O Vāsava, behold—before you lies the city of your foes, Tripura, resplendent with flying palaces, vibrant banners, and fluttering flags. This event, notorious and searing like fire, has come to pass: the people of Tripura, towering and formidable as mountains, are adorned with glittering earrings and regal crowns. Within the fortified ramparts, at the gateways and atop the watchtowers, the Dānavas stand guard. Their forms are as dark as thunderclouds, their faces twisted and fearsome. The Daityas, armed and hungry for victory, surge forth to meet their destiny. Therefore, rally yourself, Indra, and assemble the gods. Gather your chosen weapons and allies, and march out to destroy these great asuras along with my own fierce attendants. As for me, declared the mighty Rudra, I will stand unwavering in the finest of chariots, like a mountain that cannot be moved. I shall position myself before the city, waiting for the perfect moment to secure your victory. But know this, Indra: when the conjunction with Puṣya arrives and the three cities align as one, then, with a single arrow, I will reduce them to ashes. Thus instructed by the blessed Rudra, Indra, lord of the gods, departed, his army in tow, determined to conquer Tripura. Terrifying chariots rolled forward, the gods and their hosts of attendants roaring like lions as they surged forth, their advance as dramatic as clouds rising in the sky. The tumult reached the Daityas of Tripura, who, eager for the coming battle, sprang up and rushed out, fully armed. They soared through the sky toward the lords of the divine hosts. Others among them, swelling with pride and roaring like thunderous clouds, beat their instruments with lion-like cries, their confidence rising. Yet, the thunderous roar of the gods and the blare of their instruments were swallowed up by the cries of the Daityas, just as the moon is hidden by rain-laden clouds. As the ocean swells at the full moon’s rise, so too did Tripura surge, teeming with fierce and mighty Asuras. Within the city, some stood sentinel upon the ramparts, others guarded the gateways, and some climbed the watchtowers, their voices trembling with agitation and uncertainty. Valiant Dānavas adorned themselves with golden garlands and shining garments, roaring like clouds heavy with rain. Others, dressed in strange attire, darted about within their homes, questioning one another in confusion: “What is this?” Some replied, “I do not know; my knowledge is hidden within. You will soon see—time is vast and ever-expanding.” Amid this turmoil stood the lord of the earth, majestic as a lion upon his chariot, pressing upon Tripura, looming over the city like a disease upon a body. “Whoever he is, let him be. Why worry in confusion? Take up your weapon—what need is there for questions?” Thus, the Daityas of Tripura exchanged sharp words, questioning and challenging one another. From the city bearing Tāraka’s name, the Daityas, led by Tāraka himself, burst forth in fury, like great serpents emerging from their lairs. But their charge was halted by the chiefs of the Pramatha hosts, who stood firm like lion kings blocking the path of mighty elephants. Among these proud warriors, their forms blazed like flames fanned by the wind. Grasping their mighty bows, they loosed dreadful sounds in every direction, and arrows hungry for life flew as they struck one another. The Danavas, seeing attendants with faces like cats, deer, and terrifying beasts, their features twisted and strange, laughed loudly and often, proud of their own beauty. With arms strong as iron clubs, they drew their bows, and their arrows pierced the armor of warriors like birds diving into a lake. “Where do you think you’re going, now that you are as good as dead? We will kill you—turn back!” the Danavas shouted harshly at the chief attendants. The Pramatha hosts struck back, shattering Daityas and Danavas alike with sharp arrows, as the sun’s rays break apart clouds. Even those with lion-like eyes and strides were beaten down by rocks, boulders, and trees hurled by the divine hosts. The city became overwhelmed by Danavas, as the sky is crowded with swans or the ocean filled with clouds. The Daitya lords, drawing their bows, filled the air with stormy showers of arrows, their chests marked with rainbow-like streaks, like clouds in a turbulent season. Struck again and again by arrows, the chiefs of the divine hosts released the essence of their bodies, like mountains yielding gold ore. Daityas fell, crushed by trees, stones, thunderbolts, spears, and axes—shattered like glass beneath heavy blows. Tripura blazed forth, dominated by mighty and terrifying demons, swelling like the ocean at the full moon’s rise. The Daityas cried out, “Victory to Tāraka!” while the chiefs of the hosts proclaimed, “Victory to Indra and Rudra!” In that ocean of battle, warriors were blocked and torn apart by arrows, the tumult resounding like clouds heavy with rain in the monsoon. The battlefield became a terrifying sight, littered with severed hands and heads, pale banners, and umbrellas, awash in flesh and blood. Suddenly, Danavas and attendants leapt into the sky, only to be struck down by mighty weapons, falling before their foes. Siddhas, Apsaras, and Charanas moving through the heavens rejoiced at the powerful blows, exclaiming, “Excellent! Excellent!” Without being struck, celestial drums thundered in the sky, roaring like clouds or wild beasts in anger. In Tripura, the Daityas, their faces contorted with rage, entered the rivers like serpents slipping into anthills, just as rivers flow into the ocean.