Indra, the mighty champion, was invoked by the people to place heroism within their very bodies, to bestow upon them, even among the many clans, the indomitable strength that once belonged to Satrājit. Such was Indra’s nature—heroic and strong, his mind ever inclined toward generous giving. The people praised Indra, the lord of all that moves and all that stands firm, the seer of the sun, as eagerly as cows call out to the one who has not yet been milked. Whenever a prize was sought, Indra was called upon as the leader of the people, the true lord in battle, the one whose presence was invoked at every extremity, the possessor of the sun’s radiance. The people lifted their voices in fitting praise for Indra, the bestower of divine gifts, the generous Maghavan, famed among singers for granting wealth in abundance, as if by the thousands. They called to mighty Indra, unfailing and ever-joyful, the delight of the generous, the bringer of happiness. Their songs rose to him as the calls of cows to their calf in the stalls. In times of distress, they sought out Indra, the giver of wealth, with their hymns, raising their voices at the Soma-pressing, just as a worker calls out for his wage. The swift one strove for the prize, yoked with Purandhi, and to Indra—much-invoked—they bowed with songs, steadfast as a well-shaped wheel. Indra was invited to drink the pressed, exhilarating Soma, to delight in it as the one rich in cattle, and to be their ally in the shared feast, his thoughts protecting and strengthening his devotees. They called him to come for friendship, to grant them a share of wealth, to rise up for the winning of cows and the gaining of horses. No one—neither the last nor the foremost, not even Vasiṣṭha himself—could surpass the people in their devotion. On that day, at the Soma-pressing, all who desired could drink together with the Maruts. The people urged each other to speak nothing else, not to go astray, but to praise only Indra, the mighty one, again and again, with their songs. No part of their work was lost—not the third, nor the second—when Indra, ever-growing, was accomplished through sacrifice, famed everywhere, unconquered and strong. Indra alone, even without others, was the supporter from the beginning, giving strength to their limbs, the generous Maghavan who restores what was lost. To Indra, they offered a thousand and a hundred golden-yoked, long-maned steeds, yoked by prayer, to bring him on his chariot for the drinking of Soma. They invited him to come with his splendid, peacock-maned bays, unhindered by any snare, to come straight as an arrow to their gathering. Among mortals, Indra alone was praised as the most mighty god. There was no other helper like Maghavan; to him, the people spoke their words. Indra was the lord of glory, the master of strength, the slayer of all adversaries, ever the foremost, upholding the people with unmatched power. At every sacrifice and every gathering, the people called only to Indra—for the winning of wealth, for all their invocations. Their generous, bright, and wise hymns reached him, shining with praise. These honeyed songs, these victorious and ever-flowing hymns, brought wealth to the one who won the prize. As a thirsty bull seeks water, so they called Indra to join them for friendship and to honor their ancestors—inviting him to drink with the Kanvas. Indra, Lord of Strength, was called to move with them, renowned as Bhaga, the knower of wealth, bringing might that conquers foes for the singer and those who offered with sacred grass. They sang a worthy hymn, not only to Indra but also to Mitra, noble Aryaman, steadfast Varuna, and the royal ones, honoring all with a song of praise among kings. The ancient drinkers had sung to Indra, the Ribhus had chanted together, and the Rudras praised his ancient might. The Maruts, too, were urged to praise mighty Indra, the slayer of Vṛtra, whose hundred-jointed thunderbolt struck down the foe. By Indra’s power, the gods—lovers of truth—awakened the light for the world. The people prayed that Indra would bring them wisdom, as a father gives to his sons, so that in their dwelling they might attain the living light. They pleaded with Indra never to turn away, to be with them at the shared feast, for he was their aid and refuge. Around Indra, the singers gathered with pressed Soma, as waters surround the sacred grass at the outpourings of the purifier. They asked Indra to bring all his strength—the strength he had among the descendants of Nahusha, his manliness among peoples, his glory among the five tribes—so that all heroic powers might be granted together. Indra was their bull, their protector with bull’s might, renowned for hearing from afar and from near. Whatever Indra did, whether far or near, the singers called upon him with hymns and the pressing of Soma. They sang with loud voices to the heroic, wise, and generous Indra, whose name was worthy to be heard. They begged him for a threefold shelter, a triple protection for their well-being, to cover the generous and themselves, and to drive away all dangers. All of Indra’s treasures, shining as if gazing at the sun, were to be enjoyed; born in strength, the people had obtained their share, as with Bhaga. No god, no mortal, could attain that wealth—not even the long-lived or the swiftest—only Indra had yoked his two bays. They prayed that Indra would be adorned with all offerings in every battle, to come to their hymns and libations, the Vṛtra-slayer, with the highest praise. Indra’s wealth was his alone—he fostered the middle, ruled over the highest, and none could withhold the cows from him. Thus, the people’s devotion to Indra was unwavering, their songs and praises rising like a river, seeking his strength, protection, and friendship, and honoring the mighty champion who upholds the world.