Ariṣṭa, the mighty son of Bali and renowned for wielding entire mountains as weapons, stood at the forefront of the battlefield, his presence so formidable that the very earth and mountains trembled beneath his feet. Among the Daityas, the youthful and exuberant Kiśora—so named for his spirited energy—joined the ranks, as the Dānava warriors marshaled their vast forces into disciplined order. Within their midst, Lamba shone forth, his appearance radiant and striking, like the rising sun piercing through a new cloud. His dark-hued garments added to his aura of power. Svarbhānu, entering the heart of the Daitya formation, gleamed like the sun obscured by mist, ready for combat. Weapons bristled from his very mouth, teeth, lips, and eyes, making him a fearsome sight. This great planetary being, standing before the Daityas, laughed aloud, his voice carrying over the tumult. Around him, some warriors mounted horses and elephants, while others rode lions, tigers, boars, and bears. There were those astride donkeys and camels, and some who claimed wild beasts as their steeds. Among the foot soldiers, terrifying forms abounded—some with distorted faces, some with a single leg, others with only half a leg—who danced eagerly, intoxicated by the prospect of battle. The air was filled with the sounds of their warlike excitement: many struck their palms together, some snorted fiercely, and the leading Dānavas roared with the ferocity of tigers in the throes of rage. They brandished fearsome maces and iron clubs, hefted stones and pestles, and menaced the gods with their club-like arms. They played skillfully with nooses, spears, javelins, hooks, axes, weapons known as hundred-killers, and hammers with many blades. The foremost among them delighted their army by displaying mountain peaks, stones, iron clubs, and spinning discs as their weapons of choice. The entire Daitya host, ablaze with the passion for conflict, faced the gods like a wild, dark mass of storm clouds. Their army surged forward—a wondrous force of thousands—dense and tumultuous as wind, fire, mountains, clouds, and water, all swept together in a flood of battle, appearing almost mad with the desire to fight. Having heard the vastness and might of the Daitya army, O son of the Sun, now behold the glorious array of the Vaiṣṇava army of the gods. The Ādityas, Vasus, Rudras, and the powerful Aśvins, with their own troops and attendants, assembled in perfect order. At their head was Puruhūta, Indra himself, lord of all worlds and leader of the gods, his thousand eyes ever watchful. He rode the divine elephant at the very front. In the center of the formation gleamed his splendid chariot, drawn by the noblest of swans, its wheels and feet beautifully wrought, adorned with golden thunderbolts. Following Indra were thousands upon thousands of gods, Gandharvas, and Yakṣas, accompanied by radiant councilors and praised in song by the Brahmarṣis. Around him, thunderclouds rumbled with the sound of lightning and the roar of Indra’s weapon, so that it seemed as if mountains themselves, moving at will, had gathered together. Mounted upon Yama, the blessed Lord traversed the world; at sacrificial rites, Brahmins sang his praises as he stood at the forefront. In heaven, as Indra advanced with his retinue and the divine drums resounded, hundreds of beautiful apsaras danced in joy. Indra’s chariot, adorned with the serpent-banner and drawn by a thousand horses, moved with the speed of mind and wind, shining like the sun. Matali, his charioteer, concealed its brilliance, so that it appeared as if Mount Meru itself was veiled in the radiance of the sun. In the midst of the gods stood Yama, raising his staff and wielding a time-bound mace, his roar terrifying the demons. He was joined by the four oceans and serpents licking their lips, adorned with conch and pearl bracelets, his form reflecting the very nature of water. Yama brandished the nooses of time, his horses moon-bright and swift as the wind, shaped from water, performing countless playful deeds. He wore shining white garments and coral-bright bracelets; his body, dark as a precious gem, bore the weight of the gods with noble strength. Varuna, holding his mighty noose, stood among the gods, eager for the boundary of battle, like the ocean whose shores have been broken. He was accompanied by the armies of Yakṣas and Rakṣasas, and the hosts of Guhyakas; the lord of treasures, powerful and adorned with conch and lotus, stood at his side. The illustrious king of kings, lord of wealth and chariot-warrior, appeared holding a mace in his hand, standing in the celestial chariot Pushpaka. He shone with eagerness for battle, riding Naravahana, and when mounted upon the bull in the conflict, he appeared as if Shiva himself. On the eastern flank stood Indra, the thousand-eyed; to the south, the king of ancestors; Varuna held the west, and Naravahana the north. Thus, in all four directions, the four mighty guardians of the world were stationed, each protecting their own quarter of the army of the gods. The sun blazed forth, his chariot drawn by seven horses, moving without limit, radiant with splendor. His wheel rose and set as he traversed Mount Meru and the gate of heaven, scorching even the imperishable world. Endowed with a thousand rays and brilliant energy, the sun, lord of the day, moved among the worlds in his twelvefold form. Soma, radiant upon a white horse, shone in his chariot, his cool rays filled with the essence of Himalayan waters, delighting the world. This lord of the twice-born, with gentle beams, followed the hosts of stars; his form, marked by the shadow of a hare, brought an end to the darkness of night. He was the lord of the luminaries in the sky, the giver of sap, master of countless plants, and the repository of nectar. The Daityas beheld Soma, armed with frost, established in the pure, gentle, and truth-filled portion of the world, riding his chariot—a sight both wondrous and awe-inspiring as the two great armies stood arrayed for battle.