Questioning that thunderer, the mighty one in the foremost chariot, they asked Indra who speaks not; I long to sing his bold strength, his shell and tortoise—O bright one, I would sing thy crimson might.

He whose ceremonial and eulogistic hymn is commemorating Indra, the holder of the thunderbolt, seated in his car, the accepter of many, the doer of many great deeds, the bestower of strength, proceeds promptly to acquire happiness, and encounters (with confidence) the malevolent.

He who for car-borne Indra, armed with thunder, hath a hymn, craving, deeply-piercing, fluent, Who sends a song effectual, firmly-grasping, and strength-bestowing, he comes near the mighty.