As the tumult of battle raged, the chief of the demons abandoned Kapālī, leaving him behind much like jackals would gather and then scatter around a dead buffalo deep in the forest. Angered by this desertion, the demon surged forward with fury, charging at the nine Rudras. He trampled them mercilessly, using his feet, tusks, and trunk to wreak havoc. But the struggle was fierce and exhausting. When the demon’s strength finally waned, Kapālī seized his hand—the hand of the enemy of the immortals—and began to whirl him violently. The demon, now worn down and barely clinging to life, was a pitiable sight, his vitality flickering like a dying flame. In that moment, surrendering all hope for victory, the demon collapsed. Kapālī, triumphant, tore off his hide and fashioned it into a terrifying garment. Streams of blood flowed from the demon’s limbs as Kapālī made his cloak, and upon seeing the demon slain, the mighty leaders of the demons were seized with terror. They fled in panic, scattering and falling by the thousands, unable to withstand the sight of Kapālī draped in the elephant-hide cloak. The demons witnessed this fierce Rudra, his presence dominating the earth and all directions. With their mighty king laid low, the scene was ominous. The demon king, mounted on his elephant, his drum shattered, appeared like a storm-cloud at the end of an age—formidable even to the most powerful. He charged swiftly, shaking the armies of the gods. Wherever the elephant of Nimi advanced, the gods abandoned their vehicles and fled, terrified and forsaking their purpose. Even the celestial elephants retreated, unable to bear the scent of Nimi’s elephant. Amidst the chaos, Indra stood resolute, flanked by the eight guardians of the directions and Keśava. As Nimi’s elephant drew near Indra’s own, Indra’s elephant moved forward, letting out a terrible roar. Yet, despite great effort, the elephant could not stand firm in battle. When his elephant fled, Pākaśāsana mounted it and, facing the wrong way, fought against the army of the lord of the Daityas. Śatakratu struck Nimi on the chest with his thunderbolt, and with his mace, he struck the elephant hard on the cheek. But Nimi, fearless and courageous, was undeterred. He retaliated, striking Airāvata, Indra’s elephant, on the hip with his club. The mighty elephant fell in battle, touching the earth behind him with his feet. Yet, thanks to his agility, the great elephant of the gods swiftly rose again. Still, terrified by Nimi’s elephant, he quickly withdrew from the fray. Then, a harsh wind swept through, laden with dust and gravel. Nimi’s elephant, facing his foe, shook the swift-moving mountains. Blood streamed from his body, and he shone like a mountain beside a lake of molten ore. The lord of wealth hurled his heavy mace at the Daitya king’s elephant with tremendous force. The king of the Daityas was struck on the head, and the elephant, stunned by the blow, collapsed, his tusks piercing the earth as he fell like a mountain. With the elephant’s fall, a great lion-roar erupted from the ranks of the gods, mingled with the trumpeting of elephants echoing all around. The neighing of horses and the twanging of bowstrings filled the air. Seeing the elephant slain and Nimi turning away, the gods rejoiced. But hearing this triumphant lion-roar, Jambha was consumed with rage. His anger blazed like fire fed with clarified butter, his eyes reddened with wrath against the gods. He set an arrow to his bow, cried out, “Stand firm!” and urged his charioteer onward. Jambha’s chariot sped swiftly, its radiance like a thousand suns rising on the eastern mountain. In battle, his chariot bore banners, was adorned with a network of bells, and had a canopy white as the moon. He advanced, striking terror into the hearts of the gods’ army, an arrow fitted to his bow. Yet Śatakratu, undaunted, firmly grasped his own bow and selected an arrow—oiled, sharp, half-moon shaped, and straight. With swift action, the slayer of Vṛtra severed Jambha’s bow and arrow in battle. Jambha, the delight of the demons, abandoned that bow and took up another, powerful and swift, along with arrows resembling venomous serpents, straight and anointed with oil. He struck Śakra with ten arrows in the region of the collarbone, three in the heart, and two in both shoulders. Śakra, too, unleashed a shower of arrows upon the lord of the demons, but the demon king cut down the arrows hurled by Śakra’s arms before they could reach him. Ten times, he cut them down in the sky with arrows blazing like tongues of fire. Then, with a shower of arrows, the lord of the gods covered the lord of the demons, as clouds cover the sky with rain. But the demon scattered that shower with sharp shafts, dispersing them as the wind disperses clouds, surrounding all directions. Śakra, enraged and agitated, could no longer distinguish anything in the confusion. At that moment, he employed the wondrous Gandharva weapon against the lord of the demons. Its rising energy filled the space, making it inaccessible, and Gandharva cities appeared with various ramparts and gateways, marvels of form raining weapons in all directions. As the demon army was struck by this rain of weapons, they sought refuge in Jambha, whose valor was immeasurable.