Swiftly come to you in every ritual, welcome every hymn of him who worships the gods. May I bring you here with fair praises to give great help for the welfare of both worlds.
Surrounding, as if born of themselves, self-powerful, they bring to life the shakers of food and light; Like the gentle waves of the flood, worthy of praise when near, like bullocks and like cows.
Those who, like Soma with their tall stalks pressed out, drink deeply within the heart, dwell there in friendly ways. Upon their shoulders rest a warrior’s spear and in their hand they hold a dagger and a ring.
Self-yoked, they descended lightly from the sky. With your own lash, Immortals, urge yourselves to move swiftly. Unsoiled by dust, the Maruts, mighty in strength, have cast down even solid things, armed with their shining spears.
Who among you, O Maruts with lightning spears, moves you alone, like a tongue moving its jaws? You rush from heaven’s floor as if seeking food, on many errands like the Sun’s daily steed.
Where, then, is this mighty region’s farthest boundary? Where, Maruts, is the lowest depth you’ve reached? When you cast down like chaff the firmly established pile, and send the glittering waters from the mountain?
Your victory comes with strength, dazzling, with heavenly light, with fruit ripe, O Maruts, fall of plenty. Your gift is auspicious, like a free giver’s reward, victorious, spreading far, as of immortal gods.
Rivers roar before your chariots’ wheels when they speak the voice of rainclouds. Lightnings laugh upon the earth as you scatter your richness.
Pṛśni brought forth the glittering army of restless Maruts to fight the mighty battle. Together they begot the monster and then looked around for the food that strengthens.
May this be your praise, may this be your song, O Maruts, sung by Māna’s son, Māndārya. Grant offspring for us with food to nourish us. May we find abundant food to strengthen us.