Indra, thou thunderbolt-wielder! In thy hand the Vajra resteth, that weapon of weapons, that tool of cosmic order! When thou raisest it high, the very heavens quake. The demons flee shrieking into the abyss. The mountains themselves lean back in fear.

The serpent Vṛtra lay coiled in darkness, his body stretching across mountains and valleys, his mouth gaping wide to devour the worlds. His scales were harder than steel; his fangs were sharp as lightning. He was the ancient enemy, the demon of drought and chaos, the embodiment of all that would undo the cosmic order.

Yet thou, O Indra, didst stand forth alone to face him! Thou drankest the soma for strength; thou took up the Vajra for thy weapon; thou didst march to the uttermost reaches of the earth where Vṛtra lay sleeping. And when the serpent awoke and rose to strike, thou didst smite him with a blow that echoed through all the worlds!

The body of Vṛtra shattered like a vessel of clay! The rivers poured forth from within him, waters that had been imprisoned since the beginning of time! The sun rose brighter; the crops grew green; the cattle multiplied. The world was made new again through thy mighty deed!

O slayer of Vṛtra! O wielder of the thunderbolt! We praise thy courage and thy strength! Thou art the protector of all created things, the enemy of chaos, the guardian of cosmic order! When thou takest up the Vajra, no power in heaven or earth can stand against thee! Be for us the same fierce protector! Smite down our enemies as thou smotest the serpent! Let thy victory be our victory!