Let the cows graze upon lush, nourishing pastures, flourishing in the dwelling place and vessel of Truth. As they are sustained, so too may healing come to our bodies, as naturally as life itself. In this spirit, we choose Aditi, the boundless mother, who surpasses all. May the singer be endowed with enduring strength, and may those who press the soma receive the favor and wise counsel of Indra. Their heavenly vessel brims with libations, and again, we choose the all-encompassing Aditi. Your brilliance shines splendidly, your strength brings fulfillment. Swift and unassailable helpers attend you. With the finest chariot and in praise of cattle, the singer circles the sacred offering, seeking your favor. Awaken, friends, as one in mind! Gather together and kindle the sacred fire. I call for aid upon Dadhikrā, upon Agni, upon Ushas the radiant goddess of dawn, and upon mighty Indra. Let your thoughts be pleasant and far-reaching. Prepare the boat that carries us safely across, unharmed. Ready the channel and the implements; friends, lead the sacrifice forward. Yoke the ploughs and stretch out the yokes; sow the seed in the prepared furrow. With voice and effort, let the workers stand ready, and may the nearest field yield ripe, abundant produce. Even the poets yoke the ploughs, stretching out the yokes in their own way, wise and gracious, turning their work toward the gods. Make the furrow, lay the yoke together; pour water into the channel, letting it flow as a well-watered, unbroken stream. Prepare the channel and water it well, making it fertile; pour into the furrow an unbroken stream of life-giving water. Feed the horses and win the prize; fashion the chariot that brings good fortune. Prepare the furrow and the stone wheel, fill the vessel, and pour out libations for the leaders. Build the enclosure, for your leaders it is meant; sew the armor, broad and thick. Make a fort of iron, unassailable, so that no enemy may break your well-formed vessel. To you, O gods, we turn our sacred thought for help; may the divine, worshipful goddess be honored here. May she, like a cow with a thousand streams of milk, grant us abundance for our sustenance. Pour the golden-hued offering into the vessel; shape it with axes and stone tools. Bind it with ten bands, yoke both yokes, and set the fire in its proper place. The fire, drinking from both yokes, moves within as if a double-born being, as if in the womb. Set the wooden post into the wood, lay it down, and let them hollow out the well. O men, raise up the renowned one; urge on and dig for the prize of strength. Let the staff-bearer set the child in motion; call Indra to drink Soma here with the assembly. May Indra guard your well-matched chariot with his might. In this contest for fame and wealth, O much-invoked one, protect us. The wind rushes forth, his garment streaming upon the chariot, when he claimed a thousand. Mudgalānī became a charioteer in the contest for cattle; Indra’s host scattered the enemy in battle. Hold back the weapon of the one who seeks to harm, O Indra, whether the assailant is Dāsa or Arya; let the enemy’s weapon be destroyed. He drank the water of the deep pool, roaring, and broke through the stronghold, overcoming the foe. Desiring renown, he bore the heavy burden with swift arms, striving for victory. They came, bellowing, encircling him, urinating like a bull in the herd. With that strength, Mudgala triumphed in battle, winning a hundred, a thousand cattle in the contest. The bull was yoked in the mire, his charioteer with flowing hair stood below. The runners of the yoked cow, swift as they ran, reached the goal for Mudgalānī. The wise one, knowing the contest, struck his rival and found the path, learning anew. Indra, lord of the unyoked, urged on the herds with his steps, the high-crested one. The braided one moved like a goad in the contest for the prize, driven with a wooden stick. Performing heroic deeds for many, touching the cows, he gained strength. See this one, yoked to the bull, lying in the midst of the wood, the driver at rest. By him, Mudgala won a hundred, a thousand cattle in the contests of battle. Far away—who has seen him? Whom do they yoke or set in place? For him, they bring neither grass nor water; the upper yoke bears the load, directed forward. Like a wife seeking her husband in a deserted place, swelling like a water channel pouring forth, with this chariot, even if it is old, may we win—may good fortune and victory be ours. Indra, you are the eye of all that moves, the eye of vision itself. As a bull, you lead the contest of the strong, urging on the unyoked with your companion. Swift and fierce as a mighty bull, terrifying, a smasher of hosts and a stirrer of men, the shouter, unblinking, the sole hero—Indra, with a hundred hosts, conquered together. With the shouter, the unblinking, the victorious, with the war-cry, the impetuous and bold—by that Indra, win! Stand firm together in battle, O men, with the mighty one who holds the arrow. That Indra, with warriors bearing arrows and quivers, the mighty leader in battle, conquers with his troop; victorious in assembled combat, Soma-drinker, strong-armed, fierce-bowed, he stands firm with weapons drawn. O Bṛhaspati, circle around with your chariot, destroyer of demons and foes, driving them away; breaking enemy hosts, crushing in battle, victorious, be our guide and protector of chariots. O Indra, knowing strength, steadfast, supremely heroic, powerful and victorious, enduring and fierce, stand upon the conquering chariot, bestower of cattle. Breaker of enclosures, knower of cattle, with arms like thunderbolts, triumphant, shattering with power—O companions, emulate this Indra, your kinsman; unite together in strength. Indra the hero, hundred-powered, with force plunging against the barriers, irresistible in battle, destroyer of the wicked—let our army prevail in the fight. Let Indra lead these, Bṛhaspati and Right; let the sacrifice and Soma go before. Among the divine hosts that break through and conquer, let the Maruts advance at the front. The mighty voice of Indra the bull, of King Varuṇa, of the Ādityas, of the fierce troop of Maruts, of the great-minded, world-moving gods, has arisen in victory. O bountiful one, rouse the weapons, stir the minds of my eager warriors; let the victorious cries of the chariot-fighters, the horsemen, and the slayers of Vṛtra rise up. May Indra be with us among the assembled banners; may our arrows be victorious; may our heroes be supreme; O gods, protect us as we call for aid. Confound the minds of our enemies, seize their limbs, drive them away. Advance, burn them in their hearts with flames; let our enemies be swallowed in blinding darkness. Go forth and conquer, O men; may Indra grant you protection. Let your arms be strong and invincible, as you desire.