The banners of the gods shone resplendent upon the battlefield. The Ashvins’ standard was a jeweled pitcher, crafted with the form of a golden elephant and adorned with a wealth of precious gems, sparkling in the light. Shatakratu, known as Indra, bore a banner decorated with pure white yak tails, attended by a retinue of Nagas, Yakshas, Gandharvas, serpents, and night-dwellers, all paying homage to the king of the gods. Indra’s army was unconquerable throughout the three worlds, its divisions numbering thirty-three crores of divine hosts. The entire host glittered with white yak tails that seemed as grand as Himalayan peaks, garlands of pure gold lotuses, and marks of brilliant saffron. Their cheeks were adorned with playful clusters of locks, adding to their splendor. Indra himself stood upon his mighty elephant, Airavata, clad in wondrous ornaments and radiant garments, draped in vast cloths and armlets. Thousands of bards sang his praises as he shone resplendent in the heavens. Around him, the army was crowded with horses and elephants, their ranks shaded by rows of white parasols and banners. The mass of divine warriors, bearing a dazzling array of weapons, appeared invincible and impossible to overcome. Then, in that exceedingly fierce encounter between the gods and the demons, a tumultuous and immense battle erupted. The air was filled with the roaring of both armies, the blare of conches and drums, the thunder of celestial instruments, and the trumpeting of elephants. The neighing of horses, the rumble of chariot wheels, the twang of bowstrings, and the shouts of heroes combined to create a terrible and overwhelming din. Both sides, intent on victory and filled with wrath, met in the field, their minds set on abandoning life for glory. The warriors engaged each other in every manner: horses attacked chariots, chariots struck down foot soldiers, elephants clashed with infantry, and charioteers dueled with their counterparts. Elsewhere, elephants battled many horses, and a single foot soldier was assailed by a horde of intoxicated elephants. Weapons of every kind flashed—spears, maces, clubs, axes, swords, lances, spikes, hammers, wheels, stakes, and white goads. Arrows of astonishing shapes filled the sky: some tipped with ears, others with reeds, narachas, calf teeth, half-moon blades, broad heads, hundred-petaled points, and parrot-beak tips. This rain of missiles darkened all directions, casting a shadow across the battlefield. In the tumultuous gloom, neither side could distinguish friend from foe. Unseen, they loosed their weapons in fury. They gazed at the devastation that had fallen between the armies—standards, arms, parasols, heads adorned with earrings, and the bodies of elephants, horses, and foot soldiers, both falling and fallen. The earth was strewn like a lake whose lotuses had dropped from the sky. Elephants with broken tusks, shattered domes, and severed trunks—like fallen rocks—lay bleeding on the ground. Chariots with broken yokes, axles, and wheels were smashed to fragments, and horses by the thousands fell, their bodies mangled. The earth became impassable, rivers of blood swirling with flesh, delighting the flesh-eaters and turning the battlefield into a playground for ghouls. Amid this carnage, Yama, god of death, witnessed the devouring and was overcome with anger. He showered a rain of arrows, each blazing like fire. The mighty demon Grasana, struck by many arrows and eager for retaliation, drew his bow with terrifying force. With five hundred fierce arrows, Grasana wounded Yama, who, recognizing both the arrows and Grasana’s extraordinary valor, responded with a fierce shower of his own. The Lord of Death’s arrows rained down from the sky, but Grasana, lord of the demons, cut them down with his own shafts. Yama, seeing his barrage rendered fruitless, considered the stream of arrows aimed at Grasana’s chariot. Then Antaka hurled a dreadful mace at Grasana with all his might. But the delight of the demons leapt up and caught the mace in his left hand. Grasana, seizing the mace, struck Yama’s buffalo mount with fury, and the beast fell to earth. Yama, leaping swiftly from his falling buffalo, struck Grasana firmly in the face with a spear. Grasana, struck by the spear, lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground. Seeing Grasana fallen, the terrible Jambha advanced, his prowess unmatched. Jambha struck Yama with his mace at the heart, causing blood to flow from Yama’s mouth. Witnessing Kṛtānta, the god of death, thus crushed, the lord of wealth, Kubera, took up his mace and, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of Yakṣas, advanced in wrath against Jambha. Jambha, encircled by the army of Dānavas, saw Kubera’s approach and spoke wise and gentle words. Meanwhile, Grasana regained consciousness and hurled a mighty mace, adorned with jewels and gold, heavy and deadly, at Yama. The buffalo-rider, seeing this unfathomable weapon, countered by releasing his own dreadful mace, terrifying to the worlds. In his anger, he hurled his staff, blazing with garlands of flame. It soared through the sky, roaring like a thundercloud, and met Grasana’s mace in midair. The two weapons clashed with a force as great as the collision of mountains, stunning the quarters with a deafening sound. The world trembled, fearing the onset of dissolution. In a moment, the roaring ceased, and the sky was filled with blazing meteors, signaling the awesome and terrible power unleashed in that celestial battle.