The mighty king of birds, Garuḍa, destroyer of enemies and son of Vinatā, soared high above the gods, his vast form stationed in the open sky. Seeing him there, all the assembled gods, led by Indra, unleashed a shower of weapons—lances, clubs, spears, and maces—raining them down upon him from every side. They hurled blazing, razor-edged discs, shining like the sun, and struck at Garuḍa with a multitude of arms. Yet Garuḍa, undaunted and resolute, fought a terrible battle. Mighty as he was, he seemed to burn the very sky as he scattered the gods with the force of his wings, his powerful chest, and his sharp beak. The gods, wounded by his claws and beak and scattered by his might, fled in all directions, shedding blood as they went. The Sādhyas and Gandharvas retreated to the east, the Vasus to the south, and the Rudras together fled, routed by the king of birds. The Ādityas went west, the Ashvins north, all the while looking back in awe and fear at Garuḍa’s terrible prowess. But Garuḍa was not yet finished. He fought fiercely with the hero Ashvakranda, with Renuka, the valiant Krathana, and Tapana, the roamer of the sky. He battled Uluka and Svasana, Nimesha, Praruja, and Pulina. Enraged, like Shiva at the end of an age, Garuḍa struck them all with the tips of his wings, his claws, and his beak, scorching his foes with his fury. The gods, wounded in many ways by Garuḍa’s strength and energy, roared like thunderclouds, blood pouring from their wounds. Having slain all who opposed him, the foremost of birds pressed on in search of the nectar of immortality. Before him, he beheld fire on every side—a vast, blazing conflagration whose flames enveloped the sky, burning fiercely and fanned by violent winds, its rays sharp and terrible. With his wings as his chariot, Garuḍa crossed this blazing fire by means of rivers. Then, wishing to enter, he subdued the fire and made his form small, slipping through with ease. Very swiftly, Garuḍa returned, his body now golden as jambū-nada, shining with countless rays. He entered forcefully, like a rushing torrent pouring into the ocean. There, near the nectar, he saw a dreadful wheel, its edges razor-sharp and spinning ceaselessly—a blade of iron, blazing with the radiance of fire and sun, terrifying and expertly crafted by the gods to guard the nectar. Garuda saw a gap in the spinning wheel. Compressing his form in an instant, he darted through the space between the spokes. Beneath the wheel, two serpents guarded the nectar, their brilliance like blazing fire, tongues like lightning, and great might shining in their mouths and glowing eyes. Their gaze was venomous, fierce, and ever wrathful. Whoever met their eyes would be reduced to ashes in an instant. At first, Garuḍa was dismayed. How could he overcome these two mighty, ever-hungry serpents? Quickly shaking off his fear, Garuḍa scattered dust to cover their eyes, and, unseen by them, struck from all sides. Mounting their bodies, he swiftly cut them in two and rushed toward the soma, the nectar. With great strength, Garuḍa seized the nectar and tore apart the dreadful device. Without tasting a drop, he soared away with the vessel, his radiance blocking the brilliance of the sun as he flew. There, in the sky, Garuḍa met Viṣṇu, the imperishable lord, who was pleased by Garuḍa’s deed, done without greed. Viṣṇu, the granter of boons, spoke to the sky-roaming Garuḍa and offered him a boon. Garuḍa asked, “Let me ever remain above you.” Then he requested, “May I be ageless and immortal, even without drinking the nectar.” Viṣṇu granted his wishes, and Garuḍa, in turn, offered a boon to the Blessed Lord. Viṣṇu chose Garuḍa himself as his vehicle, making him his banner and declaring he would always remain above the Lord. With the blessings of Viṣṇu, Garuḍa sped forth again, swift as the wind. As he was carrying away the nectar, Indra, king of the gods, struck Garuḍa with his thunderbolt. Though Indra struck him out of anger, Garuḍa laughed gently and spoke with honor: “I will honor the sage whose bone became the thunderbolt, and I will honor the thunderbolt and you, O Śatakratu. I will shed a single feather, whose end you will never find. Nor do I feel any pain from your blow.” Having said this, Garuḍa released his feather, and from then on, he was called Suparṇa, the beautiful-winged one. Witnessing this great marvel, Indra, the thousand-eyed Purandara, was filled with wonder. He recognized Garuḍa’s supreme strength and, desiring endless friendship with the best of birds, spoke with reverence to him, seeking his favor and alliance.