On this auspicious day, the devoted ones turned their hearts to the divine Savitar and prayed, “O radiant Savitar, bless us with children and good fortune. Remove from us all evil dreams and omens.” They wondered at the youthful, unyielding bull with the mighty neck—where was he, and who among the priests would worship him rightly? In the sacred places, at the foot of the mountains and where the rivers met, a sage of inspired thought was born. With reverence, the people raised their voices in praise of Indra, king of peoples, subduer of men, the most mighty. They sang new songs for him, dedicating their hymns to Indra, the swift drinker of Soma, skillful and strong, the barley-bearded one. To Indra, possessor of countless treasures, their songs were sent forth, as cows hasten to their calf. They followed the trail of the cow, the hidden one of Tvaṣṭṛ, in the house of the moon. When Indra, once unhonored, released the great and powerful waters, Pūṣan became his companion on that mighty journey. The cow, famed among the Maruts and mother of the generous, was yoked like fire to the chariots. The people called out, “Come to us, Lord of delights, with your bay steeds! Come to the pressed Soma, O Indra.” Their offerings flowed, strengthening Indra at the sacrifice, especially as the Avabhṛtha approached. One among them declared, “I have taken the wisdom of the immortal from my father; I was born radiant, like the sun.” They prayed for abundant gatherings, rich in strength, to be with them through Indra, so they might rejoice in his might. Soma and Pūṣan, ever watchful, beheld all prosperous dwellings, and for the gods, two chariots were prepared. The people called, “Sing to Indra for the Soma drink! I, the all-conquering, the mightiest among men, praise the hundred-powered one.” They encouraged each other, “Sing, friends, to Indra, the exhilarator, the tawny-horsed, the Soma-drinker.” As friends and Kanvas, they approached Indra with joy and hymns, letting their songs resound around the pressed Soma for Indra, the joyous one. The poets praised him with their verses, and the purified Soma, set upon the sacred grass, awaited Indra’s presence. “Come, drink its flowing essence,” they invited. For the granting of beautiful forms, they offered to the ever-shining one, as one would milk a cow rich in milk. To Indra, the bull, they poured out the pressed Soma for his delight, inviting him to partake and be satisfied. “O Indra, the Soma pressed in the cups and vessels is yours—drink, for you are the lord of it.” In their unity and strength, they called upon Indra, their friend, for aid in the contest. “Come here and be seated, Indra,” they sang, “let us sing together, O friends, with voices full of praise.” The pressed Soma awaited him, the Lord of gifts, and they urged him to drink it with all his might. They prayed for Indra, the mighty, to be foremost among them, for greatness to belong to the wielder of the thunderbolt, and for the heavens never to limit his power. “Come, Indra, seize for us the splendid prize, rich in land, with your great right hand,” they implored. They sang to Indra, lord of herds and mountains, the son of truth, the true master, as was fitting. They wondered at the wondrous ways their ever-growing friend became their messenger, and by what powerful support he was chosen. To the mighty one who conquers in gatherings, they offered songs in every assembly, seeking his stirring aid. To the lord of the seat, wondrous and beloved, desired by Indra, they brought offerings rich in wisdom. They called upon the gods to hear them along the paths beneath the sky, the very paths by which the horse was driven forth. “May good fortune come to us, O hundred-powered Indra, when you grant us strength and favor.” The Soma was pressed, and the Maruts and radiant Ashvins drank of it. The observant ones, full of longing, worshipped Indra, born for victory and eager for heroic strength. They affirmed, “We do not harm the gods, nor do we approach wrongly; we walk the path of sacred utterance.” Dawn arrived, shining with great and radiant song. Atharvan was called to praise the divine Savitar. This unprecedented dawn shone forth, beloved of heaven, and the people lifted a lofty hymn to the Ashvins. They remembered how Indra, armed with the bones of Dadhichi, unconquered, struck down ninety and nine foes. Once more, they called, “Come, Indra, with the exhilarating Soma, with all the festivals of Soma, mighty, with abundant strength.” Thus, in song and sacrifice, prayer and praise, the people honored the gods, seeking blessings, strength, and victory in all their endeavors.