Brahmā, the grandsire of the worlds, knowing the deep-rooted fear the serpents harbored, assured them without doubt that he himself would grant them the highest abode. To ease their distress, Brahmā spoke once more to the serpents, repeating his earlier words: “That fifth lunar day is most blessed and auspicious, a remover of all sins.” It was on this sacred day that the matter concerning the serpents was resolved. Whoever, on this day, abstains completely from pungent and sour foods and bathes the serpents with milk, wins the serpents’ friendship and favor. At this point, Bhīṣma spoke, seeking knowledge: “How did Śivadūtī arise, and by whom was she established? Tell me truly, O great sage.” Pulastya replied: Śivā, her mind set upon severe austerity, journeyed to the blue mountain. There, her fierce power, born from her matted locks, manifested. She took a solemn vow: “By performing austerities for a long time, I shall consume the entire world.” With this resolve, the radiant goddess undertook the rigorous five-fire austerity. Meanwhile, elsewhere, a mighty asura named Ruru, radiant with power and granted a boon from Brahmā, dwelled in the midst of the ocean in the exceedingly wealthy city of Ratna. There, this lord of the Daityas, terrifying to all the gods and surrounded by countless thousands and millions of the finest asuras, was honored as though he were a second Namuci. After a long time, Ruru set his sights on the city of the guardians of the worlds. Seeking victory and accompanied by his vast army, he declared enmity with the gods. As this great asura rose up, the ocean’s waters surged swiftly, flooding the mountain slopes teeming with serpents, crocodiles, and fish. Within these waters, hosts of the gods’ enemies assembled, adorned with wondrous armor and weapons. A terrible and mighty force, skilled in battle, emerged from the ocean’s depths—elephants bearing daitya warriors, chariots with resounding bells, all displaying great prosperity. They came forth in forms reminiscent of great fish, their might evident, and horses bound with golden cords appeared at the water’s edge, red as Rohita fish. In swift, countless numbers, they emerged, their speed rivaling the chariot of the sun, equipped with Indra’s staff and sturdy bamboo poles. Chariots, their frames pressed by machines and banners fluttering, made a thunderous noise. Warriors, stationed on boats, eager to cross, brandished excellent weapons. In battle after battle, the fierce asura host shone brilliantly, especially as the gods were routed and forced to flee. The asuras pursued the gods everywhere, and in their terror, all the gods fled together. Seeking refuge, they arrived at the great blue mountain, where the goddess herself stood—terrible, radiant with ascetic power, and the supreme energy of Shiva. This goddess, known as Kālarātrī, the bringer of destruction, beheld the gods, terrified and bewildered. With eyes wide as blossoming lotuses, she asked in astonishment, “I see no danger approaching from behind you. Why then do you flee, O gods, led by Indra?” The gods replied, “Ruru, the mighty lord of the daityas, comes upon us, surrounded by a great fourfold army. Distressed, we have come to seek your refuge, O goddess.” Hearing their words, the goddess laughed aloud. As she laughed, splendid women emerged from her mouth, each bearing nooses and goads, their breasts full and high. All of them wielded tridents, fearsome in appearance, with faces adorned with fangs and goads. They wore crested crowns, their teeth bared and clenched, and their unholy roars and shouts struck terror into all beings, moving and unmoving. Some wore white garments, others were clad in varied colors; some were dressed in deep blue, while others thirsted for the taste of blood. Their faces and bodies took many forms and appearances. Surrounded by these fierce goddesses, the goddess herself became the giver of safety to the gods. She reassured them, saying, “Do not fear, gods—may good befall you!” But even as she spoke, Ruru, with his massive fourfold force, arrived at the blue mountain, the path and refuge of the gods. Seeing the gods’ army in confusion, the daityas advanced, shouting, “Stop! Stop!” A terrible battle broke out between those fierce women and the asura host. On the battlefield, daityas with bodies pierced by arrows writhed like snakes with broken backs. Some had their hearts split by spears, chests crushed by maces, heads cleaved by axes, and skulls shattered by clubs. Others had their bellies pierced by tridents, necks severed by swords; wounded horses, chariots, elephants, and foot soldiers fell in the struggle. When all the Daityas except Ruru entered the fray and were slain, Ruru, seeing his army destroyed, resorted to his magic. By his illusion, both the goddesses and the gods were bewildered on the battlefield. But the goddess, with her own dark magic, enveloped everything in profound darkness. Then, the great and powerful goddess struck Ruru. When she struck him, the darkness that cloaked the Daitya was dispelled. With his illusion destroyed, the Dānava Ruru swiftly fled into Pātāla, the netherworld. But even there, the Supreme Goddess stood before him, surrounded by her goddesses, her anger undiminished. She confronted Ruru, the lord of the Dānavas, who now stood frightened before her. With the tip of her nail, she severed his head, seized his skin with great speed, and then emerged from Pātāla, returning once more to Puṣkara mountain.