The Atri sage hath fallen into a deep pit, O Indra! Darkness surroundeth him on all sides. He crieth out for aid, but his voice echoes back from the stone walls. No man can reach him; no ordinary rope can pull him free. His end seemeth certain, and despair hath seized his heart.

But lo! Indra hath heard the cry of the righteous man! The thunderer descendeth from the heavens, shining bright as ten thousand suns. He reacheth down into the darkness with his mighty hand and draweth Atri forth. The sage emergeth blinking into the light, his flesh intact, his spirit renewed.

And what of Sūrya, the sun god, in that very hour? His disk was swallowed by shadow! The eclipse cometh upon the sky—a darkness at high noon, terrible and wonderful to behold. The stars appear in their places though day should reign. The birds cry out in confusion. All creatures look upward in awe and fear.

Yet Indra hath ordained that this eclipse shall pass! The shadow moveth across the sun and vanisheth. The light breaketh forth again. Sūrya rideth his golden chariot once more across the vault of heaven, his radiance restored. The world breatheth easy again.

Thus doth Indra act in righteousness! He saveth the faithful from the pit of despair. He restoreth the sun to its throne. He maintaineth the order of cosmos. O mighty Indra, thou who hast saved Atri and given us back the light of day, receive this hymn of gratitude! May thy name be ever honored among the Atri clan and all who remember how thou came to our aid when all seemed lost.