I trim my song like grass for the Nāsatyas and send their praises forth like the wind drives rain-clouds, Who, in a swift chariot, brought to the youthful Vimada a consort.
Borne on by swift steeds with mighty wings, or trusting in the Gods' incitements. That stallion of yours, O Nāsatyas, won the thousand in the race, in Yama's contest.
You, Aśvins, as a dead man leaves his riches, Tugra left Bhujyu in the cloud of waters. You brought him back in animated vessels, traversing air, unwetted by the billows.
Bhujyu you bore with winged things, Nāsatyas, which for three nights, three days full swiftly traveled, To the sea's farther shore, the strand of ocean, in three cars, hundred-footed, with six horses.
You wrought that hero exploit in the ocean which gives no support, or hold or station, When you carried Bhujyu to his dwelling, borne in a ship with hundred oars, O Aśvins.
The white horse you gave to Aghāśva, Aśvins, a gift to be his wealth for ever— Still to be praised is that glorious present, still to be famed is the brave horse of Pedu.
O Heroes, you gave wisdom to Kakṣīvān who sprang from Pajra's line, who sang your praises. You poured forth from the hoof of your strong charger a hundred jars of wine as from a strainer.
You warded off the fire's fierce burning; food very rich in nourishment you furnished. Ati, cast downward in the cavern, Aśvins you brought, with all his people, forth to comfort.
You lifted up the well, O Nāsatyas, and set the base on high to open downward. Streams flowed for folk of Gotama who thirsted, like rain to bring forth thousandfold abundance.
You stripped, as if mail, the skin from the old Cyavāna, Nāsatyas, as he stood there helpless, Lengthening his life when all had left him, Dasras! and made him lord of youthful maidens.
What time you, knowing well his case, delivered Vandana from the pit like hidden treasure, That mighty deed of yours, for