Then Yudhājit, intent on securing the throne, questioned, “Which of the two sons is the elder? Only the elder may rightfully inherit the kingdom; never the younger.” In response, Vīrasena spoke, “It is the son of the lawful wife who deserves the throne, O King, as I have learned from those versed in the scriptures.” But Yudhājit pressed his claim further, declaring, “This one is the elder and, by his qualities, bears the marks of royalty; Sudarśana does not possess such marks in the same way.” A sharp dispute erupted between these two ambitious kings, each driven by greed, and the question of succession seemed impossible to resolve. Yudhājit then turned to the ministers, accusing them, “You are all self-serving; you wish to make Sudarśana king so that you might enjoy the kingdom’s wealth.” He continued, “I have discerned your intentions by your gestures. Therefore, I favor Śatrujit, who commands an army, for the royal seat.” His challenge was clear: “While I live, who would crown the younger son, forsaking the elder who is worthy and supported by the army?” He threatened, “I will surely wage war; by the power of my sword, the earth itself will be split—what need is there to speak of you?” Hearing these words, Vīrasena replied, “Both sons are young and equal in intelligence; what difference is there between them, O wise one?” Yet as the two kings continued their heated argument, anxiety spread among the people and the sages. The vassal kings, each with their own armies and prepared for hardship, gathered together, every one alert and eager for conflict. News of the king’s death reached the Nishadas who dwelled in Śṛṅgaverapura, and they arrived, intent on seizing royal wealth. Word also spread that the king’s sons were mere children and that discord reigned among the claimants; soon, thieves from distant places gathered, drawn by the prospect of chaos. Strife erupted, and the tumult grew as Yudhājit and Vīrasena, both eager for battle, became bitter rivals. Amidst this unrest, the journey toward the delightful Bhāradvāja hermitage began. On the battlefield, King Yudhājit stood firm, broad-shouldered and gripping his bow, resolute for combat, surrounded by his forces, vehicles, and attendants. Vīrasena, too, took his stand, encircled by his army, devoted to the warrior’s code and intent on the welfare of his daughter’s son, his presence radiant like the lord of the gods. Filled with wrath and true valor, Vīrasena unleashed a shower of arrows upon Yudhājit, who stood unshaken, like a mountain lashed by torrents of rain. His swift, straight, and sharp arrows enveloped Yudhājit, and with his own skill, he cut down the arrows that Yudhājit loosed, causing them to fall with great speed. A tremendous battle erupted among elephants, chariots, and horses, watched by assemblies of gods, men, and sages. The sky darkened with flocks of vultures and other birds, drawn by the scent of flesh. A dreadful river of blood began to flow, carried along by the bodies of heroic elephants and horses, terrifying the wicked who beheld it, as if it were the very path of the sun they so desired. Severed heads, still covered with hair, were scattered along the broken banks, shining like gourds floating in the river, as though children, eager to play, had set them adrift, illuminated by the sun’s rays. A fallen hero, cast down from his chariot, was circled by a vulture seeking flesh, and even the soul, seeing its beloved body, longed to re-enter it, though helpless to do so. Some slain warriors, now mounted in splendid celestial chariots, addressed their beloved goddesses seated on their laps: “Behold my body, pierced by arrows and fallen to earth, O fair-armed beloved.” Others, struck down by their enemies, ascended alone to the sky, joined by celestial maidens who took hold of them after their bodies were offered to the fire. In another vision, two valiant warriors, slain by each other’s weapons, departed together to heaven, where they resumed their fierce battle, employing mighty weapons, until an apsaras intervened, disturbed by their quarrel. Yet another youth, having attained a celestial maiden of surpassing beauty and virtue, praised his own qualities before her and, united in yoga, lovingly joined with her. The dust of battle spread across the earth, and night seemed to envelop the sun. Suddenly, that dust transformed into a sea of blood, and the sun shone forth with extraordinary brilliance. Someone, ascending to the sky, encountered a divine maiden with a lovely face and a devoted heart; fearing for his vows, he refrained from embracing her, thinking, “Her kind words will go unfulfilled for me.” In the midst of this fierce conflict, King Yudhājit struck down Vīrasena with terrible arrows. Slain, Vīrasena fell to the earth, his head severed, and his forces scattered in panic. News of her father’s death reached Manorama, and fear overcame her as she recalled the deep enmity between her father and Yudhājit. She thought, “Yudhājit, wicked in his intent, will surely kill my son out of greed for the throne.” Overwhelmed by anxiety, she lamented, “What shall I do, where shall I go? My father has been slain in battle, my husband too has died today, and my son is but a child.” She reflected on the nature of greed: “Greed is exceedingly wicked—who is not ensnared by it? What evil would not even the best of kings commit when possessed by it? One seized by greed kills father, mother, brothers, teachers, relatives, and friends—there is no deliberation. Driven by desire, one eats what should not be eaten, goes where one should not go, and abandons righteousness again.” Despairing, she continued, “I have no powerful ally in this city; as long as I remain here, I must protect my noble son. If the king kills my son today, what will I do then? I have no protector in the world by whom I might remain secure. And Lilavati, ever hostile, will surely become my rival; she will not show compassion to my son.