See how Dadhikrā mounts the field of battle, his whole body quivering with the energy of conflict! The drums do sound; the war-cry raiseth itself to heaven; and there cometh the divine steed, his nostrils wide, his mane streaming in the wind of his own passage. The ground shaketh; the very air trembleth at his approach.

He chargeth through the ranks of enemies as a flame through dry grass, unstoppable and all-consuming. The foe breaketh before him like the shore breaketh before the wave. His hooves crush the weapons of the fallen; his body beareth no mark of harm, for he is consecrated and protected by the gods themselves. No lance can pierce his hide; no curse can weaken his limbs.

Listen to the thunder of those hooves! Each strike upon the earth is as a hammer-blow upon the anvil of creation. The sound echoes through the valleys, up into the mountains, across the plains — it is the very heartbeat of victory made audible. The warriors who ride upon him feel his power flowing into their own bodies, and their courage knoweth no bounds.

Dadhikrā seeketh not to flee but to advance, ever forward, ever deeper into the fray. His eyes are fixed upon the foe; his intent is steadfast and unwavering. When the battle reacheth its climax, when lesser horses would falter and lesser warriors would despair, Dadhikrā burneth with redoubled fury. His speed increaseth; his strength floweth undiminished.

O mighty steed, horse of the gods, bringer of victory! Accept now the hymn of those who honour thy name and thy deeds. Carry us to triumph; make our enemies' courage fail; let the sound of thy hooves be the last thing heard by those who stand against us. Be thou the instrument of our righteousness, and let thy power prove the justice of our cause.