With the end of the world drawing near, the noble Rudra, chief among the hosts, entered the grand sacrificial ground established by Daksha. His purpose was clear: to bring destruction in accordance with cosmic order. As he approached, he beheld the magnificent sacrifice of the gods, led by Vishnu, those of immeasurable power. The site was adorned with splendid banners, the earth carpeted in pure darbha grass, offerings of every season laid out, and the sacred fire burning brightly. Brilliant golden vessels decorated the enclosure, and sages well-versed in sacrificial rites performed every ritual as prescribed in the Vedas. The atmosphere was vibrant, filled with thousands of divine maidens and attended by hosts of apsarases. The air resonated with the melodies of flutes and vīṇās, and the chanting of the Vedas amplified the sacred mood. Into this scene strode Vīrabhadra, the mighty hero, who let out a roar so deep and powerful that it echoed like thunder across the heavens. Instantly, a tumultuous noise arose, filling the sky—a sound so immense that it drowned even the roar of the ocean. Struck by this overwhelming sound, all the gods dwelling in heaven were seized with fear. In panic, they fled in every direction, their garments and ornaments falling away as they escaped. In their alarm, they 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 terrifies elephants in the deep forest, so too did some, hearing that sound, abandon their lives out of sheer terror. The very elements responded: mountains were shattered, the earth trembled, winds whirled violently, and the sea’s abode was agitated. Fires refused to burn, the sun ceased to shine, planets withheld their light, and even the stars and constellations faded. At this moment, the blessed Vīrabhadra arrived at the blazing sacrificial enclosure, accompanied by his followers and the blessed lady. Daksha, though terrified, stood firm, feigning anger, and demanded, “Who are you? What do you seek here?” Hearing Daksha’s words, Vīrabhadra, radiant and deep-voiced as a thundercloud, gazed at him, seemingly with a smile. In the presence of the gods and priests, he spoke clear, meaningful words: “We are all attendants of Śarva, of boundless power. We have come desiring a 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 addressed, the gods, led by Daksha, replied, “Mantras are our authority; we ourselves have no power.” The mantras themselves spoke, “O gods, your minds are clouded by delusion, for you do not worship Maheshvara, who deserves the first portion.” Yet, even as the mantras spoke, the gods, confused and unwilling, did not offer a share for auspiciousness, choosing instead to reject it. When their own words, though true and proper, proved futile, those dull-minded gods 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 enraged Lord split the great altar of the Yakshas with fire from his eye, just as Hara had done before. All the lords of the hosts, their forms towering like mountains, uprooted the sacrificial posts and tied them around the necks of the priests with ropes. They broke and crushed the various sacrificial vessels, seized the sacrificial components, and threw them into the stream of the Ganga. Heaps of divine food and drink, as large as mountains, appeared—rivers of milk flowing with nectar, rich creamy curds, meats of every kind, fragrant foods, flavorful drinks, and things to lick and chew. The heroes devoured these with their mouths, plundering and scattering them, wielding thunderbolts, discs, great spears, darts, nooses, and clubs. With pestles, swords, spikes, splitting rods, and axes, they attacked all the gods, accompanied by the guardians of the worlds. The powerful heroes, born from the body of Vīrabhadra, struck, broke, hurled, and quickly destroyed, shouting, “Cut! Break! Throw! Tear! Rend!” Their cries—“Strike! Attack! Split! Uproot!”—were harsh and terrifying, resounding as cruel shouts in the air. Wherever the lords of the hosts appeared, ready for battle, some had eyes wide open, some bit their lips, teeth, and palates in fury. Dragging away those dwelling in hermitages, they killed ascetics, seized their ladles, and threw fire into the waters. They broke pots, shattered jewel altars, singing, shouting, and laughing again and again. The foremost hosts of Shiva’s attendants drank blood-wine and danced, having crushed the gods along with Indra; their leaders were like chiefs among bulls, serpents, and lions. They performed many actions of incomparable nature, their hair bristling with delight; some rejoiced, some struck, some ran, some babbled. Some danced, some laughed, some leaped—the Pramathas, in their strength. Some tried to seize clouds, some leapt to grasp the sun, some wished to rush along with the wind; the fierce Pramathas stood in the sky, their wild energy filling the heavens. Thus, the sacrificial ground was transformed, the cosmic order shaken, as Rudra’s hosts unleashed their fury and power.