Ralph T.H. Griffith, Translator

Book 9

HYMN I. Soma Pavamana.

In sweetest and most gladdening stream flow pure, O Soma, on thy way,
Pressed out for Indra, for his drink.

Fiend-queller, Friend of all men, he hath with the wood attained unto
His place, his iron-fashioned home.

Be thou best Vṛitra-slayer, best granter of bliss, most liberal:
Promote our wealthy princes’ gifts.

Flow onward with thy juice unto the banquet of the Mighty Gods:
Flow hither for our strength and fame.

O Indu, we draw nigh to thee, with this one object day by day:
To thee alone our prayers are said.

By means of this eternal fleece may Sūrya’s Daughter purify
Thy Soma that is foaming forth.

Ten sister maids of slender form seize him within the press and hold
Him firmly on the final day.

The virgins send him forth: they blow the the skin musician-like and fuse
The triple foe-repelling meath.

Inviolable milch-kine round about him blend for Indra’s drink,
The fresh young Soma with their milk.

In the wild raptures of this draught, Indra slays all the Vṛitras: he,
The Hero, pours his wealth on us.

HYMN II. Soma Pavamana.

Soma, flow on, inviting Gods, speed to the purifying cloth:
Pass into Indra, as a Bull.

As mighty food speed hitherward, Indu, as a most splendid Steer:
Sit in thy place as one with strength.

The well-loved meath was made to flow, the stream of the creative juice:
The Sage drew waters to himself.

The mighty waters, yea, the floods accompany thee Mighty One,
When thou wilt clothe thee with the milk.

The lake is brightened in the floods. Soma, our Friend, heaven’s prop and stay,
Falls on the purifying cloth.

The tawny Bull hath bellowed, fair as mighty Mitra to behold:
He shines together with the Sun.

Songs, Indu, active in their might are beautified for thee, wherewith
Thou deckest thee for our delight.

To thee who givest ample room we pray, to win the joyous draught:
Great are the praises due to thee.

Indu as, Indra’s Friend, on us pour with a stream of sweetness, like
Parjanya sender of the rain.

Winner of kine, Indu, art thou, winner of heroes, steeds, and strength:
Primeval Soul of sacrifice.

HYMN III. Soma Pavamana.

HERE present this Immortal God flies, like a bird upon her wings,
To settle in the vats of wood.

This God, made ready with the hymn, runs swiftly through the winding ways,
Inviolable as he flows.

This God while flowing is adorned, like a bay steed for war, by men
Devout and skilled in holy songs.

He, like a warrior going forth with heroes, as he flows along
Is fain to win all precious boons.

This God, as he is flowing on, speeds like a car and gives his gifts:
He lets his voice be heard of all.

Praised by the sacred bards, this God dives into waters, and bestows
Rich gifts upon the worshipper.

Away he rushes with his stream, across the regions, into heaven,
And roars as he is flowing on.

While flowing, meet for sacrifice, he hath gone up to heaven across
The regions, irresistible.

After the way of ancient time, this God, pressed out for Deities,
Flows tawny to the straining-cloth.

This Lord of many Holy Laws, even at his birth engendering strength,
Effused, flows onward in a stream.

HYMN IV. Soma Pavamana.

O Soma flowing on thy way, win thou and conquer high renown;
And make us better than we are.

Win thou the light, win heavenly light, and, Soma, all felicities;
And make us better than we are.

Win skilful strength and mental power. O Soma, drive away our foes;
And make us better than we are.

Ye purifiers, purify Soma for Indra, for his drink:
Make thou us better than we are.

Give us our portion in the Sun through thine own mental power and aids;
And make us better than we are.

Through thine own mental power and aid long may we look upon the Sun;
Make thou us better than we are.

Well-weaponed Soma, pour to us a stream of riches doubly great;
And make us better than we are.

As one victorious unsubdued in battle pour forth wealth to us;
And make us better than we are.

By worship, Pavamana! men have strengthened thee to prop the Law:
Make thou us better than we are.

O Indu, bring us wealth in steeds, manifold, quickening all life;
And mate us better than we are.

HYMN V Āprīs.

ENKINDLED, Pavamana, Lord, sends forth his light on, every side
In friendly show, the bellowing Bull.

He, Pavamana, Self-produced, speeds onward sharpening his horns:
He glitters through the firmament.

Brilliant like wealth, adorable, with splendour Pavamana shines,
Mightily with the streams of meath.

The tawny Pavamana, who strews from of old the grass with might,
Is worshipped, God amid the Gods.

The golden, the Celestial Doors are lifted with their frames on high,
By Pavamana glorified.

With passion Pavamana longs for the great lofty pair, well-formed,
Like beauteous maidens, Night and Dawn.

Both Gods who look on men I call, Celestial Heralds: Indra’s Self
Is Pavamana, yea, the Bull.