We have pressed the soma, O Indra! The juice flows golden in the bowl, waiting for thy lips. Drink deep, O lord! Let the intoxicating draught flow through thy being. Feel thy strength swell beyond all measure; let thy consciousness expand to fill the three worlds!

The soma entereth thee; thy eyes blaze with inner light. Thy thunderbolt grows heavier in thy hand; thy voice deepens to the voice of creation itself. The mortals cannot approach thee now, so terrible is thy beauty, so immense is thy presence. Even the lesser gods stand back in awe.

What deeds shalt thou accomplish now, O lord drunk with the soma? What enemies shall fall before thy wrath? In this state of divine intoxication, thou becomest something beyond the gods themselves—neither wholly god nor wholly the sacred draught, but something born from the union of both.

Thy power flows into the earth beneath thy feet. The mountains quake; the sky trembles; the waters rise up in reverence. All creation feels the surge of thy might. This is the moment when anything is possible, when even the impossible becomes merely difficult.

The warriors who drink soma with thee become invincible. The priests who drink with thee perceive the hidden worlds. The ordinary man who tastes it sees visions of truth. But thou, O Indra, thou drinkest not as they drink—thou drinkest as the god drinks, and thy intoxication shaketh the very foundations of being.

O mighty lord, let this ecstasy lead thee to generosity! Remember those who pressed the soma for thee; remember those who sang thy praise. In thy exultation, look down upon us with favor. Grant us a share of the power that flows through thee; grant us a taste of the soma's bliss!