In the beginning, before anything else existed, Brahman alone was born—the primal source from which all things emerged. From this ineffable origin, the radiant seer spread forth creation, establishing foundations that reach into the deepest depths, measuring out the womb that holds both being and non-being. For this great, heroic, and strong One—wide-seeing and wielder of the thunderbolt—unprecedented, abundant gifts were fashioned. To him, the steadfast and supremely peaceful, the most beautiful words of praise were composed. Once, a black, shining drop appeared upon the bright one, moving with ten thousand companions. By his mighty power, Indra turned it back, pounding it away, and skillful men removed its stain. All the gods, seeking to aid Indra against the breath of Vṛtra, became his allies. Indra, may the Maruts ever be your companions—so may you triumph in all battles. Witness the marvel of the god: a young man, surrounded by his peers, grows gray as he keeps watch. His greatness endures through time, though yesterday, another just like him passed away. From birth, Indra became the enemy of enemies, even when hidden by heaven and earth. He found his way among the mighty worlds and set battle among the abundant beings. Like a steadfast pillar, O Thunderer, you are made strong and unshakeable. Indra, you are invoked by the eager, the generous, the worshippers. You are the destroyer of Vṛtra, the radiant bull whom I praise. Let your praises be offered to the great, the ever-increasing, the wise. Bring forth goodwill, O people; advance, O leaders of men—go forward to join the ancient hosts. In battle, let us call upon Indra, the most generous, the best among men for the prize. May he, fierce and attentive to our call, strike down our foes and win us wealth. The hymns have arisen for glory; Vasiṣṭha magnifies Indra in the assembly—he whose fame is spread everywhere, who listens eagerly to words of praise. When his wheel is set in the waters, may sweet drink cover it on earth; whatever milk is pressed, he has placed it among cows and plants. Let us call here for our welfare the mighty one, the prize-winner, god-driven and strong, the swiftest of charioteers—Tārkṣya, whose wheel is unbroken, born in battle. I call Indra the protector, the helper, the well-invoked at every call, the mighty and much-invoked; may this offering reach Indra, the generous, the possessor of wealth. Let us worship Indra, whose right hand wields the thunderbolt, who rides the chariot drawn by bay steeds. Let his beard shake upwards; let him come with his hosts, fearless, bestowing gifts. Indra, the slayer of foes, strong and mighty, boundless, the bull with the good thunderbolt, the destroyer of Vṛtra, the winner of the prize, the giver of gifts, the truly bountiful. Whoever, mortal or immortal, opposes us—be he a host, or thinks himself strong, swift, or cunning—may we, with Indra’s help, overcome him in battle, relying on your strength. He whom people call upon in battles, whom the brave invoke in struggle, whom priests call at the pressing of the waters for strength—that is Indra. Indra and Parvatī, come with your great chariot, bringing riches; accept our offerings at the sacrifices, O gods, and grow with our songs, rejoicing in our praise. For Indra, the unrestrained songs have flowed; he set the waters in motion from the ocean’s depth. With his power, as with an axle, he upheld earth and sky on every side. Your friends have chosen you for friendship; you have crossed many wide seas. O descendant of the Father, may the wise one place you in this dwelling, shining far and wide. Who today will yoke the cows of truth to the yoke, swift, shining, hard to restrain? Among them, the bringer of joy has carried the waters, fulfilling their service and granting them life. Singers of the Gāyatrī chant you in the fourth and second parts; singers of the Arkā hymn you with the Arkā; the priests, O hundred-powered, have raised you up like a banner. All hymns have magnified Indra, who encompasses the oceans, the foremost charioteer, the lord of strength, the true master, the protector. Drink this pressed Soma, O Indra—the greatest, immortal exhilaration! The bright streams of truth have flowed for you at the seat of order. Whatever splendid gift, O Indra, is not yet here, not given by you, O Thunderer, may that favor be granted to us; bring both kinds of wealth. Hear the call, O Indra, from afar, from him who worships you; fulfill the desire for heroic sons and abundant wealth, for you are great. Soma has been pressed for you, O Indra, most mighty and bold; come, let your power be filled, as the sun fills the sky with its rays. Indra, come with your bays to the praise of Kanva; at the command of heaven, come to the heavenly dwelling, O lord of the day. To you the hymns have come, O lover of song, as charioteers to the races; they have gathered around you as cows around a calf, O Indra. Let us now praise Indra, the pure, with pure song and hymn, who has grown strong with pure praises; let him rejoice in our pure offerings. He who is the bestower of wealth, the most bountiful, most glorious with glories—Soma, when pressed, that is your exhilaration, O Indra, lord of power. Bring to him who desires, who knows all things, all treasures, for the eager one who has come, for the man who has come from afar, O men. May you drive away from us the great decay, the lurking danger, the ancient harm; dispel the fierce word, O mighty one. As for a journey, we set your chariot in motion for favor, O most powerful Indra, lord of strength, with mighty steeds, overcoming foes. He is the ancient singer of the great ones, born with wisdom, by whose doors Manu, our father, entered among the gods with insight. When the swift ones, shining in the chariots, carry the exhilarating sweet drink, there they win renown. I praise that unconquered lord of might, Indra, the all-powerful, the most skillful, the all-knowing man, the lord of strength. I have made the hymn for Dadhikrāvan, the victorious, the swift horse; may his fragrant mouths bring us well-being, and may he prolong our lives. The breaker of cities, young and wise, of boundless vigor, was born—Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt, praised by many, upholder of all actions. Let us send forth the Trishtubh hymn for Indra, who is to be praised by heroes; with thought, for the gaining of wisdom, Purandhi calls him forth.