As the battle raged, the Pramathas and Daityas whirled about in a frenzy, just as sharks and crocodiles churn the waters in their struggle. Their violent clashes left many wounded, and the air was pierced by cries of agony from those whose bodies had been broken in the tumult. In but a moment, the ocean’s region was transformed—its waters surged blood-red, gods and asuras, crocodiles and whales, all mingling with wounds gaping and limbs streaming, caught together in the chaos. At the forefront, Indra, mighty among the immortals, pressed forward against the massive gateway of Tripura, a structure as formidable as a mountain or a thunderous cloud. Skanda, radiant as young gold or the rising sun, ascended the northern inner gate of Hara’s city, his presence like an ancient sun descending upon a mountain with eight peaks. Yama and Kubera, the lord of wealth, both armed with staff and noose, took their stand at the western gate, barring entry to the enemies of the gods. Meanwhile, Rudra—the enemy of Daksha—shone with the brilliance of ten thousand suns. Riding his divine chariot, the blessed three-eyed one stood guard at the southern gate of the enemy’s city. Lofty mansions with golden gateways, shining like the moon atop Kailasa and delightful in form, were besieged by the Pramathas, who blazed like storm clouds raining stones. Uprooting and tearing out houses, mountains, and altars, the Pramathas hurled them into the ocean’s midst, roaring with the fury of dark storm clouds. The houses, red and filled with countless groves, echoed with the sorrowful cries of cuckoos, and their women wailed, “O lord! Father! Son! Brother! Beloved! Dear one!” as their homes were torn apart, their voices filled with grief and despair. As wives, sons, and lives were destroyed and the battle within the city raged with unrelenting ferocity, the great Asuras, swift as the ocean’s tide, turned back the furious lords of the hosts. There, with axes, stones, tridents, thunderbolts, and mighty clubs, a most terrible battle broke out—each side bent on the other’s destruction, bound by deep and ancient enmity. Gods and Asuras rushed at one another, their clashing and striking resounding like the roar of oceans at the end of an age. Warriors streamed with wounds, blood pouring forth as they fought, flushed with wrath and roaring in many voices. The lords of the hosts and the foremost Asuras battled, sending up a mighty tumult. The city’s streets became muddy with blood, strewn with broken gold bricks and crystal. In a moment, the fierce combatants—heads, feet, and hands severed—lay scattered, making passage through the city easy for others. Then Taraka, his eyes red with rage, concealed himself among the trees and mountains of the battlefield. With wondrous might, he stood to defend the blocked main gate. That being of great strength and courage, proud of his mastery over his senses, drove away the spirits who had come to the ramparts and, emerging from the city, let out a terrible roar. Towering like a great mountain, Taraka rushed forth like an enraged elephant, seeking to seize Rudra’s chariot. Yet, he was restrained, just as the ocean is held back at its appointed limit. Shesha, Sudhanvan, Girisha, and Brahma—the four-faced one—along with the three-eyed god, all approached Taraka. Yet, in battle, they were shaken like oceans disturbed by a mighty wind. Shesha, Girisha, and Brahma, greatly agitated, stood upon their chariot in the sky, assailed at their joints by force, making dreadful sounds. Bhava, with bow and arrow raised, stood with one foot upon the back of the Rigveda-horse and the other upon the bull, gazing out over the mass of the city. From the pressure of Bhava’s foot on the horse and the bull, their teats and teeth were pressed out and fell away. Thus, from that time, the teats and teeth of horses and cows became dull, and so they are seen to this day. Taraka, his eyes terrifying and blood-red, was tightly restrained by Nandin, the joy of his lineage, in the presence of Rudra. Then Nandin, wielding a sharp axe, struck the lord of the Dānavas, cutting him down as a woodcutter fells a sandalwood tree. Wounded by the axe, the heroic Taraka, like a wild beast struck by a mountain, fled after drawing his sword against the lord of the Gaṇas. Seizing the sacred thread, he cut it and roared; a dreadful lion’s roar and a terrifying blast of conches arose, sounded by the lords of the Gaṇas as Taraka was slain. Hearing the black Pramathas and the sound of musical instruments, Maya, who stood nearby, spoke to Vidyunmālī of the mighty side: “Why is this sound, like the roar of many-mouthed beings, heard as if the ocean were split? Speak, O Vidyunmālī, what is this? Have the elephant-lord Gaṇapālas gone to battle?” Thus addressed by Maya, Vidyunmālī, radiant as the sun with its rays, came to the battlefield and, delighted, spoke these words to the foe-subduing gods: “O steadfast one, Taraka, the repository of your fame and the power of Yama, Varuṇa, Mahendra, and Rudra, who was the mountain peak of all battlefields, now perishes in battle with the lords of the Gaṇas.” When it was heard that Taraka was crushed, the Pramathas, their eyes and bodies brimming with joy, roared like rainclouds, their eyes blazing like the sun and fire. Hearing these words from his friend, Maya, adorned with a golden garland, spoke on the battlefield to Vidyunmālī, whose form was like a dark collyrium mountain crowned with a new moon diadem: “O Vidyunmālī, now is not the time for us to act carelessly; I will, with valor, make this city free from calamity.” Then Vidyunmālī, enraged, and Maya, lord of Tripura, together with the great Asuras, struck down the foremost Gaṇas. Wherever Vidyunmālī and Maya went, there the cities were emptied by the blows of the Pramathas. The sounds of Yama’s and Varuṇa’s drums, the resounding of paṇavas and ḍiṇḍimas, and the clapping of hands with lion-like roars filled the air as the gods worshipped Bhava and stood ready. Honored by the mighty Daityas, radiant with the power of a thousand suns, and praised by truth-abiding, ascetic sages, he shone like the sun approaching the mountain at sunset. After Taraka was slain in battle and the Pramathas were driven away, Maya, filled with fear, addressed the Dānavas again and again: “O lords of the Asuras, now all of you listen to what I say—what must be done by me and by you, O mighty ones. When the star Puṣya arrives in due time and the moon, whose face is like the moon, comes, then for a single moment all three cities will become one.