Rig Veda
indrāya soma suṣutaḥ pari sravāpāmīvā bhavatu rakṣasā saha mā te rasasya matsata dvayāvino draviṇasvanta iha santv indavaḥ
Flow on to Indra, Soma, carefully effused: let sickness stay afar together with the fiends. Let not the double-tongued delight them with thy juice. here be thy flowing drops laden with opulence.
asmān samarye pavamāna codaya dakṣo devānām asi hi priyo madaḥ jahi śatrūṃr abhy ā bhandanāyataḥ pibendra somam ava no mṛdho jahi
O Pavamana, urge us forward in the fight thou art the vigour of the Gods, the well-loved drink. Smite thou our enemies who raise the shout of joy: Indra, drink Soma juice, and drive away our foes.
adabdha indo pavase madintama ātmendrasya bhavasi dhāsir uttamaḥ abhi svaranti bahavo manīṣiṇo rājānam asya bhuvanasya niṃsate
Unharmed, best Cheerer, thou, O Indu, flowest on: thou, even thou thyself, art Indra's noblest food. Full many a wise man lifts to thee the song of praise, and hails thee with a kiss as Sovran of this world.
sahasraṇīthaḥ śatadhāro adbhuta indrāyenduḥ pavate kāmyam madhu jayan kṣetram abhy arṣā jayann apa uruṃ no gātuṃ kṛṇu soma mīḍhvaḥ
Wondrous, with hundred streams, hymned in a thousand songs, Indu pours out for Indra his delightful meath. Winning us land and waters, flow thou hitherward: Rainer of bounties, Soma, make broad way for us.
This verse is not included in this edition.
Roaring within the beaker thou art balmed with milk: thou passest through the fleecy filter all at once. Carefully cleansed and decked like a prizewinning steed, O Soma, thou hast flowed down within Indra's throat.
svāduḥ pavasva divyāya janmane svādur indrāya suhavītunāmne svādur mitrāya varuṇāya vāyave bṛhaspataye madhumāṁ adābhyaḥ
Flow onward sweet of flavour for the Heavenly Race, for Indra sweet, whose name is easily invoked: Flow sweet for Mitra, Varuna, and Vayu, rich in meath, inviolable for Brihaspati.
atyam mṛjanti kalaśe daśa kṣipaḥ pra viprāṇām matayo vāca īrate pavamānā abhy arṣanti suṣṭutim endraṃ viśanti madirāsa indavaḥ
Ten rapid fingers deck the Courser in the jar: with hymns the holy singers send their voices forth. The filtering juices hasten to their eulogy, the drops that gladden find their way to Indra's heart.
pavamāno abhy arṣā suvīryam urvīṃ gavyūtim mahi śarma saprathaḥ mākir no asya pariṣūtir īśatendo jayema tvayā dhanaṃ dhanam
While thou art purified pour on us hero strength, great, far-extended shelter, spacious pasturage. Let no oppression master this our holy work: may we, O Indu, gain all opulence through thee.
adhi dyām asthād vṛṣabho vicakṣaṇo 'rūrucad vi divo rocanā kaviḥ rājā pavitram aty eti roruvad divaḥ pīyūṣaṃ duhate nṛcakṣasaḥ
The Steer who sees afar hath risen above the sky: the Sage hath caused the lights of heaven to give their shine. The. King is passing through the filter with a roar: they drain the milk of heaven from him who looks on men.
divo nāke madhujihvā asaścato venā duhanty ukṣaṇaṃ giriṣṭhām apsu drapsaṃ vāvṛdhānaṃ samudra ā sindhor ūrmā madhumantam pavitra ā
High in the vault of heaven, unceasing, honey-tongued, the Loving Ones drain out the mountain-haunting Steer,- The drop that hath grown great in waters, in the lake meath-rich, in the stream's wave and in the cleansing sieve.
nāke suparṇam upapaptivāṃsaṃ giro venānām akṛpanta pūrvīḥ śiśuṃ rihanti matayaḥ panipnataṃ hiraṇyayaṃ śakunaṃ kṣāmaṇi sthām
The Loving Ones besought with many voices the Eagle who had flown away to heaven. Hymns kiss the Youngling worthy of laudation, resting on earth, the Bird of golden colour.
bhānuḥ śukreṇa śociṣā vy adyaut prārūrucad rodasī mātarā śuciḥ
High to heaven's vault hath the Gandharva risen, beholding all his varied forms and figures. His ray hath shone abroad with gleaming splendour: pure, he hath lighted both the worlds, the Parents.