Come forth with the Maruts, O Indra! Let thy companions in glory attend upon thee. The sons of Rudra, those mighty wind-gods, follow in thy chariot's wake. Their spears gleam like stars. Their armor shineth with a brilliance that blindeth the eye.

Together do ye march against the dark fortresses of the Dāsas. Together do ye hurl destruction upon the demons who cower beneath the earth. The Maruts cry out with joy as they race alongside thee. Their chariots whirl faster than the falcon's flight. Their weapons sing through the air like arrows loosed from the bow of heaven itself.

The earth trembleth at the coming of this host. The very clouds part before them. Rain falleth where the Maruts pass, and grass springeth up green and verdant. They bring blessing and curse in equal measure — abundance to the righteous and calamity to the wicked.

O Indra, lead them on! Direct their fury against thy enemies. Let the Maruts shatter the ramparts of the asuras. Let them trample the black magicians beneath their feet. Their roar is the roar of the storm itself. Their laughter is the crash of thunder.

When thou and the wind-gods unite thy might, no power can stand against thee. The very foundations of the world do shake. Heaven and earth draw closer together in fear. We mortals cower in the shelter of our homes and offer praises, grateful that thy wrath is turned from us.