Thou art our thousand helpers, O Indra: a thousand, Lord of Bays, thy choice gifts. Thou dost have wealth in a thousand sorts to cheer us: may precious goods come close to us in thousands.
May the wisest Maruts, with protection, with best blessings brought from lofty heaven, approach us, Now when their team of the most noble horses speeds even to the sea's utmost edge.
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 do not drive Rodasī before them, but wish her to be their friend and companion.
When chosen immortal Rodasī follows—she with loose tresses and heroic spirit— She climbs her servant’s chariot, like Surya with cloud-like motion and refulgent aspect.
On their car the young men place the maiden wedded to glory, mighty in assemblies, When your song, Maruts, rises, and, with oblation, the Soma-pourer sings his hymn in worship.
I will declare the greatness of these Maruts, their true greatness, worthy to be praised, How, with them, she though firm, strong-minded, haughty, travels to women happy in their fortune.
Mitra and Varuṇa they guard from blame; Aryaman too, discovers worthless sinners. Things that never were shaken are now overthrown; he prospers, Maruts, who gives choice oblations.
None of us, Maruts, near or afar, has ever reached the limit of your strength. They in courageous might still wax boldly, surrounding their foes like an ocean.
May we this day be dear friends of Indra, and call on him in battle tomorrow. So were we erst. Daily might attends us! So be with us! Ṛbhukṣan of the Heroes!
May this your praise, 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.