Indra, the king of the gods, prepared himself for battle with great resolve. He honored the sacred fire and the Brahmins, generously giving gifts to all who sought them, and the bards sang his praises. Yet Indra knew that Maya, the powerful magician and his enemy, was approaching, seeking a worthy fight. To meet this challenge, Maghavan—another name for Indra—transformed himself into a Brahmin and went to Maya. Again and again, the husband of Śacī addressed the Daitya, Maya. “O lord of the Daityas,” Indra said, “grant me the boon I desire. I have come to you, having heard of your generosity, as a foremost Brahmin seeking a favor.” Believing Indra to be a true Brahmin, Maya replied, “I have given you what you ask. The wise always consider whether to give much or little to a supplicant.” At this, Hari—another name for Indra—spoke: “I desire friendship with you.” Maya, still unaware of Indra’s true identity, asked, “What use is this, O best of Brahmins?” “You have no enmity with me, friend,” Hari replied. “Speak the truth.” At these words, the Daitya revealed his own form. Then Indra showed Maya his divine form as Sahasrākṣa, the thousand-eyed one. Maya was amazed and addressed Hari, “What is this? You are Vajrapāṇi, the wielder of the thunderbolt! Such an act is unworthy of you, friend.” Embracing Maya and laughing, Hari said, “It is done. The wise accomplish their aim by whatever means they must.” From that moment, a deep affection grew between Śakra (Indra) and Maya. Maya became ever devoted to Hari. Later, Maya went to Indra’s palace and reported everything that had happened. Hari then asked Maya, the great magician, “What should I do?” Maya gladly offered his magical powers to Hari, and Indra, pleased, asked again, “What should I do, Maya? Tell me.” Maya advised, “Go to the hermitage of Agastya. There, Diti, who is pregnant, resides. Serve her and remain there for some time.” He continued, “O Maghavan, enter her womb and, bearing the thunderbolt, cut the growing embryo until it submits or dies. Continue striking with the thunderbolt until the enemy is no more.” Indra agreed, saying, “So be it.” He honored Maya and, alone and humble, went to Diti, his mother, serving her with devotion. Diti, unaware of Indra’s true intent, accepted his service. Within Diti’s womb, whatever being was present, the power of the sage Kashyapa—her husband and Indra’s father—remained unfailing and unassailable. Indra, the thousand-eyed Purandara, grasped his thunderbolt and, wishing to enter the womb, waited patiently for the right moment. One twilight, when Diti lay asleep with her head washed, Indra seized the opportunity. Armed with the thunderbolt, he said, “This is the moment,” and entered Diti’s womb. Inside, the being within saw Indra, armed and intent on killing, and spoke out fearlessly, again and again: “Why do you not protect me, O wielder of the thunderbolt? You seek to kill your own brother! In battle, nothing is a greater sin than killing one’s kin. Except in battle, mighty-armed one, fight only when I have left the womb. This is not fitting for you, O Śakra. You are Śatakratu, the thousand-eyed, husband of Śacī, Purandara, lord of the gods—such an act is not proper for you, O master. Or, if you truly desire battle with me, arrange for my exit as you wish; move me from this path. Even the greatest, when in danger, do not act wrongly. One who is ignorant and unarmed should not be attacked. You are learned, O wielder of the thunderbolt. Do you not feel shame in striking me? Noble people never commit blameworthy deeds. What fame or merit arises from killing, or from slaying brothers while they are still in the womb? What manliness is there in that? If your devotion to battle is truly directed at me, O brother, then without doubt, I stand before you, O wielder of the thunderbolt, with my fist raised. A slayer of children, a slayer of Brahmins, a betrayer of trust—such a person reaps the bitter fruit of these acts. Why, O Śakra, are you intent on killing me? By whose command all this, moving and unmoving, exists—would he kill a child like me? What fame or manliness is there in that?” Despite these words, Indra, blinded by anger and greed, struck the embryo with his thunderbolt. For those consumed by such passions, compassion is nowhere to be found. The being did not die from sorrow. His brothers cried, “We are still alive!” Indra cut them again, and they pleaded, “Do not kill us!” But Indra, his mind clouded by hatred, felt no compassion for his own brothers, who trusted him even as they remained in their mother’s womb. Thus, the embryo was cut into pieces, yet each piece lived, complete with hands, feet, and other limbs. Seeing this, seven times seven, Indra was astonished. Though originally one, the embryos took on many forms, beautiful and auspicious, and cried out in many voices. Hari said to them, “Do not cry.” Thus were born the Maruts, strong and full of energy. Even while still in the womb, they spoke to each other, their confusion gone, and addressed Indra: “Our mother, staying in the hermitage of Agastya, the tiger among sages, whose father is our father and your brother, values your friendship highly. O sage, we know your mind is affectionate toward us; what the outcaste does, Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt, does not act thus.” Hearing these words, Agastya was deeply agitated and went to Diti, who was suffering the pain of her pregnancy. There, Agastya, greatly angered, cursed Indra, the beloved of Śacī: “O Hari, in battle, may your enemies always see your back! For the proud, this is death while living—when their foes see them fleeing from combat.