With the clash of mighty forces, Rudra struck down Niśumbha with his powerful trident, the sound echoing like thunder. Yet, even as he fell, Niśumbha unleashed a storm of arrows, tormenting the assembled gods. Śumbha, the asura, followed with his own rain of arrows, overwhelming the gods. Meanwhile, Maya, master of illusion, ensnared Death itself with his nooses and carried him away. Maya delivered Mṛtyu—Death—to Jālandhara, who in turn gave him to the son of Pulomā. This son consigned Death into the depths of the ocean. With Death swallowed by the sea, the world was freed from fear. Indra, leader of the gods, bound the asura Namuci with nooses and cast him into the netherworld. Then Jālandhara, destroyer of worlds, advanced upon the gods. O King, at that moment, a terrible battle erupted between Indra and Balā. The radiance of Balā’s limbs shone forth in all ten directions, rivaling the sun itself. Indra’s weapons were shattered in the fray, and Balā’s own body was battered. At last, Indra, drawing upon his great strength, struck Balā in the heart with his mace. Indra let out a fearsome roar, but Balā, undaunted, laughed aloud. As he laughed, pearls fell from his mouth. Consumed by his desire for Balā’s extraordinary body, Indra refrained from further fighting. Pleased, he praised Balā, that ocean of strength. When Indra invited him to choose a boon, Balā replied, “If you are pleased, O lord of the Daityas, grant me your own body.” Indra answered, “Strike me with your weapons and take me.” Balā responded, “What is there that the great-souled cannot give?” At Mātali’s urging, Indra struck Balā’s body with his thunderbolt. The blow shattered Balā, and his body fell in pieces: one part on the golden mountain, another on the snowy mountain, a third on Mount Goṇaga, the fourth into the divine river, the fifth on Mount Mandara, another portion on Vajrākara, and the sixth became Vijayāṅgaja. Because of Balā’s pure lineage and virtuous deeds, the fragments of his body became seeds of precious jewels. From the splinters of his bones, six-sided gems arose; sapphires from his eyes, rubies from his ears, padmarāga gems from his blood, emeralds from his fat, coral from his tongue, and pearls from his teeth. From his marrow came gārutmata emeralds at his nose; bronze from his feces, silver from his semen, copper from his urine. Brass and brahmavītikā gems were born from the friction of his body; from his voice came cat’s-eye and another beautiful jewel. Gold arose from his nails, quicksilver from his blood, crystal from his fat, and coral from his flesh. Thus, the earth was enriched with the jewels from Balā’s body, to be enjoyed by the virtuous as the fruit of accumulated merit. News of Balā’s death at the hands of Maghavan—Indra—reached the queen Prabhāvatī. Overcome with grief, she went to the battlefield, her eyes streaming with tears, her hair disheveled, her heart heavy. Seeing her husband’s body scattered, she lamented: “Alas, my lord—mighty and beloved! Why have you left me for this lonely path? Others cling to their bodies despite old age and disease, but you, dearest, have cast yours aside in vain. Your divine form once adorned my necklace, and you yourself tied my braid before battle. Now, untie it for me, beloved, as I grieve in widowhood.” Witnessing her sorrow, the ocean-born Jālandhara, distressed, spoke to Śukra: “Revive Balā, O Bhārgava.” Śukra replied, “He has chosen death by his own will—how can I restore his life? Yet, by my mantra's power, he shall speak again.” Jālandhara then said, “Bhārgava, I wish to hear his form, strength, and words.” Śukra entered deep meditation, and from Balā’s mouth arose a melodious sound, delightful to the ear. In Prabhāvatī’s presence, celestial music filled the air. Balā’s spirit spoke: “Prabhāvatī, merge your own body into my limbs.” Upon hearing these words, Prabhāvatī became a river. Flowing eastward from Mount Sumeru, she merged into Balā’s limbs, and from her waters arose the supreme brilliance of jewels. Later, Nārada narrated: “I went to Jālandhara, son of the ocean, and said, ‘Śaṃbhu has vowed to slay you, O lord of all heroes.’ Hearing this, the asura questioned me, ‘O sage, are there any treasures of jewels in the house of the trident-bearer? Tell me—there can be no battle without a prize.’” Nārada replied, “His wealth is but ashes smeared on his body, an old bull, serpents for necklaces, poison at his throat, a begging bowl in hand, and his sons are the elephant-faced and six-faced ones. Such is his prosperity. Yet, he has another treasure: his wife, the daughter of the mountain king, broad-hipped and high-breasted. Even the god of love, though burned by him, was deluded by her form. Maheśa delights in wonders for her—he dances and sings to make her laugh. She is famed as Pārvatī, the very limit of beauty among goddesses. O king, though Vṛndā and the celestial nymphs are beautiful, not one of them possesses even a sixteenth of Pārvatī’s beauty.” Having spoken thus, Nārada vanished before all the daityas, leaving Jālandhara, who remained resolute. Then Jālandhara sent a messenger, the son of Siṃhikā, who swiftly reached Kailāsa and beheld the divine abode of the gods.