Recognizing that negotiation and peaceful means would be fruitless against their foes, the command was given: only the force of punishment would suffice. The order rang out to prepare for battle and gather the celestial army. All the necessary rituals were observed—arms and weapons were reverently honored, and the deities presiding over weapons were worshipped. The mighty vehicles and chariots were readied by the immortals themselves. Yama, lord of death, was appointed commander of the assembled host, and the denizens of heaven swiftly set about their preparations as instructed by their chief. The gods brought forth a magnificent chariot, yoked to ten thousand steeds, its golden bells gleaming and extraordinary powers evident in every detail. Matali, the renowned charioteer, prepared an invincible chariot for Indra, the king of the gods. Yama, mounting his formidable buffalo, took his place at the head of the celestial army. He was surrounded on all sides by a terrifying retinue, their eyes blazing like the flames that consume the world at the end of an age, filling the sky with their presence. Agni, the fire god, mounted a ram and brandished a spear; Vayu, swift as the wind, held an elephant goad, displaying his incredible speed. Varuna, the blessed lord of waters, rode a great serpent, while the lord of the Rakshasas soared through the sky in a chariot drawn by men. The dreadful god, armed with a razor-sharp sword, stood unshakable in the battle lines. Kubera, the god of wealth, let out a lion’s roar and wielded a mighty mace. The Moon, the Sun, and the twin Ashvins arrived, each accompanied by their fourfold armies, standing with noble kings and Gandharvas resplendent in golden ornaments. These hosts wore golden-yellow upper garments, their chariots, armor, and weapons adorned in countless ways. Their crests gleamed atop the heavens, and their banners bore emblems of beryl and makara. The Rakshasas, fierce and valiant, wore crimson upper garments and blood-red hair, their vulture banners fluttering, their bodies adorned with pure ornaments. Mighty warriors grasped pestles, swords, and maces, their chariots crowned with turbans. The great serpents roared like thunderclouds, hurling blazing meteors and lightning. The Yakshas, clad in black, wielded strong bows and arrows, their copper-owl banners fierce, their bodies decorated with gold and gems. The army of night-wanderers shone in tiger-skin garments, their banners mostly of vulture feathers, their ornaments made of bone. The Kinnaras, dressed in white, bore white-feathered banners, armed with pestles and terrifying to behold, their roars echoing with the cries of many creatures. There were intoxicated elephants, fierce spears, strings of pearls, and a silver-crafted swan among their ranks. Varuna’s banner was a terrifying, smoky flag of fire; Kubera’s was a bough of lotus-gem and precious jewels. A towering banner seemed to reach for the sky, while Yama’s was a massive standard of wood and iron, made by a wolf. The lord of the Rakshasas displayed a banner with a ghostly face; the gods bore golden lion banners, radiant as the moon and sun. The Ashvins’ banner was a jeweled pitcher, adorned with golden elephants and precious stones. Shatakratu’s banner was decorated with white yak tails, attended by Nagas, Yakshas, Gandharvas, serpents, and night-dwellers. This army of the king of the gods was unconquerable in all the three worlds, numbering thirty-three crores of divine hosts. They bore white yak tails like Himalayan peaks, wore garlands of pure golden lotuses, shone with bright saffron marks, and had cheeks adorned with playful locks of hair. At their head stood Indra, mighty and resplendent, standing upon his elephant Airavata. He was adorned with wondrous ornaments and garments, draped in vast cloths and armlets, and praised by thousands of bards—truly, he shone in the heavens. The army, crowded with horses and elephants, displayed rows of white parasols and banners. Unconquerable and bristling with a dazzling array of weapons, it stood ready for the coming battle. When the exceedingly fierce clash between gods and demons commenced, a tumultuous and immense battle erupted between the two armies. The air was filled with the roars of both sides, the blaring of conches and drums, the thunder of instruments, and the trumpeting of elephants. The neighing of horses, the rumble of chariot wheels, the twang of bowstrings, and the shouts of heroes merged into a terrible din. As the armies collided, each side was consumed by wrath and resolve, prepared to lay down their lives for victory. The battle unfolded in every manner: horses charged chariots, chariots struck down foot soldiers, elephants clashed with infantry, and charioteers fought each other. Elsewhere, elephants battled many horses, and a single foot soldier faced a host of drunken elephants. Spears, maces, clubs, axes, and swords clashed together, joined by lances, spikes, hammers, corpses, maces, wheels, stakes, spears, and white goads. Arrows of every shape—ear-tipped, reed, naracha, calf-tooth, crescent, broad-bladed, hundred-petaled, and parrot-beaked—rained down in astonishing showers, filling all directions and casting a darkness over the battlefield. In that tumultuous gloom, friend and foe could not distinguish one another, and unseen, they launched furious barrages of missiles. The ground between the armies was littered with fallen standards, arms, parasols, and heads adorned with earrings. Elephants, horses, and warriors—both those falling and fallen—covered the earth, which resembled a lake from which lotuses had dropped from the sky. Elephants with broken tusks, shattered domes, and severed trunks, resembling massive rocks, fell to the ground, streaming blood, painting a vivid and terrible scene of that cosmic conflict.