FOR him the Mornings made their courses longer, and Nights with pleasant voices spoke to Indra. For him the Floods stood still, the Seven Mothers, Streams easy for the heroes to cross.
The Darter pierced through, though in trouble, three-ringed mountain crests. Neither could God nor mortal man accomplish what the Strong Hero wrought in full vigor.
The mightiest force is Indra’s iron bolt when firmly grasped in both Indra’s arms. His head and mouth have powers surpassing all others, and all his people hasten near to listen.
I count you as the Holiest of the Holy, the one who cast down what has never been shaken. I count you as the Banner of the heroes, I count you as the Chief of all living men.
When, O Indra, in your arms you took your wildly rushing bolt to slay the Dragon, The mountains roared, the cattle loudly bellowed, the Brahmins with their hymns drew near to Indra.
Praise him who made these worlds and creatures, all things that sprang into being after him. May we win Mitra with our songs, and Indra, and serve our Lord with adoration.
Fleeing in terror from the snort of Vṛtra, all Deities who were your friends forsook you. So, Indra, be your friendship with the Maruts: in all these battles you shall be victorious.
Thirty-six Maruts, growing strong, were with you, like beams of light, worthy of worship. We come to you: grant us a happy portion. Let us adore your might with this offering.
A sharp weapon is the host of Maruts. Who, Indra, dares withstand your thunderbolt? Weaponless are the Asuras, the godless: scatter them with your wheel, Impetuous Hero.
To him the Strong and Mighty, most auspicious, send up the beautiful hymn for cattle. Lay upon his body many songs for Indra invoked with song, for will he not heed them?
Serve him with gifts of yours that Indra welcomes; praise with fair praise, invite him with your homage. Draw near, O singer, and refrain from outcry. Make your voice heard, for will he not heed it?
The Black Drop sank in Amsumati’s bosom, advancing with ten thousand around it. Indra