind, his roar sent shivers through the ears of all, and even the rays of the sun seemed to draw together at his mighty sound. He looked upon those who lived without Indra’s favor—those who drank liquor, those struck down by arrows, those who spoke ill of friends or turned away from their own young. The oxen went forth, and life departed; the earlier and later generations appeared in succession. Two winds circled around such a one, yet none could reach the farthest edge of his realm. He saw the cows, yoked for the barley harvest, counted by the Aryas, wandering with their herdsmen. The Aryas gathered them all, but it was the master who chose, according to his will, how many would serve. Among the people, they ate the barley; within the enclosure, he too ate. The yoked one sought the bringer-down, while the unyoked was harnessed by the one who wished to drive. With truthfulness, he spoke of offerings from flesh, from two-footed and four-footed beings. He knew how to apportion the share of one who, amidst women, divides the strong in battle. “Whose daughter is born without the casting of dice? Who knows her, who desires the blind one? Who would loosen her bonds, carry her, or wish to marry her?” he pondered. A woman, cherished by her husband and surrounded by affection and gifts, is fortunate, especially when well adorned. The bride, in her happiness, chooses her friend among the people. The frog, awakening, eats facing backward, using its head as a shield; sitting upright, it dries itself, and lying flat, it follows the ground. Nearby stood a tree with broad shade, yet without leaves; the mother, pierced, ate the embryo. Another, the cow, measured her calf—by what means did the pregnant cow place the calf within herself? Seven heroes rose from below, lost from the north, coming together at the end; nine from the west arrived standing, and ten from the east traversed the ridges, eating as they went. Of the ten, one was tawny and common, urged forward for ritual and crossing. The mother carried her well-nourished embryo in her breasts, delighting and content with him. The heroes cooked a fat ram; the dice were cast, and they sat to play. Two great bows, purified, moved about, cleansing as they went. The shouters set forth, moving everywhere, but the cook and half the wing were missing. The god Savitar declared, “Let the running one, the butter-eater, go forth.” From afar, he saw a village being carried away, rolling on its own wheels, moving by its own law. The Arya sharpened the yoke for the people; suddenly, the young ones, measuring with their manhood, were renewed. Two cows were yoked for his delight; none were to hinder them, for they refreshed him again and again. Even the waters of this one were lost for a purpose; the sun and the monkey became supreme. A thunderbolt, wide-spread, descended from the great dung of the sun; by this, fame was won, and something even greater lay beyond. By this, the aged crossed over without fear. From tree to tree, the cow measured; then the young ones flew forth, devouring men. Thus, the world was filled with fear; offerings were made to Indra, and wisdom was sought from the seer. In the measure of the gods, the first ones stood; the cutters rose above them. Three heated the earth and marshes, while two carried dung in their mouths. “That one is your life-giver; know him as such. Do not hide from one like him in battle. He reveals the sun and conceals the darkness; once revealed, he is not freed from the bonds of the unliberated.” With time, every other enemy departed, yet the speaker’s father-in-law remained. “Let him eat, let him drink soma; let him, satisfied, return to his home.” The roaring bull with sharp horns stood in the rain, marking the earth’s path; the speaker wished to protect him who filled his belly with soma at every gathering. With stones, the exhilarating soma was pressed for Indra, who drank deeply. The bulls cooked for him, and he ate their offerings when invoked with the ladle. The rivers carried away curses that flowed against their current; wolves fled the lion, fish the crocodile, and jackals the boar, all scorched and driven away. “How did I come to know this wisdom—the ripened insight of Gritsa, the inspired one?” he wondered. Indra, knowing all, spoke in due season, revealing what share should be kept. Those above, in the vast sky, increased his strength. He laid down thousands together, for his begetter had made him unconquered. Thus, the gods made him mighty—Indra, strong in deed and ever manly. He slew Vritra with the thunderbolt, delighting in his victory, and opened the pen for the worshipper. The gods, bearing axes, cut the forest, approaching with weapons, and placed the well-fixed one in their breasts, burning it with the wedge. The hare sharpened the razor, turning it back, and split the stone from afar with its paw. Even the mighty, though wounded, he pierced with holes, like a calf licking the bull. The eagle sharpened his claw, restrained like a lion at the track; the buffalo, though restrained, wished to run, and the iguana dragged things away. The iguana took away from those who, opposing the sacred word, fed on food. Even the calves, released from the ox, grew strong, biting on their own. Some, with branches of the shami tree, found shade; others adorned themselves with soma hymns. They spoke like men, coming with strength; in heaven, the hero’s fame and name were established. Like a tree in the forest, whoever is set down finds their praise, bright and eager, growing. Indra is the priest among men—the noble, the most manly, the lord of the night. “May we reach the farthest dawn for you, may we join the dance of the most manly. With Trishoka, bringing a hundred men, whose chariot with Kutsa was victorious.” “What exhilaration of yours, O Indra, delights you? Fierce one, run to our songs from afar! Which helper may my thought bring near, so I may attain your highest favor with food?” Indra, bestower of glory, acts with wisdom for those who come to him. Like Mitra, true in service, he is widely praised when thoughts are united in food. “Send forth the sun, seeking the farthest goal, for those who, like offspring, pursue his desire. And your many songs, O Indra, are answered with food by the men born of your strength. For you, for your mother, for Sumitra, may ancient heaven and wise earth be present. May clarified offerings and sweet draughts await you, O Indra, for your delight.” Thus flowed the tales of power, wisdom, and the blessings of Indra—he who conquers, protects, and delights in the offerings of his faithful.