A maiden came down to the stream and found the Soma by the way. She carried it back to her home and said, "For Indra I will press it, for Śakra I will press it."
Roaming there, little man, seeing every house in turn, Drink this Soma pressed with teeth, with grain and curds, with cake of meal, and with song of praise.
We wish to know you well, but we cannot reach you. Slowly and gradually, O Indu, flow to Indra.
Will he not help us and make us richer? Shall we not, being hostile to our lord, join ourselves to Indra now?
O Indra, cause the three places to sprout again, those I declare— My father’s head, his cultivated field, and this part below my waist.
Grow crops of hair, your cultivated field, my body, and my father’s head.
Purify Apala, Indra! Three times you gave her sun-like skin, Drawn, Śatakratu! Through the hole of chariot, wagon, and yoke.