With his mighty left hand, he seized the great mace—an awesome weapon, feared by all Asuras, whose very form embodied Kali, the force that brings destruction to enemies at their destined time. In his other arms, the powerful Lord, whose banner bore the emblem of the serpent, held a host of blazing weapons, among them the renowned Sharnga bow and others that shone with celestial light. This was Garuda, the self-born son of Kashyapa, twice-born and famed as the devourer of serpents. Swifter than the wind, he soared across the heavens, the mighty bird whose wings could shake the very sky. Adorned with the serpent king placed in his mouth—liberated from the nectar at the beginning of time—Garuda gleamed like Mount Mandara, raised high and resplendent. In the legendary battles between gods and asuras, where his valor was often displayed, Garuda was marked by the thunderbolt of mighty Indra during the great quest for ambrosia. His form was crowned and powerful, adorned with blazing earrings and clothed in garments of brilliant, multicolored feathers, like a mountain rich with precious minerals. His broad, swelling chest radiated like the cool light of the moon, and upon it gleamed a shining jewel, entwined by the coils of a serpent. With his two beautiful, feathered wings, Garuda playfully covered the sky, much as rain clouds, lit by Indra’s rainbow, envelop the heavens at the end of an age. Banners of blue, red, and yellow adorned him, and he concealed himself in the guise of a banner—the dwelling of a mighty-bodied being. Upon this radiant Suparna, the best of all sky-farers and shining with the color of gold, the illustrious Lord—Vishnu himself, younger brother of Aruna—mounted for battle. The hosts of gods and gathered sages followed him, raising their voices in praise, chanting the names of Janardana with holy words and supreme mantras. That divine assembly, graced by the presence of Vaishravana and led by Vaivasvata, surrounded by the king of brahmins and blessed by the king of gods, shone with splendor. Vast as the radiance of the full moon, the host assembled for battle, roaring with the tumult of wind-driven sounds and blazing like a kindled fire. The army of Vishnu, victorious and radiant, enveloped itself in darkness by its own unfathomable power. It rose up, mighty and tumultuous, ready for the coming conflict. Then Brihaspati, preceptor of the gods, spoke: “May there be welfare for the gods.” In response, Ushanas declared, “May there be welfare for the host of Danavas.” From these two mighty hosts, a tumultuous conflict erupted, as gods and asuras vied for victory over one another. The Danavas and the gods, both armed with countless weapons, clashed like mountains colliding with mountains. The battle was wondrous to behold, mingling righteousness and unrighteousness, pride and humility. Chariots became separated, elephants surged forward, and sword-bearers leapt into the sky on every side. Maces were hurled, arrows flew, bows were drawn, and clubs crashed down. The battle became dreadful, filled with gods and Danavas, striking terror into the world, resembling the destruction at the end of an age. Iron clubs were thrown by hand, and even mountains were cast aside; the Danavas struck the gods in battle, with Indra leading the divine host. Assailed by the Daityas—mighty conquerors of the regions—the gods’ faces fell with despair, and they were plunged into great distress. Struck down by weapons and spears, their heads shattered by iron clubs, their chests broken by the sons of Diti, the gods fell to the earth, blood flowing from countless wounds. Showers of arrows rained down upon them, and the Asuras’ illusions left the gods helpless, unable to move. The army of the gods, rendered powerless and weaponless by the Asuras, seemed as if the sun itself had set, their forms lifeless. Yet Indra, his eyes wide with resolve, cut down the terrible arrows shot by the Daityas with his thunderbolt and plunged into the fierce Daitya army. Having slain the foremost Daityas and their great host, he shrouded them in darkness with a net of Tamasic weapons. Overwhelmed by that dreadful gloom, created by Indra’s power, the Daityas could not recognize one another, nor even the vehicles of the gods. Freed from the bonds of illusion, the best of the gods, striving with all their might, struck down the bodies of the Daitya leaders, who were now hidden in darkness. The Daitya hosts, scattered and senseless, their brilliance dimmed, fell like mountains with their wings severed. The Daitya lord himself, thick with darkness like the ocean at night, seemed as if even the slayer of gods was enveloped in gloom. Then Maya, master of illusion, created a great Tamasic vision—blazing and fierce, produced by the Aurva fire—like the fire that appears at the end of an age. This illusion, fashioned by Maya, burned all the gods; and the Daityas, assuming the forms of the sun, rose up at once in battle. Afflicted and scorched by the Aurva illusion, the gods sought refuge in the realm of the moon, which brings coolness and water. Burning with the Aurva fire, their minds bewildered, the gods, tormented and desperate, appealed to Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt. As the divine army was being destroyed by the Daityas and enveloped in illusion, Varuṇa, urged by the king of gods, spoke these words: “Once, O Indra, the sage Aurva, born of Brahmarshis, performed severe austerities, blazing with former brilliance, equal to Brahmā in his qualities. As he performed his austerities, shining like the sun, the hosts of divine sages, along with the Devarṣis, approached him. And once, Hiraṇyakaśipu, the lord of the Dānavas, approached that sage of supreme brilliance and made his request.