Thou art the champion of the Āryas, O Indra, the defender of those who worship thee with care. The enemies of thy people flee before thy chariot; their fortresses crumble at thy approach. Thou art the war-god in his fury, the striker of all who resist.

How many demons hast thou slain? How many fortresses of the wicked hast thou broken open? The dāsas and dasyus—those hostile tribes who deny the sacrifice—fall before thy thunderbolt like leaves in the wind. Their wealth becomes the spoil of thy faithful servants.

Thou ridest forth in thy golden chariot drawn by steeds that know no weariness. The wheels thunder across the earth; the very ground trembles beneath them. Before thee goes the roar of thy voice; behind thee comes victory and plunder for those who have done thee honor.

The weak man grows strong when thou art near; the fearful warrior becomes bold as a tiger. Thou givest the victory not through mere strength alone, but through thy craft and thy cunning. Thou knowest when to strike and when to wait; thou knowest the hidden weakness of every enemy.

O mighty Indra, hear our prayer! We are thy worshippers; we have pressed the soma and made the offering. Grant us enemies weak and feeble before our spears. Grant us the courage to face our foes and the strength to vanquish them utterly.

Let no hostile tribe conquer thy people; let no demon despoil our herds. Be thou our champion always, O lord of all power, our protector in battle, our victor in the field!