SCARCELY was Śatakratu, born when of his Mother he inquired, Who are the mighty? Who are famed?
Then Śavasī declared to him Aurṇavābha, Ahīśuva: Son, these be they thou must o’erthrow
The Vṛtra-slayer smote them all as spokes are hammered into naves: The Dasyu-killer waxed in might.
Then Indra at a single draught drank the contents of thirty pails, Pails that were filled with Soma juice.
Indra in groundless realms of space pierced the Gandharva through, that he Might make Brahmans' strength increase.
Down from the mountains Indra shot hither his well-directed shaft: He gained the ready brew of rice.
One only is that shaft of thine, with thousand feathers, hundred barbs, Which, Indra, thou hast made thy friend.
Strong as the Ṛbhus at thy birth, therewith to those who praise thee, men, And women, bring thou food to eat.
By thee these exploits were achieved, the mightiest deeds, abundantly: Firm in thy heart thou settest them.
All these things Viṣṇu brought, the Lord of ample stride whom thou hadst sent- A hundred buffaloes, a brew of rice and milk: and Indra, slew the ravening boar
Most deadly is thy bow, successful, fashioned well: good is thine arrow, decked with gold. Warlike and well equipped thine arms are, which increase sweetness for him who drinks the sweet.
