Come, Indra of pure fame, whose bulls fight fiercely—when they clash he breaks tenfold brightness. The scattered seed fell not; the sky’s twofold cry stood firm like the roaring man and the steed.

You, Indra, have protected Kutsa, grateful for his praises; you have defended the excellent Daśadyu engaged in battle; the dust of your courser's hoofs ascended to heaven; the son of Śvita, (through your favour), rose up, to be again unborn by men.

Indra, thou helpest Kutsa whom thou lovedst, and guardedst brave Dagadyu when he battled, The dust of trampling horses rose to heaven, and Svitri's son stood up again for conquest.