With a mighty sweep, Garuḍa broke off a great branch from a towering tree. As he looked around with a gentle smile, his sharp eyes fell upon the Valakhilya sages—tiny ascetics—hanging upside down from that very branch, deep in their penances. Seeing these revered Brahmarshis suspended there, Garuḍa’s heart stirred with compassion. He thought to himself, “These sages are hanging here; I must not harm them.” Determined to protect the sages, Garuḍa resolved, “I will not let them fall to harm.” With his powerful claws, he firmly grasped the elephant and tortoise he had captured for his meal. Yet, mindful of the ascetics’ safety, the great bird, out of fear for their destruction, leapt up and seized the branch gently with his beak, carefully observing the sages’ condition. Witnessing this astonishing feat—one beyond ordinary strength—the Valakhilya sages were filled with awe and their hearts trembled. They spoke among themselves of Garuḍa’s immense might, marveling at the bird who, bearing such a heavy burden, soared effortlessly through the sky. Thus, Garuḍa, the foremost of birds and the devourer of serpents, began his journey. He flew slowly at first, his mighty wings shaking the very mountains as he traveled across many lands, still carrying the elephant and tortoise. Out of compassion for the Valakhilyas, he sought a place to set the branch down without bringing harm, but found none suitable. Swiftly, he turned toward Gandhamādana—the greatest of mountains. There, Garuḍa saw his father, the sage Kaśyapa, absorbed in deep austerity. Kaśyapa, too, beheld his divine son—brilliant, powerful, and swift as thought or wind, resembling a mountain peak, like the very staff of Brahma uplifted. Garuḍa’s form was unthinkable and indescribable, terrifying to all beings, fierce as fire blazing before one’s eyes, unassailable by gods, demons, or rākṣasas, a destroyer of mountain peaks, and one who could dry up the oceans. He moved through the worlds like Death himself. Seeing his formidable son approach, the venerable Kaśyapa, understanding Garuḍa’s intent, spoke words of caution: “My son, do not act rashly; do not bring suffering upon yourself. Let not the anger of the Valakhilyas and the Marīcis fall upon you and burn you.” For the sake of his son, Kaśyapa turned to the illustrious Valakhilyas, purified by their austerities, and sought to appease them. “For the welfare of all creatures, Garuḍa wishes to accomplish a great task. O ascetics, please grant him your permission.” Respecting Kaśyapa’s words, the sages departed, releasing the branch and journeying to the sacred mountain Himavat to continue their austerities. Once they had left, Garuḍa, his vision still blocked by the branch, turned to his father and asked, “Father, where shall I set down this branch? Please tell me of a place where no humans dwell.” Kaśyapa guided him, describing a mountain devoid of people, its caves sealed by snow, inaccessible even to the mind. With this direction, the great bird, swift as thought, flew toward that mountain, carrying the branch along with the elephant and tortoise. No mortal could have lifted that immense branch or the hide of such a great beast, but Garuḍa, grasping the massive bough, soared effortlessly. In a short time, he traveled a hundred thousand yojanas, and, upon reaching the mountain as his father had instructed, he released the branch with a thunderous crash. The wind from Garuḍa’s wings made the king of mountains tremble; trees collided, and a rain of flowers fell. The peaks shattered, revealing gems and gold, beautifying the mountain further. Struck by the branch, many trees gleamed with golden blossoms, shining like clouds lit by lightning. The mingling of gold and minerals created a dazzling display, reflecting the sun’s rays. Then, atop the mountain peak, Garuḍa, the lord of birds, sat down and began to eat both the elephant and the tortoise. Having devoured his meal, the swift Tārkṣya leapt up from the mountain summit. At that moment, ominous portents appeared among the gods. Indra’s beloved thunderbolt blazed forth in fear, and a fiery meteor, trailing smoke, fell from the sky, alarming the Vasus, Rudras, and all the Ādityas. Among the Sādhyas, Maruts, and other divine hosts, each seized their weapons, rushing about in confusion. A tumultuous battle erupted between gods and asuras, the like of which had never been seen. Winds howled with thunder, thousands of meteors rained down, and the sky, though cloudless, roared with a mighty sound. Even the god of gods rained blood upon the earth. The garlands of the gods withered, their brilliance faded, and dreadful clouds poured torrents of blood. Dust rose, striking their crowns, and the gods, terrified and disturbed, turned to Indra. Indra, alarmed by these dreadful omens, spoke to Bṛhaspati: “O blessed one, why have these terrible signs suddenly appeared? I see no enemy in battle who could overpower us.” Bṛhaspati replied, “Because of your fault, O Indra, and your negligence, O wielder of the thunderbolt, by the great austerity of the Valakhilya sages, the son of sage Kaśyapa—the sky-roaming child of Vinatā, strong and able to assume any form at will—has set out to seize the Soma.