The goddess, her eyes wide and radiant like blossoming lotuses, looked upon the gods with astonishment and asked, “I do not see any danger approaching from behind you.” The gods, led by Indra, replied in distress, “Then why are all the gods fleeing? Here comes Ruru, the lord of the daityas, a being of terrible might. Surrounded by a great fourfold army, he advances upon us; therefore, O goddess, we have come to you, seeking your refuge.” Hearing their words, the goddess laughed aloud, and as her laughter resounded, splendid women of fierce aspect emerged from her very mouth. Each of these powerful beings bore nooses and goads, their breasts full and high, their hands grasping tridents. Their faces were adorned with fangs and their expressions were terrifying. They wore crested crowns, their teeth clenched and bared, and their unholy roars and shouts filled all beings—moving and unmoving alike—with terror. Some among them wore white garments, others were clad in garments of many colors, while some were dressed in deep blue. There were those among them who were eager for the taste of blood. Their faces and bodies took on many forms and appearances, and, surrounded by this formidable host, the goddess became the giver of safety to the gods. She spoke to the gods, “Do not fear—may good befall you!” Yet even as she offered these words of assurance, Ruru, equipped with his great fourfold force, arrived. The goddess approached that best of blue mountains, the very refuge and path of the gods. She saw the army of the gods in confusion before her as the daityas advanced, shouting, “Stop! Stop!” And then, a terrible battle was joined between the goddess’s fierce women and the daityas. On the earth lay daityas, their bodies pierced by arrows, writhing in agony like serpents whose backs had been broken in anger. 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 and their necks severed by swords. Horses, chariots, elephants, and foot soldiers—all wounded—fell in the chaos of battle. When all the daityas except Ruru had entered the battlefield, Ruru, seeing his army slain, resorted to his magic. By his illusion, both the goddesses and the gods on the field were bewildered, and a deep darkness, born of the goddess’s own power, enveloped everything. But then, the great and powerful goddess struck Ruru. When she struck him in battle, the darkness was dispelled from him. With his illusion destroyed, the daitya Ruru swiftly fled into Pātāla, the netherworld. But even there, the Supreme Goddess was present. Together with her goddesses, now angry, she stood before him, facing him directly. Ruru, the lord of the dānavas, was frightened and attempted to flee further, but with the tip of her nail, the goddess severed his head, seized his skin with speed, and then emerged once more from Pātāla, returning to Puṣkara mountain. There, the maiden goddess was seen by the astonished gods, surrounded by her great and radiant army of many forms, bearing the skin and head of Ruru as her trophy. Having taken her seat at her place of penance, the Supreme Goddess was attended and surrounded by the illustrious goddesses. But these goddesses, eager and hungry, began to plead with her: “We are hungry, O Goddess, grant us the boon of food.” The goddess pondered deeply and meditated on what food would be suitable for them, but could find none. Then she turned her meditation to Mahādeva, Rudra, the mighty Lord of Creatures. From her meditation, the Supreme Self, the three-eyed one, arose. Rudra spoke to her: “What task do you wish to accomplish, O Goddess, great enchantress? Speak your mind.” The goddess replied, “O God, you dwell among goats, taking the form of a goat; these goddesses wish to devour you as their desired food, with reverence. O Lord of gods, for their food you should provide something, for these mighty ones, desiring food, threaten me with their tridents. Otherwise, these hungry ones might even devour me; therefore, seeing my plight, quickly provide suitable food.” Rudra replied, “Śivadūtī, I will tell you something from a former age: at Gaṅgādvāra, my attendants destroyed Dakṣa’s sacrifice. There, the sacrificial animal, becoming a deer, ran swiftly; I pierced it with an arrow, and it was sprinkled with blood. Then, having the scent of a goat, the gods named me Ajagaṃdha. You shall be Ajagaṃdha, and I will give other food as well.” He continued, “O Devi, listen: I will tell you of food suitable for them, O radiant Kalaratri. Any woman who is pregnant, or who wears another woman’s clothing, or who touches another woman, especially a man— even if someone forcibly takes a child, just one year old, from the earth— let these be their food, so they may remain content for many hundreds of years. Others, unhonored, may seize a breach in the birthing chamber. Those who steal newborns will dwell in homes, fields, ponds, lakes, and gardens. Among them, those women who constantly weep will have their bodies consumed by others, and some will attain satisfaction.” But Śivadūtī objected, saying, “What you have given is contemptible, causing distress to the people; you do not understand how to give the true essence of Śankara. That which brings shame and afflicts the people should not be given as their food, O Śankara.” Thus, the goddess stood firm, compassionate even in her ferocity, upholding righteousness and the well-being of the world.