Indra, the mighty wielder of power, once struck off Namuci’s head with nothing but the foam of water, conquering all his contests and foes. For him, the Soma juices are pressed—those already flowing and those yet to be extracted—offered in delight to the great god. Upon the radiant seat, the Soma is poured for Indra, and the singers call to him with reverence, seeking his gracious presence. As the Soma flows, Indra is summoned to come, bestower of a hundred powers, that he might be sprinkled with the richest offerings. The people invite him from afar, requesting that he arrive with a hundredfold strength and a thousandfold might, laden with the gifts they desire. The slayer of Vṛtra, when he first appeared, gave forth the sacred drop and questioned his mother about the fierce ones who listen and hear. The hymns rise—mighty, flowing with praise, invoked for aid and support in the work at hand. Varuṇa, Mitra, and Aryaman, wise and united with the gods, are also called upon to lead the people with upright guidance. From a great distance, the radiant one, ever youthful, spreads his light to all directions, illuminating the world. Mitra and Varuṇa, with clarified butter, are entreated to release cattle-rich abundance and, with honeyed skill, to open the realms of prosperity. The sons raise their voices in sacrifice, their songs reaching every corner, and the strong ones, well-known, come forth for the journey. Vishnu himself strode widely, placing his foot three times, firmly setting his mark upon the earth. Indra is urged to come, driven by his spirit, to lift up the well-pressed Soma and drink of the gift offered. The wise ponder what word is most praised for the great god, for it belongs to him alone. Yet, neither the hymn being sung nor the wealth being praised is always noticed; sometimes, even the song itself is not perceived. Still, Indra delights most in hymns—he is lord of prizes, companion of those who press the Soma, drawn by his tawny steeds. The people call to him: come, approach our Soma with gifts; do not turn away, O mighty youth. They ask when their hymns will please him, inviting Rudhadvāh to come for the long-pressed Soma and for refreshment. Indra is asked to drink the Soma for the Brahman’s generosity, to follow the seasons, for his friendship is unbroken. His singers declare themselves his own, praising him as the lover of song and the conqueror on their behalf. They beg him to place heroism in their bodies, even among the clans, and to grant them the mighty strength of Satrājit. They praise Indra for his heroism, his strength, and his generous mind. Their praise is like the cows’ longing for the unmilked calf; they hail him as lord of the moving and steadfast world, seer of the sun. He is invoked for the prize, the leader in battles, the true lord at the ends of the earth, possessor of the sun. Indra is praised as the bestower of divine gifts, renowned among singers, the generous Maghavan who grants wealth by the thousands. The people call to the mighty, unfailing Indra, the delight of the generous, the bringer of joy, praising him as cows call to their calf in the stalls. They seek Indra, the giver of wealth, for help in distress, singing loudly at the Soma-pressing, calling him as a worker calls for his wage. Indra, swift and eager for the prize, is yoked with Purandhi. The people bow to him, much-invoked, with songs firm as a well-shaped wheel. They invite him to drink of the exhilarating Soma, to delight in it, and to be their ally at the shared feast, that his thoughts might protect and strengthen them. They invite him for friendship, to grant them a share in wealth, to rise for the winning of cows and horses. They proclaim that neither the last nor the foremost, not even Vasiṣṭha himself, can surpass them; and today, at the Soma-pressing, the Maruts and all who desire may drink together. The people urge one another to speak nothing else, not to go astray, but to praise only Indra at the Soma-pressing, singing his praises again and again. No part of the work is lost; Indra, ever-growing, is accomplished by sacrifice, famed everywhere, unconquered, and strong. He alone, even before others, was the supporter who gave strength to the limbs, the generous Maghavan, who restores what was lost. To Indra, a thousand and a hundred golden-yoked, long-maned steeds, yoked by prayer, are offered to bring him on his chariot for the drinking of Soma. He is called to come with his splendid, peacock-maned bays, unhindered by snares, swift as an arrow. Among mortals, Indra alone is praised as the most mighty; there is no other helper like him. The people proclaim his glory, his mastery of strength, his victory over all adversaries, and his role as upholder of the people. At every sacrifice, in every gathering, Indra is invoked for wealth and blessings; he alone is the god to whom all invocations are offered. The singers declare that their bright, pure, and wise hymns have reached him, shining with praise, as they honor Indra—the mighty, generous, and ever-victorious lord.