Hearing the call to battle, Tāraka, the mighty Daitya king, was filled with ambition and resolve. He commanded his forces to ready themselves without delay. “Prepare for me the eight-wheeled chariot, swift and splendid, for I seek victory over the foremost of the immortals and the fortune of the three worlds. Assemble my invincible demon army, raise my banner adorned with golden cloth, and set above me my umbrella woven with a net of pearls.” At his command, the formidable Grasana, chief of Tāraka’s army, set about his task with unwavering loyalty. He gathered the demon host, summoning them with the deep, thunderous sound of a great drum. In response, the Daityas assembled, arriving in a grand chariot with eight wheels, drawn by a thousand powerful horses. This chariot was a wonder to behold: draped in pure white garments, it stretched four yojanas across, filled with pleasure-houses and resounding with enchanting songs and music. It rivaled even Indra’s celestial chariot in its splendor. Ten crores of Daityas, fierce and valiant, gathered under its shadow, ready for war. Foremost among these warriors was Jambha, followed by Kujambha, Mahisha, Kunjara, Megha, Kalanemi, and Nimi. Alongside them stood Mathana, Jambhaka, and Shumbha—ten mighty Daitya lords in all—each accompanied by hundreds more, so powerful that their very presence seemed to shake the earth. These Daitya chiefs were colossal, their bodies like mountains, their might fierce and their skill in arms unparalleled. Tāraka’s own banner, terrifying to behold, glittered with gold, while Grasana, the slayer of foes, led as the army’s chief, his standard bearing the emblem of a makara. Each lord had his own distinctive banner: Jambha’s displayed a fearsome iron demon-face; Kujambha’s, a donkey with a swinging tail; Mahisha’s, a golden jackal; Shumbha’s, a black iron vulture. The standards of the others took many forms, and a hundred swift tigers, adorned with golden garlands, prowled among the ranks. Grasana’s chariot was yoked to a hundred lions whose bells rang out in warning, while Jambha’s too was drawn by lions, fierce and majestic. Kujambha rode behind donkeys with demonic faces, Mahisha behind camels, and Kunjara behind horses. Mesha’s chariot was pulled by leopards, Kalanemi’s by elephants as vast as mountains, and Nimi rode atop great, intoxicated elephants. The army boasted four-tusked, fragrant, well-trained elephants whose roars thundered across the field, and black horses adorned with gold, each a hundred hands in length. The southern quarter gleamed, adorned with white yak-tail fans, while the Daityas themselves shone, their bodies smeared with white sandalwood and garlanded with many flowers. Mathana, holding a noose, stood radiant among them, while Jambhaka rode a camel with jingling bells. Shumbha mounted a mighty ram, black as time itself, and the other heroic Dānavas rode a variety of wondrous mounts. Fierce and awe-inspiring, they adorned themselves with earrings and turbans, their garments of many kinds, and decked with diverse garlands. Rich fragrances filled the air, and their attendants praised them with song. The sound of countless musical instruments rose as the foremost chariots advanced. Within this mighty host, the heroes recounted tales of valor, their spirits fierce and terrifying, the force of the Daitya lion arrayed for battle. The army surged forward, filled with intoxicated and ferocious elephants, horses, and chariots, their banners fluttering as they marched to confront the gods. Meanwhile, Vayu, the divine wind and swift messenger, beheld this terrifying host of Danavas from the sky. Without delay, he sped to Indra, king of the gods, and entered his radiant assembly. There, in the midst of the gods, Vayu reported all that had transpired. Upon hearing this, Indra, his eyes closed in thought, turned to Brihaspati, his wise and mighty-armed preceptor. He spoke, “A great conflict has now arisen between the gods and the Danavas. What should be done? Tell me, O wise one, the policy that is most fitting in this crisis.” Brihaspati, noble and illustrious, replied, “O best of gods, the eternal policy for those who seek victory begins with conciliation. This fourfold policy—conciliation, division, gifts, and punishment—should be applied in order, considering place, time, enemy, and circumstance. “But a greedy, cruel person who has found support cannot be pacified when agitated. The wicked, once resolved, cannot be subdued. Among the Daityas, conciliation is impossible—they are united and have secured their support. Nor can they be divided by birth or duty. Gifts are useless for those who have already gained prosperity. “Only one means remains here—punishment—if you deem it right. Conciliation with the wicked is fruitless. The cruel always mistake conciliatory gestures for weakness, simplicity, noble-mindedness, or excessive compassion. The wicked think conciliation arises from fear; thus, to subdue the wicked, reliance on strength is best. “When attacked, action is the proper course for the virtuous; this is their great vow. The wicked never become virtuous. Even a good person may sometimes wish to abandon his nature, but this is my understanding—now, O king of gods, you must decide.” Thus addressed, Indra, the thousand-eyed, replied, “So be it.” Having considered the matter, he spoke to the assembled gods: “Listen attentively, O dwellers of heaven. You are the enjoyers of sacrifice, pure in soul and nature, ever established in your own greatness, protectors of the world. Yet the Daitya chiefs array themselves against you without cause.” So the stage was set, with the armies of gods and Daityas preparing for the great conflict that would determine the fate of the three worlds.