In the sacred ritual, the ever-praised tree stands at the center, pressing the abundant-yielding cow within, its bounty urged forth by human hands. As the purified Soma is prepared, a heartfelt plea rises: “O Indu, grant us wealth endowed with a thousand powers, let it be truly ours.” The wise poet, Soma himself, pressed and flowing in a shining stream, journeys toward the beloved of heaven, reaching out even to the farthest realms. Soma’s powers rise up, resounding like the waves of a great river, as the singers urge on the pressing stone with their hymns. At Soma’s stirring, three voices awaken, eager for the sacrifice, as he ascends to the summit of the rite. With clear, unclouded waves, the devotees urge forward the dear tawny one—Soma, honey-flowing and purified—using the sacred stones. “O most exhilarating one,” they call, “flow forth! With your purifier, O wise Soma, establish the very source of the sun.” Again they invite, “Flow forth, adorned with cows and with nights; enter into Indra’s belly.” With the filter, Soma is poured all around, delight-bringing and newly arrived, descending to the altar. The memory of ancient deeds echoes: “For Divodāsa, you shattered the fortress of Śambara, and then aided Turvaśa and Yadu.” The prayer continues: “Pour around us, O Soma, you who know horses and cows and possess gold; let streams of thousandfold nourishment flow to us.” Soma, undeterred and unopposed, drives away obstacles as he streams onward, destined for Indra’s abode. “Bring us great wealth, O purifying one,” the worshippers entreat. “Defeat our foes and grant us heroic fame, O Soma.” No matter how much is given or taken, Soma’s abundance is undiminished when he purifies himself for the sake of giving. Flow, then, with the purifier by which you made the sun shine and stirred the waters of humankind. The sun harnesses Etaśa, the purifying one, mindful and ready for his journey through the midspace. Bay horses are yoked to the chariot, the sun is set for travel, and they call Soma by the name of Indra. “Make Agni, the god of fire, united with his flames, the most fit for sacrifice and the messenger at our ritual. Among mortals, who is steadfast, mighty, exalted, radiant, pure, and fed with butter?” Agni shines forth like a horse snorting in the pasture, born of greatness and separated from Saṃvaraṇa. The wind follows his flame, and his black path is established. Newly born and mighty, Agni’s undying kindlings move; his red smoke rises to the sky, and as a messenger, he journeys to the gods. The worshippers urge Indra with strength for the great slaying of the foe, calling him the mighty bull. Indra is made for mastery, vigorous and strong, glorious, renowned, and Soma-like. The thunderbolt is gathered with words—powerful, unfailing, fierce, and unbroken, it grows ever mightier. “O priest,” they call, “bring the pressed Soma with stones to the purifier; cleanse it for Indra to drink.” The gods have partaken of Soma’s exhilarating, sweet essence, as have the Maruts, delighting in the flowing Soma. “Press out the most excellent, sweet Soma from heaven, rich with honey, for Indra, the wielder of the thunderbolt.” The skillful juice, supporter of heaven, is purified; the wise, praised by gods and men, the tawny one, is released like a powerful steed, making the streams flow unhindered. Like a hero grasping weapons, self-luminous and eager for battle, Soma stirs Indra’s might with his companions; pressed and guided by the wise, Soma is set in motion. “O purified Soma, swelling with Indra’s power in the waves, enter the abodes; pour forth for us like lightning from a cloud, and by your wisdom, bring us enduring strength.” Indra, wherever you are invoked—east, west, or north—you are always the helper of many and the protector of Turvaśa. When Indra delights with Ruma, Ruśama, or Śyāvaka, the Kaṇvas honor him with hymns, calling him to bring strength and answer their call. Indra hears both far and near, drawn by these words; the generous one, summoned for the drinking of Soma, may he come with wisdom and might. For Indra, the sovereign bull, the wise have fashioned a seat of power; he is the first to sit upon the measure, for his mind longs for Soma. “Purify yourself, O god, for long life; may your exhilaration reach Indra; ascend to Vāyu in due order.” O purified Soma, you gladden us with wealth and fame; O Indu, enter the ocean. Purifying yourself, wise and exhilarating Soma, you drive away foes and expel those hostile to the gods. “Bring us, O Indu, the most prize-winning wealth, abundant in hundreds, bearing thousands, resplendent and victorious.” “We seek your favor, O giver of riches, O much-desired one; may we, O Adhrigu, be among your closest, most favored recipients of your bounty.” The resounding Soma flows all around, poured out in delight; the stream, raised high in the sacrifice, goes forth shining, seeking the cows. Finally, Soma purifies himself, the great ocean, father of the gods, upholding all the realms.