Who can withstand the force and might of Indra? Alone and unconquered, he claims the riches of the worlds; even the swiftest beings, O gods, now flee in fear before his strength. For Indra, divine favor itself chooses him, just as a swift woman selects her husband. When his strength unites with all, the worlds bow down before this self-powerful one. I have heard of you alone, O lord of truth, born of the Panchajanas, renowned among the people. The eager ones have seized you for me, O newest Indra, calling upon you in the quiet of night and at the break of dawn. Thus, I hear of you—one who moves with purpose, who bestows riches upon the priests. What use are those companions to you, O Indra, those priests who have set aside their longing for you? For the great and the mighty, I kindle praise among men—so for Indra, the powerful one, in the wilds. When he is praised in contests for wealth, the people recognize him as a true friend in battle. And you, O Indra, inspired by thought and by hymns, never grow weary of the yoke of your bay steeds. O generous one, as you gladly advance, may you, worthy of praise, protect your people. None who have failed to praise you, O Indra, have ever surpassed us; when they turned faithless, they became nothing. Stand upon your chariot, O thunderbolt-holder, hold the reins, O god, and drive your own horses! Many are the praises that exist for you, O Indra. Fighting for the cows, you acted in the broad fields; you even made a place for the Sun in his own abode, and in battle you made the name of the Dasa known. We are yours, O Indra, as are all men, the hosts that are born, and the chariots that set out. Come to us, O serpent-slayer, with your strength, like fortune itself, delightful in offerings and lovely in contests. With your might, O Indra, you have surpassed all—immortal, most heroic in manly deeds. Grant us this wealth, O giver of riches, for you are worthy of praise, and I honor your generous gift. Thus, O Indra, protect us with your great powers as we praise you, O hero and singer. Gladden those who offer you the skin in the contest for wealth; delight in the sweet, well-pressed mead. May those ten white, gold-adorned, swift steeds of Trasadasyu, son of Purukutsa, carry me—let them, marked with red, bear me onward with their strength. And may those red steeds of Marutashva, rich in strength and abundance at the assembly, carry me; thousands, ever moving, grant me gifts, and let the noble one shine with beauty. May those favored, splendid, well-guided steeds of Dhvanya, marked with auspicious signs, carry me; by the seer Samvarana’s wealth, may they come eagerly, like cows to the pen. He whose enemies are unborn, who is ageless and full of light, praised as the wondrous one by his own law—press and cook the offering for him, the much-praised bearer of prayer. He who has filled his belly with Soma, the generous one, delights in the sweetness of the drink. When he sets out to slay the beast, the great slayer, the thousand-striker seeks out the foe for destruction. Whoever presses Soma for him—at the press or in the vessel—becomes brilliant, O mighty one. The powerful Shakra removes sin from him; the generous one, friend of the wise, purifies his body. But he who has slain father, mother, or brother—Shakra does not desire him. He knows the righteous path, the one who acts with devotion; the treasure of wealth does not come to the sinful. He does not call upon five or ten to help him; he does not join with the unoffering or the prosperous. He conquers knowledge, he strikes down the foe, and the wise one shares the divine portion in the herd rich in cows. The swift one, in contest, sets the wheel in motion; hostile to the non-offerer, he is a friend to the offerer. Indra, subduer of all, dreadful one, leads both Dasa and Arya according to his will. He moves with the plunderer, seizing food; he distributes wealth to the worshipper, the good man. Nowhere, not even in a stronghold, is wealth safe from him—the one who provokes Indra’s might loses everything. Indra, the generous one, knows both peoples—the wealthy and the renowned—among the shining cows. He made one yokemate tremble, and with his strength the stream releases the cow’s milk. You praise the one with a thousand songs, who has the fire’s brightness, the noble banner and worthy sign. For him, the restrained waters flow forth; in him may there be powerful, splendid sovereignty. Indra, bring to us your most helpful, powerful aid, victorious in contests and unconquerable in battles, supporting your people. Whether you have four, three, or even five aids among the peoples, bring them to us, O hero. We call upon your most excellent, vigorous help; for you, Indra, are born with the strength of a bull, with mighty powers. Truly, you are a bull for giving; you are born a bull, your force is that of a bull. Your own power, your bold mind, O Indra, is steadfast manliness. You, Indra, breaker of obstacles, subdue that mortal who acts as an enemy. O lord of strength, O hundred-powered, go forth with all your chariots. You, slayer of Vṛtra, are invoked by those who spread the sacred grass—fierce and ancient among the ancients—for the gaining of prize. Indra, make our chariot—hard to overcome and leading in battle—victorious in contests and wealth, always triumphant. Come to us, Indra, protect our chariot, O Purandhi. May we, most mighty, obtain glory in heaven, and there offer our praise. Let Indra come here, who knows the wealth of treasures, who gives riches, who, like a thirsty wanderer in the desert, longs to drink the sweet, pressed Soma. To you, O strong one, O hero, O Hariva, let the Soma rise, like a mountain’s summit. Following you, O king, as the swift follow, may we rejoice with songs, O much-invoked one. Like a spinning wheel, O much-invoked one, my mind trembles with awe at your might, O breaker of obstacles. The singer, ever growing, places you upon the chariot; may the generous one, rich in gifts, be praised. This singer, like a stone, stirs up a great voice for you, Indra, eager for the pressed Soma. O generous one, with your left hand send forth gifts; with your right, O Hariva, do not withhold them. Let the sky increase you, the bull—O bull among bulls—who carries with the two bay steeds. So may you, O bull, O Indra of the strong chariot, O well-cheeked, O mighty, O thunderer, grant us wealth. He who, with three hundred companions, harnesses the two red, swift horses—let the young ones bow to him; may the Maruts, famed for their chariots, gather for him. He strives with the radiance of the sun, offering up, his back anointed with ghee, bending forward. For him, the undiminished dawns shine forth; “Let us press Soma for Indra,” thus he says. The kindled fire is pleasing, the sacred grass is spread, the stones are prepared, and the Soma is pressed; the stones speak to him, and the priest, with the offering, approaches the stream. The bride approaches, desiring her husband, and the queen brings forth the sacred utterance; from the sound of the chariot, many thousands turn about in praise.