As the great battle raged, the mighty Indra, radiant and thousand-eyed, gathered the cloud-givers and together they subdued the raging fire with a tremendous downpour, quenching its fury. Yet, when this illusion was dispelled on the field, the fierce demon conjured a terrifying darkness, intense and all-encompassing, casting a shadow in every direction. Amidst this suffocating gloom, the world was shrouded, and the demons, armed for war, pressed on. Yet, in their midst, one shone with his own brilliance—like the sun piercing the night—surrounded by his radiance. The demons, in the heat of battle, beheld upon his forehead a triple flame, his brow furrowed and marked with a trident, reminiscent of the triple-flowing Ganga, a sight both wondrous and fearsome. With all their illusions shattered, the sons of Diti grew pale with fear and sought refuge in their lord, the mighty Hiranyakashipu. Enraged, his anger blazing, this lord of demons let his fury burn so fiercely that the world itself was again veiled in darkness. In that moment, the mighty winds arose—Āvaha, Pravaha, Vivaha, Udāvaha, Parāvaha, and Saṃvaha—each powerful and formidable. Alongside them, Parivaha, glorious and ominous, moved through the sky, and the seven Maruts, agitated and foretelling disaster, swept across the heavens. Then, all the planets that herald the end of worlds appeared in the sky, moving as they pleased, unrestrained. The lord of the night—the moon—along with the planets and stars, wandered the night sky, no longer following his usual course. The blessed sun lost his color, paling in the heavens, and a great, dark, headless trunk was seen looming above. Agni, the fire-god, encircled the earth, unleashing hosts of flames, and the blessed one was seen again and again in the sky. Seven terrible suns, smoky in aspect, rose together, while the planets, bearing horns, stood by the moon, stationed in the heavens. On the left and right stood Venus and Jupiter; Saturn and Mars, shining like fire, were present as well. All these dreadful, sky-roaming planets, portents of the age’s end, slowly ascended together upon the horns. The moon, with its stars and planets, usually the dispeller of darkness, withheld his favor from Rohini, signaling destruction for all beings, moving and unmoving. Rahu seized the moon, and blazing meteors struck it; fiery meteors streaked across its face at will. Even the god of gods rained down blood, and meteors, roaring like thunder and flashing like lightning, fell tumultuously from the sky. In untimely season, all trees blossomed and bore fruit, and vines too were laden—these were recognized as signs of the Daityas’ destruction. From fruit, other fruits sprang forth, and from flowers, more flowers; they opened and closed, as if laughing and weeping. Images with deep voices cried out, smoked, and blazed; the images of all the gods revealed great fear. Wild and domestic animals and birds, mingling together, raised dreadful cries as the great war approached. Rivers reversed their flow, carrying foul water, and the quarters of the sky vanished, filled with red dust. Forest trees, worthy of worship, were neglected, struck, broken, and bent by the forceful winds. In this time, the shadows of all beings did not shift, even as the sun moved into the afternoon, a sign of the world’s ending. In the palace of Daitya Hiraṇyakaśipu, honey appeared in the storehouse and armory. For the destruction of the Asuras and the triumph of the gods, numerous terrible omens, fearsome in appearance, were witnessed. These and many other fierce portents, wrought by Time itself, arose, all foretelling the downfall of the Daitya king. The earth trembled, and the great-souled Daitya king caused mighty mountains and powerful hosts of serpents to fall. Serpents with four, five, and seven heads, their mouths blazing with poison and fire, released tongues of flame. Among them were Vāsuki, Takṣaka, Karkoṭa, Dhanaṃjaya, Elāmukha, Kāliya, and the mighty Mahāpadma. Even the thousand-headed Śeṣa Ananta, lord with a golden palm-banner, steadfast and hard to shake, was shaken. The blazing supports of the earth, those dwelling in the waters below, were all shaken in every direction by the wrathful one. These serpents, bearers of energy, moving in the depths of the netherworld, felt the earth tremble as Hiraṇyakaśipu touched it. With lips pressed tight in anger, like the eldest boar, he disturbed the sacred rivers—Bhagirathi, Sarayu, and Kausiki. Then Yamuna, Kaveri, Krishna-Vena, the deep-flowing Suvena, and the illustrious Godavari as well. Carmanvati, Sindhu, the lord of rivers, Kamala-prabhava, and Shona with waters shining like jewels were all shaken. Narmada with pure waters, Vetravati, Gomati crowded with cattle, and the ancient Sarasvati—all were disturbed. Mahi, Kalama-hi, Tamasā bearing flowers, Jambudvipa, and Ratnavata adorned with jewels trembled. Suvarna-prakata, gleaming with gold and decorated with gold mines, and the great river Lauhitya, beautified by mountains and forests, were all shaken as well. Thus, as the cosmos reeled with portents and the world trembled, the stage was set for the destruction of the Daityas and the victory of the gods.