O thunder-lord, O master of the storm! Thy voice is the roar of clouds when they break upon the mountains. Thy chariot wheels roll across the sky, and the lightning crackles beneath thy feet. Thou sittest enthroned in the highest heaven, and from thy throne thou surveyest all the worlds.

The vajra is thy scepter, that terrible weapon fashioned by Tvaṣṭṛ in the smithies of the gods. No metal can withstand it; no shield can turn it aside; no spell can dull its edge. When thou dost raise it, the very air groweth bright as burnished gold. The demons shriek and flee; the mountains bow beneath thy power.

We have beheld thy deeds, O thunder-god! How thou didst cleave the belly of Vṛtra, the foe of the gods. How the waters sprang forth, freed from their prison, and poured down upon the earth in blessing. The five rivers flow to this day because of thy great victory. The rains descend because thou didst break the bondage of the clouds.

Thou art the lord of the sky-realm, the keeper of order, the champion of the Devas. The lesser gods bow before thee; the Asuras tremble at thy name. Thou dost ride forth on days appointed, and thy thunderous chariot shaketh the foundations of the worlds.

We invoke thee, O terrible one! Make thy lightning strike our enemies. Let their fortresses crumble like clay. Let their war-chariots overturn; let their warriors fall, slain by the force of thy wrath. And for us, O Indra, send the rains that make the crops flourish. Let thy storm bring fertility to the land, and let us prosper beneath thy mighty gaze!