Kanvas, sing the deeds of Indra, the Impetuous, In the wild joy of Soma.
Strong God, you slew Anarsani, Srbinda, Pipru, and the fiend, Ahīśuva, and opened the floodgates.
You brought down the dwelling place, the height of Arbuda's peak. That exploit, Indra, must be celebrated.
Bold, to your fair-voiced Soma I call the Hero for aid, Like a torrent from the hillside.
In the Soma draughts, Hero, burst open stalls of horses and cattle.
If my libation cheers, if you take pleasure in my praise, Come with your divine presence from afar.
O Indra, Lover of the Song, the singers of your praise are we: O Soma-drinker, quicken us.
And, with you, bring us sustenance still undiminished: Great is your wealth, O Maghavan.
Make us rich in herds of cattle, in horses, in gold: Let us exert our strength in sacrifices.
Call him to aid whose hands reach far, to whom high praise is due. Who works well to help us.
He, Śatakratu, still fights as a Vṛtra-slayer: He gives much wealth to his worshippers.
May he, this A;akra, strengthen us, Boon God who meets our needs, Indra, with all saving helps.
To him, the mighty stream of wealth, the Soma-presser's rescuer, Sing your praise to Indra;
Who brings what is great and firm, wins glory in his wars, Lord of vast wealth through power and might.
There lives none to check or stay his energy and grace: None who can say, "He does not give."
No debt is owed by Brahmins now, by active men pressing juice: Each Soma draught has been well paid.
Sing to him who must be praised, say lauds to him who must be praised, Bring prayer to him who must be praised.
May he be unchecked, strong, fit for praise, bring hundreds, thousands: Indra who aids the worshipper.
Go with your divine nature, go where the folk call you: Drink, Indra, of