In that sacred realm, there was neither the suffering brought by the Kali age nor any oppression, not even from the mighty Asuras. Those who dwelled there enjoyed such strength and prosperity only through the merit of their virtuous deeds from previous births. It was by the power of their past austerities that Shiva himself had granted them their great riches. This land was always the abode of those devoted to righteousness and the worshippers of Shiva, a haven for the pious. You, in particular, had attained sovereignty beyond compare, endowed with a power that few could hope to overcome. Yet, I have seen the maiden again—she now seems to possess little strength of her own. Still, through various arguments or through scriptures approved by Shiva, you—driven by pride in your own might—have brought trouble to all the worlds. If you are so confident, then summon your entire army, fully armed, and array it at the front. But know this: when my weapon strikes, your life and the lives of your soldiers will be cut down. Even when restrained by the deeds of the past, a person is helplessly driven onward by karma. You, too, must utter many words of compassion, for such is the way of the wise. Thus instructed by Gauri, the sage with the face of a monkey spoke. Yet, upon hearing all of this, the wicked-minded one was seized by a surge of anger. He called forth his entire army, and it surged like the four oceans swelling at the end of an age. Gauri beheld the wondrous and dreadful host of Daityas: their forms were monstrous, with one foot, one eye, one leg, their ears and breasts hanging low. Yet she declared, “I consume all this, and even this is not enough for me. What more is there for you to do? Stand by and watch.” As these words were spoken, the hosts of Yoginīs sounded the conch, filling the air with its ominous note. Seeing the Goddess advancing in such a terrifying form, the Daitya soldiers unleashed showers of weapons in every direction. Their army boasted hundreds of millions of chariots, lordly elephants, and swift horses. The Mothers of various forms, the Ḍākinīs, and the hosts of Yoginīs joined the fray. The great Asuras confronted the army created by the Goddess—a force that could not be defeated. The Goddess herself was seen, armed and blazing, surrounded by the bodies of slain Asuras. When she had descended from the summit of Kailāsa to perform austerities on earth, there too were Dundubhi, known as Satyavatī, and Antavatī, the supreme one. Caṇḍā and Muṇḍā were also created by the Goddess, fierce beings with terrifying fangs and bracelets made of teeth. Seizing a certain Asura, she began to dance in triumph. Witnessing this, the arrogant Asura was consumed by the fire of his own anger. His tongue, long and blazing like a flame, licked the peaks of the towering mountains. With a terrible, deep, and dreadful roar, he bewildered even the gods, his staff whirling in a blur of fury. For the sake of death itself, Bhavānī—radiant with the strength of three armies and standing upon a lion—advanced upon him. In his rage, the Asura filled the sky with a great shower of mountains. Yet the Goddess drove them back from afar with a mighty shower of arrows. Though struck repeatedly, the lord of the Daityas, steadfast as a mountain’s essence, endured the onslaught. Swords, discs, spears, and lances rained upon him, but he stood firm. Then, suddenly, a fearsome lion-shaped being, with a terrifying, roaring mouth, appeared on the battlefield, heralding a new and dreadful turn in the cosmic conflict.