At this bright and dreadful call to arms, O Indra, when the war-cry rings out full loud, come to our aid.

Stand with us when the kine are to be seized, when warriors glittering with gold grow bold, and shafts fly forth in every quarter—
when the hour is come to lay low men of greater name.

At our hearth, uncover for us a wealth in flocks— a flood of cattle, famed and fair.

When thou dost win, O strong one, let us feast with thee.
As we yearn for it, so make it—thou art good and giving.

Whosoever, without god, Dāsa or Ārya, doth look upon us with a mind for strife— bring them low, O Indra much-lauded.

Let them fall easily before thee, and with thee let us strike them down in the press of war.

Who is called upon by few, and who by multitudes— who findeth wide room even in narrow straits when the hour is come to strike the mighty— that one, who today shall be the devourer and victor, that famed and lofty man—let us turn him to our side; may Indra lean to us for help.

For I have heard of thee, O Indra:
thou art tightly drawn like a bow, unbending in wrath, and thou dost rouse even the weak to strength,

O bull among gods.
Break loose from Kutsa’s hold—come forth!
Shall such a one as thou be held back by the stones that bind his loins?