Enraged by the Daitya, Śakra, king of the gods, steadied his mind and released the mighty Nārāyaṇa weapon, aiming it straight at the Asura’s chest. The weapon struck true, piercing the demon’s heart and causing blood to pour forth. The Daitya’s son, overcome like a warrior fleeing the battlefield, departed, and the power of the weapon destroyed the Daitya’s very form. Suddenly, the Daitya vanished, becoming imperceptible in the sky. Stationed in the heavens, he became invisible to all weapons and senses. Yet, from his unseen vantage, he unleashed utter destruction upon the armies of the gods—hurling spears, axes, discs, arrows, thunderbolts, and maces. The demon’s assault became a relentless shower: hatchets, swords, slings, clubs, and missiles, all unfailing and inexhaustible, rained down upon the gods. The terrifying onslaught filled the earth with dismembered arms and heads adorned with earrings, and with thighs like elephant trunks, elephants as massive as mountains, and shattered chariots with broken poles and wheels, their charioteers fallen. The ground became impassable, soaked in flesh and blood, swirling with rivers of gore and piled with heaps of corpses and bones. Amidst heaps of headless bodies that seemed to dance, their garments drenched in blood and mud, the destruction of all beings in the three worlds became a feast for jackals, vultures, and crows. Sometimes, a crow with a plucked eye shrieked over a corpse. Jackals dragged away fat entrails; elsewhere, a dreadful heron gnawed at a corpse already devoured by dogs, while scavenger dogs feasted on flesh. In another spot, a wolf secretly drank the blood of an elephant. Packs of dogs dragged circles of horses, and goblins, intoxicated with delight, rushed about with their mates, exclaiming, “Let this hoof be mine, my beloved!” “Let this lotus-like hand be my ear ornament!” Another, angered, gazed at a body bereft of its beloved, while yet another, having found her beloved, drank the warm blood and wrapped the corpse’s skin with thick foliage. A yaksha maiden fashioned a tree from a severed trunk, took an elephant’s tusk as her child, and, splitting a pot, sought a pearl to win her beloved’s favor; yakshas and rakshasas together drank flesh and blood. One took the juice from a dead horse’s mane and brought the blood-wine of her fallen beloved, saying, “Let it not go to waste, let it come to me, gone to the cremation ground, this man’s face is praiseworthy.” “This serpent brings us no fear, for he has lost his life; I alone cannot subdue the demon’s single face,” spoke yaksha women to their beloveds, while others, holding skulls, were goblins, yakshas, and rakshasas. They cried, “Give, give to me, for I am ravenous!” Others descended into rivers of blood to wash themselves, and, having satisfied their ancestors, worshipped the gods with offerings. Elephants, well stationed, crossed the lake of blood. In this deep and perilous battle between gods and demons, even the proudest warriors were shattered, overcome by fear and the unconquerable might before them. Then Indra, Kubera, Varuna, Vayu, Agni, Yama, and Nirriti—all powerful—released their divine weapons together. Yet, hurled from the sky, these weapons proved ineffective against the demons. Despite their fury and tumultuous fighting, the gods, exhausted by the demon’s power, could find no way forward. Their limbs shattered by the demon’s weapons, rendered powerless, they clustered together, as if cows huddled against the cold. Seeing their plight, Hari spoke to the gods: “O Indra, recall the Brahma weapon, for none can withstand it.” Prompted by Vishnu’s words, Indra remembered that supreme weapon. Honored always, destroyer of enemies, Indra, wise and resolute, placed the arrow upon his bow, his mind absorbed in mantra and concentration. Reciting the sacred mantra, focused and intent on slaying the demon, he drew the arrow to his ear. Its brilliance undiminished, he released it, his gaze fixed on its path through the sky. The demon, seeing this great weapon unleashed, abandoned his illusions and stood revealed in the forest, his face trembling, his strength failing, his body shaken and confused. Empowered by the supreme mantra, Indra’s arrow, shaped like a crescent moon and radiant as the new sun’s disk, entered the great battle. Its dazzling brilliance, fragrant with many flowers, streaming with smoke and blazing hair, struck Jambha’s head, knocking off his crown and earrings. With Jambha slain, the demon leaders lost heart and fled to Tāraka. Seeing them terrified and hearing their report, Tāraka was seized by intense anger, learning that Jambha, the demon lord, had been killed by the gods in battle. Filled with arrogance, wrath, pride, and valor, his fierce demeanor unmistakable, Tāraka mounted his victorious chariot. Accompanied by a thousand Garuda-bannered warriors, driven by rage, the demon lord entered the battlefield to confront the gods. He was fully equipped with all weapons, protected by every missile, and possessed the wealth of the three worlds, his vast mouth wide open. He rushed swiftly into battle, surrounded by a great army, his body still bearing wounds from Jambha’s weapon, abandoning even his elephant Airavata. Indra’s chariot, guarded by Matali, stood ready—adorned with glowing gold and set with great jewels. Four yojanas wide, decorated by groups of siddhas, sung by Gandharvas and Kinnaras, and crowded with dancing apsaras and men, it was armed with every weapon, spacious and brilliantly crafted, surrounded on all sides. The guardians of the worlds stood ready, their banners bearing Garuda. Then the earth trembled, and a harsh wind blew. The oceans surged, the sun’s light vanished, darkness arose, and the stars disappeared from sight. Weapons blazed, the armies shook—on one side stood Tāraka the demon, and on the other, the assembled host of the gods.