The battle raged with terrifying intensity. The demon lord, fierce as fire, unleashed a storm of arrows that blazed across the field. The rākṣasas, his own kin, were so overwhelmed by his onslaught that they scattered in panic, fleeing in all directions. With a cruel playfulness, the asura king sent forth arrows so twisted and harsh that they churned the air like a tempest. But the gods would not stand idle. Hari, bending his mighty bow, shot sharp arrows straight into the heart of the demon king’s charioteer. Dhūmaketu struck at the demon’s banner, Mahendra shattered his crown, Dhanesha broke his golden-adorned bow, Yama wounded his arm, Vayu smashed parts of his chariot, and even the armor of the lord of night-walkers was pierced. Witnessing the gods display such valor, the demon king, undaunted, entered the fray with his own arms and the support of his kinsmen. In the heat of battle, he hurled a massive mace at the thousand-eyed Indra. Seeing the unstoppable weapon hurtling through the sky, Pākaśāsana leapt from his chariot to the earth below. The mace crashed onto the chariot’s seat with a deafening sound, utterly destroying it, yet Mātali, Indra’s charioteer, miraculously survived. The demon seized a spear and hurled it at Keśava, striking him in the chest. Reeling from the blow, Keśava collapsed unconscious onto Garuda’s shoulder. But even in that dire moment, he managed to cut down the vehicle of the rākṣasa king with his sword. The tide of battle seemed to turn. The demon struck Yama down with a club and struck Agni on the head with a sling. He seized Vayu in his arms and threw him to the ground, and in his fury, struck Dhanesha with the tip of his bow. The demon king, his valor boundless, slew the hosts of gods with a relentless storm of weapons. At last, regaining consciousness, Vishnu grasped his discus, difficult to hold, now stained with the demon king’s blood and destined for the flesh-eaters. Keśava hurled it with all his might at the demon king’s chest. The discus, radiant as the sun, struck the demon’s heart, but shattered upon impact like a blue lotus dashed against stone. Seeing this, Mahendra released his long-cherished thunderbolt. In that desperate battle, all hope of victory rested on this strike against the valiant Tāraka. The thunderbolt struck, but it too broke apart, its flames scattering, shattered into a hundred pieces upon the demon’s chest by Vayu’s force. Then, Vayu, his anger mounting, uprooted a mountain whose caves were filled with blossoming trees. He hurled it at the lord of the Dānavas, its massive breadth spanning five yojanas. Yet as the mountain hurtled toward him, the demon, smiling, caught it in his left hand as if it were no more than a child’s toy. Death himself, overcome with wrath, raised his staff and spun it fiercely, hurling it at the demon king’s head. The staff struck with the brilliance of the fire that ends an age, but the demon, unconquerable and ablaze, was utterly unaffected. A mighty spear was then hurled at the lord of the Dānavas, its impact upon his chest shining like a fresh śirīṣa flower. Nirṛti, guardian of the world, drew his sword, its brilliance illuminating the darkened sky, and hurled it at the demon’s head. But as it struck, the sword shattered instantly into a hundred fragments. The lord of waters, fierce and irresistible, unleashed a blazing noose, burning with the terror of poison-fire, hoping to bind the demon’s arms. But as the serpent-noose reached him, it perished at once, its jaws and rows of sharp, saw-like teeth shattering. Then the Aśvins, the Maruts, the Sādhyas, the great serpents, Yakṣas, Rākṣasas, and Gandharvas—all bearing divine and wondrous weapons—joined forces. Yet even as they struck together, none could pierce the demon’s body, as hard as a mountain of thunderbolts. Tāraka, the lord of the Dānavas, leapt down from his chariot, and with only his fists and heels, slew the gods by the millions. The remnants of the gods’ armies, utterly defeated, fled in terror, abandoning their weapons as they ran. The demon then bound the guardians of the worlds, beginning with Indra, tying their hair with strong nooses as a slaughterer binds cattle. Mounting his chariot again, he returned to his palace, its lofty summit resounding with the songs of Siddhas and Gandharvas. Praised by the sons of Diti and entertained by Apsarases, he entered his city, as if all the fortune of the three worlds belonged to him. He sat upon a throne of padmarāga gems, his jeweled earrings swaying, delighting for a moment with Kinnaras, Gandharvas, Nāgas, and women. At that moment, the doorkeeper appeared, clad in garments as blue as a spotless lotus. Approaching with reverence, he knelt and covered his mouth with his hand, speaking clear and concise words before the lord of the Daityas and the hosts of the Sun: “Kālanemi stands at the door, having bound the gods, and asks, ‘Where should the bards remain, O Lord?’” Hearing this, the Daitya king replied, “Let them stay wherever they wish; my house is the three worlds.” And so, with only a simple binding of cords, the gods were restrained, their minds greatly distressed. With troubled hearts, the gods went to seek refuge with the Lotus-born, the teacher of the worlds. Indra and the others bowed their heads to the ground and praised the Lotus-seated One with words clear and full of meaning: “You are the sacred syllable Oṃ, the source from which this universe sprouts, the soul of infinite diversity, the first to arise and the embodiment of existence. To you, who desires dissolution, to you, who are of Rudra’s form, we bow.