In the sacred space of ritual, the wise discerned the divine lights for Ayu and Manu, delighting in their seat and shining forth in splendor. Today, as in ancient times, the thoughtful singers raise their voices in praise; the waters, mighty and ever-renewing, win their place day by day as spouses of the divine. The invocation goes forth to Indra: “Hear us, O Indra, as we worship you. You are great—fill us with heroic strength and wealth, with cattle and abundance.” The one who crafts new, delightful songs and wise, nourishing thoughts of truth is celebrated; his hymns strengthen Indra, and the people strive to win his favor, seeking his many gifts. Pavamana, the pure Soma, flows forth; the divine Ashvins’ cows stream milk upon the altar, and from the atmosphere, the ancient ones pour out, cleansed by inspired and skillful hands. Around the pure one, steadfast rays circle like banners when the tawny Soma is purified upon the filter, sitting established in the vessels, the womb of creation. All abodes and banners of the skillful and mighty circle the steadfast Soma; flowing widely by his law, Soma is lord of all beings, king of the world. From the sky, Pavamana generates a wondrous thunder-like sound, a great universal light. His exhilarating juice, unimpeded, rushes through every barrier, shining forth with radiant skill, granting vision of heaven to all. When, like eager cows, the swift and strong ones surge forth, they strike off the black skin, revealing light. The people seek favor from the well-bestowed one, hoping to cross the difficult barrier and overcome lawless foes. The mighty sound of Pavamana echoes like the roar of rain, as lightnings move across the sky. The prayer rises: “Flow for us, O Soma, with great riches—with cattle, gold, horses, and heroes. Flow, all-cherishing one, fill the heavens and earth; shine with your rays like dawn and sun. With your all-encompassing stream, grant us shelter; spread everywhere like nourishing juice.” Soma, mighty, rushes forth with lofty mind, encircling his beloved abode where the gods dwell. He purifies what is impure, drives away evil for the people, and pours down rain from heaven. Purified through the filter, Soma swiftly flows around the sky, the river’s wave spreading out. The pressed juice comes, pure and radiant, bearing strength and illumination. It is poured for Indra, from far and near, as honey flows. In harmony, the tawny Soma is pressed with stones, prepared for Indra to drink. The skilled sisters press the hero, lord of offspring; the mighty ones prepare the great Soma. Pavamana, shining with brilliance, pressed for the gods, distributes treasures to the people. He brings excellent praise and rain to the gods, flowing for the gathered offering. The guardian of the people is born—Agni, vigilant and skilled, bringing new prosperity. Anointed with ghee, Agni touches the vast sky, radiant and pure for the Bharatas. The Angirasas found Agni hidden, adorned in every forest; born when churned, mighty, called the son of strength. Men kindle Agni, sign of sacrifice, first priest in the triple seat; with Indra and the gods, he sits on the grass as the wise hotar, ready for worship. The pressed Soma, grown by truth, is offered to Mitra and Varuna; their invocation is heard. The two kings, unassailable, sit firm in the highest seat, supported by a thousand pillars. The sovereign Adityas, lords of gifts, delight in the unbroken stream of ghee. Indra, unconquered, struck down ninety-nine foes with Dadhichi’s bones. Desiring the horse’s head hidden in the mountains, he found it with the help of the falcon. Here, they sought the name of the cow, offspring of Tvashtar, thus in the house of the moon. This is the ancient praise of Indra and Agni, born from the mind of the lovely one, like rain from a cloud. The singer’s invocation goes forth to Indra and Agni: “Accept our songs, nourish our thoughts. Do not bring us to evil or reproach; do not harm us in our dwelling.” The tawny Soma flows forth, accomplishing skill for the gods to drink, bringing exhilaration for the Maruts and for Vāyu. With the gods, the strong poet shines forth, beloved in his place of birth, pure and unassailable.