As ominous portents filled the heavens, the blessed sun lost its radiant color, casting a pall across the sky. A great, dark, headless trunk appeared overhead, looming ominously. The fire-god, Agni, encircled the earth and unleashed a host of flames, while the blessed one—again and again—manifested in the sky, his presence both awe-inspiring and fearsome. Seven terrible suns, their light resembling smoke, rose together in the firmament. The planets, adorned with horns, stood by the moon, which was firmly stationed in the heavens. On either side of this celestial gathering, Venus and Jupiter shone, while Saturn and Mars, burning like fire, were also present. All these wandering planets, dreadful and signaling the end of an age, slowly ascended together upon the moon’s horns. The moon, usually the gentle dispeller of darkness, now appeared ominous. With its stars and planets clustered around it, it withheld its favor from Rohini, foretelling destruction for all creatures, both moving and unmoving. Rāhu seized the moon, and blazing meteors struck it; fiery meteors moved freely across its surface, their passage unimpeded. Even the highest of gods rained down blood from the heavens. Meteors, flashing like lightning and thundering with great noise, fell from the sky. At a time when they should not have, all the trees blossomed and bore fruit, and every vine was laden with abundance—these were said to be signs of the coming destruction of the Daityas. From fruits, more fruits appeared; from flowers, more flowers bloomed. These miraculous blooms opened and closed, some seeming to laugh, others to weep. The images of the gods, deep-voiced and imposing, cried out, smoked, and blazed with fire. All the divine images revealed great fear. Wild and domestic animals, as well as birds, gathered together and made dreadful sounds, their cries heralding the approach of a great war. Rivers flowed backward, their waters foul, while every direction was obscured by red dust, making the quarters of the sky invisible. Forest trees, though worthy of worship, were neglected and battered—struck, broken, and bent by powerful winds. Another sign appeared: the shadows of all beings remained unchanged, even as the sun passed into the afternoon—a portent of the world’s end. In the palace of the Daitya king Hiraṇyakaśipu, honey mysteriously appeared in the storehouses and armories. For the destruction of the Asuras and the victory of the gods, countless terrible omens—dreadful in appearance—were seen. These and many other fierce portents, brought forth by Time itself, arose for the destruction of the Daitya king. As the earth trembled, the great-souled Daitya king caused mighty mountains and hosts of powerful serpents to fall. Serpents with four, five, and seven heads, their mouths blazing with poison and fire, released flames into the air. Among them were Vāsuki, Takṣaka, Karkoṭa, Dhanaṃjaya, Elāmukha, Kāliya, and the mighty Mahāpadma. Even the thousand-headed serpent Śeṣa, also called Ananta—lordly, golden-bannered, and almost impossible to shake—was shaken by the force. The very supports of the earth, those mighty beings dwelling in the waters below, were shaken in every direction by the wrathful Daitya. These serpents, full of energy and moving in the depths of the underworld, were disturbed as Hiraṇyakaśipu touched the earth in his rage, his lips pressed tightly together like an angry boar. The sacred rivers—Bhagirathi, Sarayu, and Kausiki—were also affected. Then followed the Yamuna, Kaveri, Krishna-Vena, the deep-flowing Suvena, and the illustrious Godavari. Carmanvati, Sindhu, the lord of rivers, Kamala-prabhava, and the Shona with its jewel-bright waters were all shaken. The Narmada with her pure waters, the Vetravati, the Gomati crowded with cattle, and the ancient Sarasvati—all these rivers trembled. The Mahi, Kalama-hi, and the flower-laden Tamasā; the lands of Jambudvipa and Ratnavata, adorned with every kind of jewel; Suvarna-prakata, shining with gold and decorated with gold mines; and the great river Lauhitya, beautified by mountains and forests—all were shaken. Cities and regions were not spared. The city of Pattana, a treasury inhabited by sages and heroes; the great villages of the Magadhas, Mundas, and Shungas; the lands of the Suhmas, Mallas, Videhas, Malavas, and Kashi-Kosalas; even the dwelling of Garuda—all trembled under the Daitya’s power. The wondrous city crafted by Vishvakarma, resembling the peak of Kailasa, and the terrifying ocean Lauhitya with its red waters, were disturbed. The great mountain Udaya, rising a hundred yojanas high and crowned with a golden platform frequented by clouds, was radiant with trees of gold—shala, tala, tamala, and blossoming karnikara trees, all shining like the sun. The renowned mountain Ayomukha, adorned with minerals, and the auspicious Malaya mountain, fragrant with tamala groves, were shaken as well. The regions of Surashtra and Bahlika, the valiant Shurabhiras, Bhojas, Pandyas, Vangas, Kalingas, and Tamraliptakas; the Undras, Paundras, Vamacudas, and the people of Kerala—all were shaken, along with the hosts of gods and apsaras. Even the abode of Agastya, once inaccessible, and the enchanting assembly of siddhas and charanas were scattered. These places, filled with wondrous birds and blossoming trees, with peaks of gold resonating with the songs of apsaras, all trembled under the might of Hiraṇyakaśipu, as the world stood on the threshold of great change and upheaval.