Let us recount the mighty deeds of Indra, that all peoples might know of his greatness! From the beginning of the world until this very day, his exploits have been without equal. His name is feared by demons. His name is honored by gods. His name giveth courage to the mortal who invoketh it.

He is the slayer of the Dasyus! When those dark-skinned enemies of the Āryan peoples raised their strongholds against us, Indra came and cast them down. Their leaders he slew. Their fortresses he reduced to rubble. Their cattle he scattered to the four winds. The riches of the vanquished became the property of those who worshipped him.

How many citadels hath he broken? How many enemy kings hath he slain? The number is beyond counting! Like a man bashing anthill with a stick, he smashed the fortresses of the Dasyus, crushing them utterly, leaving no stone standing upon another.

He is the breaker of walls! No fortress is strong enough to withstand him. The thickest stones crumble before his power. The highest towers topple at his approach. The most cunningly devised gates splinter beneath his blow.

He conquered the Dasyus not once, but a hundred times! In each age, when they rose again to challenge the Āryan supremacy, Indra stood forth to meet them. Each time, the outcome was the same — their defeat, their humiliation, their annihilation.

The wealth of the vanquished floweth to those who sing his praises. The cattle of the enemy become the herds of his worshippers. The gold of the conquered adorns the bodies of those who honor his name. This is the reward of those who trust in Indra, who lift up their voices in his praise, who remember his deeds and tremble before his power.

We are the Āryan peoples, and we are Indra's chosen ones. He defendeth us. He giveth unto us the riches of the earth. He maintaineth our dominion over this land and all its peoples.

Glory to Indra! Glory to the slayer of the Dasyus! Glory to him who holdeth the vajra!