1THERE 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.

2Where, 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.

3There 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.

4Where, 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.

5If 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.

6O 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.

7Best strength-givers, ye stretch wide jaws, O Sacrificial Implements,     Like two bay horses champing herbs.

8Ye Sovrans of the Forest, both swift, with swift pressers press to-day     Sweet Soma juice for Indra's drink.

9Take up in beakers what remains: the Soma on the filter pour,     and on the ox-hide set the dregs.