In the midst of the battlefield, a dreadful river of blood coursed through the land, carried along by the bodies of fallen heroic elephants and horses. The sight was so terrifying that it struck fear into the hearts of wicked men who beheld it, as if it were the blazing path of the sun they so desperately sought. Severed heads of warriors, their hair still clinging to them, lay scattered along the broken banks. These heads shone in the sunlight, resembling gourds floating in the river, almost as though children had placed them there in play. Above the earth, the soul of a dead hero, fallen from his chariot, watched as a vulture circled his beloved body, yearning intensely to re-enter it despite his helplessness. Even in death, a noble king, riding in a resplendent celestial chariot, addressed his beloved goddess seated on his lap, saying, “Behold my body, struck by arrows and fallen to the earth, O fair-armed beloved.” Another, slain by his enemy, ascended alone to the heavens in a celestial chariot with a divine maiden. After offering his body to the fire, his beloved, accompanied by her attendants, took hold of him. In the heat of battle, two valiant warriors were slain by each other’s weapons and departed together to heaven. There, they resumed their fierce combat, wielding powerful weapons, until an apsaras, disturbed by their quarrel, intervened. Elsewhere, a youth attained the company of a celestial maiden of surpassing beauty and virtue. He praised his own qualities before her, and united in yoga, lovingly engaged with her. The dust of the earth spread far and wide, and night enveloped the sun in the sky. Suddenly, the dust transformed into a sea of blood, and the sun shone forth with extraordinary brilliance. Someone, having ascended to the heavens, encountered a divine maiden with a lovely face and a devoted heart. Yet, fearing to break his vows, he refrained from embracing her, thinking her favorable words would go in vain. As battle raged, King Yudhajit struck down Virasena with fierce and terrible arrows. Virasena, slain, fell to the earth with his head severed, and his forces shattered, fleeing in every direction. Manorama, hearing that her father had been killed at the height of battle, was seized by terror, recalling her father’s enmity. She thought, “Yudhajit, wicked in his intent, will kill my son out of greed for the kingdom,” and was overcome by anxious thoughts. Distraught, Manorama lamented, “What shall I do, where shall I go? My father has been slain in battle, my husband 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 even the best of kings not commit when possessed by it? A person seized by greed kills father, mother, brothers, teachers, relatives, and friends—there is no deliberation in this. Driven by desire, one eats what should not be eaten, goes where one should not go, and abandons righteousness.” She realized, “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. Lilavati, ever hostile, will surely become my rival; she will not show compassion to my son. If Yudhajit arrives, I will have no escape; knowing my son is a child, he will take him to prison today.” Manorama recalled tales of cruelty: “It is heard that, by the king of the city, a child in his mother’s womb was cut into seven pieces; afterwards, those seven became sevenfold. Entering the mother’s womb, he made a small blade in his hand; even so, forty-nine Maruts arose in heaven. Poison was given by the co-wife to the king’s wife, intending to destroy the fetus; I have heard this happened in the city. Afterwards, the boy was born with poison in his body; thus he became known as Sagara throughout the world. While her husband was alive, Kaikeyi, the king’s wife, caused Rama, the eldest, to be exiled; King Dasharatha died.” She pondered the political situation: “The ministers are not independent; those who wish to make my son Sudarshana king are under the control of Yudhajit. My brother is not so valiant as to free me from captivity; by the force of fate, I have encountered great suffering. Nevertheless, effort must always be made, for success arises from destiny; today, I will quickly devise a means to protect my son.” Resolute, Manorama summoned Vidalla, a minister exceedingly proud, skilled in all affairs, and foremost among thoughtful counselors. Calling him aside in private, she spoke, overwhelmed with sorrow, holding her boy in her arms, weeping and distressed at heart. She said, “My father has been slain in battle, and this child is my son; King Yudhajit is powerful—tell me, what should be done?” Vidalla replied, “We must not remain here; let us go at once to the forest near Varanasi. There, your maternal uncle Subahu dwells; he is very powerful and will be our protector. With your mind eager to see Yudhajit, you must leave the city, mount the chariot, and depart—there is no doubt in this.” Following Vidalla’s counsel, the queen went to Lilavati and said, “O fair-eyed one, today I am going to see my father.” Having said this, she mounted the chariot, accompanied by her maid and Vidalla, and departed from the city. Frightened, deeply distressed, and overwhelmed by grief for her father, she saw King Yudhajit and her father, now lifeless. Quickly, trembling and filled with fear, she performed the funeral rites and, within two days, reached the bank of the Bhagirathi. There, cruel robbers of the Nishada tribe seized all their wealth and even took their chariot.