At the sacred Soma-pressing, the Maruts declare their supremacy, proclaiming that neither the last nor the foremost, nor even the great sage Vasiṣṭha, can surpass them. Today, they invite all who desire to drink together, celebrating the ritual’s unity. Amidst this gathering, the friends are urged to speak nothing else, to avoid straying, and to praise only Indra, the mighty one, whose glory is to be sung again and again. No part of the work is lost, whether the second or the third; Indra’s greatness ever increases through sacrifice. Indra, famed everywhere, unconquered and strong, stands as the champion of the people. He alone, even without others, was the supporter from the beginning, giving strength to all limbs. Maghavan, generous and restorative, brings back what was lost and joins what is sundered. To Indra, the prayers call for a thousand and a hundred golden-yoked, long-maned steeds to bring him forth on his chariot for the drinking of Soma. The invitation is urgent: come, Indra, with your splendid, peacock-maned bays; let nothing restrain you—not even those with snares. Come straight as an arrow, unhindered. Among mortals, Indra alone is praised as the god most mighty. There is no other helper like him, Maghavan. Words of devotion are spoken directly to Indra, the lord of glory and master of strength, who slays all adversaries, ever the foremost, upholding the people with unmatched power. At every sacrifice and gathering, the invocations are offered to Indra alone, seeking his favor for the winning of wealth. The hymns sung are bright, pure, and wise, reaching Indra and shining with praise. These honeyed songs rise up like victorious, ever-flowing chariots, bringing wealth to those who win the prize. As a thirsty bull seeks water, Indra is called to come for friendship and for the ancestors, to join the Kanvas and drink with them. With all his aids, Indra is asked to move with the devotees, as Bhaga does, sharing the knowledge of wealth. The prayer continues: Indra, bring us the might that conquers foes, for the singer and for those who offer with sacred grass to you, the radiant one. A worthy hymn is sung not only to Indra but also to Mitra, to noble Aryaman, to Varuna of steadfast laws, and to the royal ones among kings. Indra’s ancient might is honored, as the ancient drinkers and the Ribhus, united, have chanted together, and the Rudras praise him. The Maruts are exhorted to sing their praise to mighty Indra, the slayer of Vṛtra, who wields the hundred-jointed thunderbolt and strikes down foes. Their hymn resounds for the most powerful Indra, by whom the gods, lovers of truth, awakened the light for the divine. Indra is asked to bring wisdom, as a father gives to his sons, to teach the devotees so that in their dwelling they may attain living light. The plea is heartfelt: Indra, do not turn away from us; be with us at the shared feast. You are our aid and refuge—remain with us. The singers gather around Indra, the Vṛtra-slayer, with pressed Soma, like waters around the sacred grass at the outpourings of the purifier. Whatever strength Indra possesses among the descendants of Nahusha, whatever manliness among peoples, whatever glory among the five tribes, may he bring all heroic powers together. Indra is truly a bull, with the might of a bull, the protector. He hears from afar and from near, renowned everywhere. Whatever Indra does, whether far or near, the singers call upon him with hymns and the pressing of Soma. The voices rise in intoxication, praising the heroic, great, and wise Indra, whose name is famed and whose generosity is fitting. Indra is asked to grant a threefold shelter, a triple protection for well-being, to cover the generous and the singer, and to drive away the lightnings. All Indra’s treasures, as if gazing at the sun, are to be enjoyed; born in strength, the devotees have obtained their share as with Bhaga. No god or mortal attains such wealth—not even those who live long or are swift and eager. Indra alone has yoked his two bays. Indra is to be adorned with all offerings in every battle, summoned to the hymns and libations with the highest praise. His lowest wealth is his own; he fosters the middle and rules over the highest of all. None withholds the cows from Indra. The question arises: where now, and where has Indra gone? For his mind is everywhere. He has wandered in battle, breaker of citadels, Purandara. The singers long to sing the Gāyatrī for him. Soma is poured out for the wielder of the thunderbolt; today, at the pressing, the pressed Soma is brought forth. Indra is adorned with fame. He is king of peoples, riding in chariots, unwearied, overcoming all hosts in battle. He is praised as the greatest, the slayer of Vṛtra. From those whom Indra’s devotees fear, he is asked to make them fearless. He is called to take delight in his help, to scatter foes and destroy enemies. Indra is the lord of the dwelling, the firm pillar of the Soma rites, breaker of ancient cities, and eternal friend of the sages. The greatness of the Sun and the Adityas is also acknowledged; their might is most excellent, and by their power, they are great among the gods. Indra is the horseman and charioteer, of beautiful form, rich in cattle. When his friend, sharing in strength, joins with vigor, he approaches the assembly shining. If Indra had a hundred heavens and a hundred earths, even then, not a thousand Suns nor both these worlds together would equal him, the wielder of the thunderbolt. Whenever men invoke Indra from east, west, north, or south, he is famed among peoples as their helper, the support of Turvaśa. Who among mortals dares to challenge Indra, the wealthy one? His faith is established in the highest heaven, and the champion seeks victory. This is the story of Indra’s unmatched might, glory, and generosity, celebrated in song and ritual by all who seek his favor.