1Here, Indra, is thy Soma draught, made pure upon the sacred grass: Run hither, come and drink thereof!

2Strong-rayed! adored with earnest hymns! this juice is shed for thy delight: Thou art invoked, Akhandala!

3To Kundapayya, grandson's son, grandson of Sringavrish! to thee, To him have I addressed my thought.