In thy hand gleameth the Vajra, O Indra! That golden thunderbolt, most terrible and beautiful. It was forged in the heart of the mountains by the divine craftsmen. The Fire-god himself breathed life into its metal. No weapon in all the three worlds can match its power.

When thou raisest the Vajra, the very heavens quake. Clouds gather at thy command; lightning leapeth from thy fingertips. Rain falleth where thou directest it. The earth openeth and drinketh deep. Crops spring forth in abundance. The rivers rush to the sea in jubilation.

Thou art the lord of the storm, the master of the tempest! Thy thunder soundeth across the cosmos. Thy lightning rideth the clouds like a fiery serpent. The asuras and demons cover their faces when they hear thee approach. Even the greatest daitya trembleth at thy name.

The Vajra hath slain countless foes. It hath shattered the mountains of the godless. It hath broken the fortresses of all who would oppose thee. With this weapon, thou hast delivered the world from the grip of evil. All creation singeth thy praise for this.

O wielder of the thunderbolt! Accept our hymn as an offering at thy feet. We acknowledge thy supreme dominion over all the worlds. There is none equal to thee in might and majesty. Thy name shineth as bright as the noonday sun. Guard us with thy Vajra, protect us from all harm, and let thy blessing fall upon us as the rain falleth in summer.