Behold the chariot of Indra! What glory surroundeth it! The wheels are fashioned of gold and burnished bronze. The axles gleam like stars. The frame is wrought with such cunning that no earthly artisan could have shaped it—surely the gods themselves did build this wondrous car.

What steeds do draw this chariot? Not ordinary horses, O no! These are creatures of divine origin. They are bay-colored, with manes that flow like rivers. Their eyes shine bright as fire. Their hooves strike sparks when they touch the earth. With a single bound they can leap from one summit to another. With a single stride they cross an entire kingdom.

Indra mounteth his chariot with the strength of a bull in his limbs. He taketh the reins in his mighty hands. The steeds sense his presence and prance with eagerness, as though they themselves are eager for battle. They know where Indra leadeth—to glory, to victory, to the triumphant defeat of his enemies.

When the war-cry soundeth, Indra standeth in his chariot. Around him the gods gather—Agni, Vayu, the Maruts, all the divine hosts. They advance together, a terrible army, and the demons flee before them like chaff before the wind.

O Indra, thy chariot is the terror of thy foes! When they hear the rumble of thy wheels, their hearts do fail them. When they see the cloud of dust raised by thy steeds, they scatter in all directions. The mightiest warrior becomes as a child before thee. The fiercest demon becometh as a leaf trembling in the wind.

Yet to us, thy worshippers, the sight of thy chariot bringeth joy and hope. For we know that thou ridest forth for our sake, to defend us from the powers of darkness. Grant us always such a champion, O Indra! Grant that thy chariot shall roll forever in defense of the righteous. Thus do we praise thee and thy wondrous car.