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1
THERE where the broad-based stone raised on high to press the juices out,
O Indra,
drink with eager thirst the droppings which the mortar sheds.
2
Where, like broad hips, to hold the juice the platters of the press are laid,
O Indra,
drink with eager thirst the droppings which the mortar sheds.
3
There where the woman marks and leans the pestle's constant rise and fall,
O Indra, drink
with eager thirst the droppings which the mortar sheds.
4
Where, as with reins to guide a horse, they bind the churning-staff with cords,
O Indra,
drink with eager thirst the droppings which the mortar sheds.
5
If of a truth in every house, O Mortar thou art set for work,
Here give
thou forth thy clearest sound, loud as the drum of conquerors.
6
O Sovran of the Forest, as the wind blows soft in front of thee,
Mortar, for
Indra press thou forth the Soma juice that he may drink.
7
Best strength-givers, ye stretch wide jaws, O Sacrificial Implements,
Like two
bay horses champing herbs.
8
Ye Sovrans of the Forest, both swift, with swift pressers press to-day
Sweet Soma
juice for Indra's drink.
9
Take up in beakers what remains: the Soma on the filter pour,
and on the
ox-hide set the dregs.
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