Ten sisters pour the rain together, wise thinkers of the sage, adorn him. Swiftly, the golden Child of Surya has reached the vat like a fleet, vigorous horse.
Just as a calf cries to its mother, the generous Bull flows to the water. Like youth to maiden, he hastens to the chosen place, the beaker.
Indeed, the udder of the milking cow is swollen; it flows in streams, very wise Indu. The cows prepare, as with new-washed treasures, the head and chief with milk in the vessels.
With all the gods, O Indu Pavamana, as you roar, send us wealth in horses. Hither comes willing Plenty on her car, inclined to us, to give us of her treasures.
Now we receive riches, as they cleanse thee, all glorious, with store of heroes. Long may your life be for him who worships you, O Indu. May he, enriched with prayer, come soon and early.