A THOUSAND are thy helps for us, O Indra: a thousand, Lord of Bays, thy choice refreshments. Wealth of a thousand sorts hast thou to cheer us: may precious goods come nigh to us in thousands.
May the most sapient Maruts, with protection, with best boons brought from lofty heaven, approach us, Now when their team of the most noble horses speeds even on the sea's extremest limit.
Close to them clings one moving in seclusion, like a man's wife, like a spear carried rearward, Well grasped, bright, decked with gold there is Vāk also, like to a courtly, eloquent dame, among them.
Far off the brilliant, never-weary Maruts cling to the young Maid as a joint possession. The fierce Gods drave not Rodasī before them, but wished for her to grow their friend and fellow.
When chose immortal Rodasī to follow—she with loose tresses and heroic spirit— She climbed her servant's chariot, she like Sūrya with cloud-like motion and refulgent aspect.
Upon their car the young men set the Maiden wedded to glory, mighty in assemblies, When your song, Maruts, rose, and, with oblation, the Soma-pourer sang his hymn in worship.
I will declare the greatness of these Maruts, their real greatness, worthy to be lauded, How, with them, she though firm, strong-minded, haughty, travels to women happy in their fortune.
Mitra and Varuṇa they guard from censure: Aryaman too, discovers worthless sinners Firm things are overthrown that ne’er were shaken: he prospers, Maruts, who gives choice oblations.
None of us, Maruts, near or at a distance, hath ever reached the limit of your vigour. They in courageous might still waxing boldly have compassed round their foemen like an ocean.
May we this day be dearest friends of Indra, and let us call on him in fight to-morrow. So were we erst. New might attend us daily! So be with us! Ṛbhukṣan of the Heroes!
May this your laud, may this your song, O Maruts, sung by the poet, Māna's son, Māndārya, Bring offspring for ourselves with. food to feed us. May we find strengthening food in full abundance.
