Amidst the gathering hosts, the great Bull-bannered Lord—blessed Bhadra—mounted his mighty bull and advanced, radiant as the Creator himself shining forth from within the clouds. His form, luminous as sacred ash, was crowned by a pearl-white parasol and graced by a pure white chowrie in his hand, his splendor unmistakable. By Bhadra’s side shone the ash-hued Lord, his presence as striking as the lord of mountains standing beside the preceptor of the universe. Bhadra, with the white chowrie, gleamed like the gentle new moon, as did the trident-bearing Lord himself. Before Bhadra marched the resplendent Bhānu, adorned with gold and jewels, who blew a pure and auspicious conch whose mighty sound made the very earth tremble. The heavens echoed with the thunder of divine drums, and hundreds of clouds showered blossoms upon the advancing company. Gentle winds, fragrant with the scent of honey-filled, blooming flowers, swept softly along their path, favoring their progress. All the Gaṇeśvaras, intoxicated with the pride of their battle strength, pressed forward, a formidable host. At their center, Bhadra stood among his own, shining with his followers just as Tryambaka stands among the hosts of Rudras with Ambikā. In that very moment, the mighty-armed Vīrabhadra, accompanied by his great retinue, entered Dakṣa’s sacrificial enclosure, which had now become a battlefield. Then, the noble Rudra himself, chief of the hosts, strode into the sacrificial ground established by Dakṣa, intent on bringing about the world’s destruction at its appointed end. There, Rudra beheld the great sacrifice of the gods, presided over by Vishnu and attended by those of immeasurable might, their pavilions adorned with splendid banners. The ground was carpeted with pure darbha grass and seasonal offerings, the sacred fire blazed brightly, and golden vessels for the rites shone brilliantly. Sages skilled in sacrifice performed the prescribed rites with precision, following the ancient Vedic procedures. The enclosure was filled with thousands of divine maidens and hosts of apsarases, the air alive with the melodies of flutes and vīṇās, and the sacred chants of the Vedas. Upon witnessing Dakṣa’s sacrifice, the mighty Vīrabhadra let out a roar as deep and thunderous as a storm cloud. Instantly, a tumultuous clamor arose, filling the very sky—a sound so great from the hosts that it drowned out even the roar of the ocean. Struck by this overwhelming noise, all the gods dwelling in heaven were seized with terror; they fled in every direction, their garments and ornaments falling away in their haste. In their alarm, the gods cried out, “Has mighty Meru been shattered? Is the earth splitting apart? What is this, what is this?” Just as the roar of a lion sends elephants fleeing in terror through the forest, so too did some, overwhelmed by fear at that sound, abandon their very lives. Mountains shattered, the earth trembled, fierce winds whirled, and the ocean was agitated to its depths. The fires would not burn, the sun did not shine, the planets withheld their light, and the stars and constellations vanished from sight. At that critical moment, the blessed Vīrabhadra, together with his followers and the blessed lady, arrived at the blazing sacrificial enclosure. Seeing him, Dakṣa—though inwardly terrified—stood firm, feigning resolve, and addressed Vīrabhadra with false anger: “Who are you? What do you seek here?” Hearing these words, Vīrabhadra, radiant and thunder-voiced, gazed at Dakṣa with a hint of a smile. Before the assembled gods and priests, he spoke words clear and full of meaning: “We are all attendants of Śarva, of boundless power. We have come here desiring our share; let our portion now be given.” He continued, “But if, in this sacrifice, no share has been allotted to us, let the reason be stated—or let me fight here with the immortals.” Thus challenged by the lord of the hosts, the gods, led by Dakṣa, replied: “Mantras are our authority; we ourselves have no power.” Then the mantras themselves spoke, declaring, “O gods, your minds are clouded by delusion, for you do not worship Maheshvara, who alone deserves the first portion.” Yet, even when thus admonished by the mantras, all the gods, their minds utterly confused, refused to offer a share for auspiciousness, desiring instead to reject it. When their own words, though true and proper, proved futile, those dull-witted ones departed for the eternal realm of Brahma. Then the chief of the hosts addressed the gods, with Vishnu at their head: “Mantras have not been honored by you, proud in your strength. Because in this sacrifice we have been so dishonored by the gods, therefore, together with your lives, I shall remove your pride.” Having spoken thus, the Lord, enraged, split the great altar of the Yakshas with fire from his eye, just as Hara had done before. All the lords of the hosts, towering like mountains, uprooted the sacrificial posts and tied them around the necks of the priests with ropes. Breaking and crushing the various sacrificial vessels, and seizing the sacrificial components, they cast them into the flowing stream of the Ganga. There appeared heaps of divine food and drink, as vast as mountains, and rivers of milk flowing with nectar and rich, creamy curds. There were meats of every kind, both coarse and fine, fragrant foods, drinks full of flavor, and all manner of delicacies to lick and chew. The heroes devoured these with their mouths, plundering and scattering them, wielding thunderbolts, discs, great spears, darts, nooses, and clubs as they laid waste to the sacrificial ground.