He appeared, wrapped in a garment of tiger skin that shimmered with golden stars. Moving among the assemblies of the gods, he was as noble and radiant as fire blazing in the forest, darting here and there with great speed, always bearing his mighty trident. To the astonished gods, he seemed not as one, but as a thousand. And beside him advanced Bhadrakali, her fury ignited, intoxicated by the heat of battle. Bhadrakali’s trident blazed as she pierced the gods in the thick of combat. With her, the noble one—born from the wrath of Rudra—shone with a terrifying brilliance. In that tumultuous battle, Bhadrakali appeared with a radiance that flickered like smoke-darkened fire at the end of an age, and her dreadful presence sent the gods scattering in fear. Just as the worlds are consumed by the flames of Shesha’s fire at the end of a cosmic cycle, Bhadrakali, foremost among the Rudras and their hosts, rushed upon the Sun, who was mounted on his horse. Swiftly, in playful ferocity, Bhadrakali struck the Sun’s head with her left foot, then turned her swords upon Agni, and hurled her spears at Yama and his consort. She struck the Rudras with her sturdy trident, battered Varuna with heavy maces, assailed Nirriti with iron clubs, and wounded Vayu herself with a sharp-edged weapon. Meanwhile, the heroic Lord of the Ganas, with effortless might, shattered all the hosts of gods and sages who dared oppose Shambhu. Then, with but the tip of his fingernail, the god sliced off the beautiful tip of Sarasvati’s nose, and likewise that of the mother of the gods. With his axe, he severed Agni’s arm, and before all eyes, sliced off two finger-widths from the goddess mother’s tongue. He also cut the right nostril of the goddess Svaha with his fingernail, and her left nipple as well. Bhadrakali, supreme in speed, fiercely tore out the large, lotus-like eyes of Bhaga. With the tip of his bow, the god struck down the shining row of teeth of Pushan, which gleamed like a string of pearls, leaving him unable to speak clearly. Then, playfully pressing the Moon with his big toe as if he were a mere worm, he rubbed him against the ground. In the height of her wrath, Bhadrakali cut off Daksha’s head and then handed it to herself while Vairini wailed in grief. Delighted, the goddess took the head—round as a palm fruit—and played with it on the battlefield as one would with a ball. Daksha’s sacrificial wife, like a puppet among her husbands, was struck by the Lords of the Ganas with their feet and hands. The mighty Ariṣṭanemi, Soma, Dharma, Prajapati, Bahuputra, Angirasa, Krishashva, and Kasyapa as well—all were seized by the lion-like Ganas, who grabbed them by the throat, rebuked them harshly, and struck their heads with their fists. The wives and children of the gods were seized and violated by spirits and ghouls, overpowered just as noble women are by adulterers in the Kali age. The sacrificial ground was laid to waste: ritual vessels overturned, posts broken, festivities ended, the great hall set ablaze, and the gates and arches shattered. The army of the gods was uprooted, ascetics were slain, the solemn chanting of Brahman silenced, and the gathering of people diminished. The sacrificial enclosure, struck by calamity, became like a deserted forest, filled with the wailing of distressed women and the bodies of their slain attendants. The foremost of the gods fell to the earth, their arms, thighs, and chests broken by the force of spears, their heads severed. When thousands of gods had been slain and lay fallen, the Lord of the Ganas strode into the sacrificial fire at once. Seeing this formidable one—like the fire of destruction—enter, the sacrifice itself, terrified of death, fled in the form of a deer. Bhadra, stringing his great bow with a terrifying twang, pursued, releasing arrows as he ran. Drawing the bow fully to his ear, he made a sound like thunder, the bowstring resounding throughout the sky, the atmosphere, and the earth. Struck by that deafening sound, the sacrificial being, bewildered and crying “I am slain!”, was pierced by a curved half-arrow from the hero. In terror, its feet stumbling, brilliance lost, the sacrificial being in deer form ran headless from the battlefield. Beholding that one, born of the sun, so humiliated, Vishnu was filled with supreme wrath and rose up, ready for battle. Then Garuda, king of birds and devourer of serpents, swift as the wind and ancient among all creatures, carried Vishnu on his shoulder. The surviving gods, led by their king, came forth to aid Vishnu, ready to give up their lives. But seeing the gods together with Vishnu, the lord of beings laughed, unshaken, just as a lion laughs at jackals. At that moment, a radiant chariot appeared in the sky, glowing with the light of a thousand suns, adorned with beautiful banners and bearing the bull emblem. Drawn by two divine horses, with four wheels, it was decorated with many celestial weapons and jeweled arms. The same charioteer who had driven in the battle against Tripura stood ready on the dark chariot as before. Then Brahma, by the command of the Trident-bearer, brought that excellent chariot near to Hari. With joined palms, he addressed him: “O blessed Bhadra, of auspicious form, the Lord adorned with the moon commands you, heroic one, to mount the imperishable chariot.