A question arose, directed at the young woman: “Why, in the bloom of your youth, is your mind so indifferent to enjoyment?” She was reminded of the luxuries surrounding her—a bed soft as swan’s down, canopies adorned with pearls, all the delights one could desire. “By good fortune, gentle one, you have already set aside the dullness of austerity. Yet, consider this: Mahisha, the mighty king of the Daityas and lord of the three worlds, stands before you. Why deny it? Surely, by now, he has heard everything.” Thus, words were spoken to her—words improper, contrary, and deeply unsettling. Enraged by this, she, assuming the form of a Daitya woman, made a solemn vow in her wrath. Mahisha, hearing all that had transpired, his eyes blazing red with anger, summoned his forces. Chariots, elephants, horses, and foot soldiers assembled on every side. The sky was rent with the blaring of trumpets and the pounding of drums, their tumult overwhelming. From this mass surged forth beings fierce and hard to subdue, their forms terrifying—great jaws, towering crowns, dreadful mouths, and eyes that struck fear. Hearing this uproar, the goddess, her sacred observance disrupted, mounted the lord of beasts in the crimson valley of the mountains. Her voice thundered forth in a lion’s roar, echoing like storm clouds across the land. In that moment, the Mothers, stirred to anger, released from their own bodies the formidable circle of Yoginis. Some, radiant with a reddish hue and wielding staffs, rode upon swans. Others, their fury burning, emerged brandishing flaming tridents. Still others departed with their armies, riding upon peacocks. Some, even more wrathful, advanced upon Garuda himself. Tiger-mounted ones, shining like blue lotuses, joined the fray. Others, with a thousand wrathful, red eyes, rode elephants with spotted hides. Still more, mounted on swift horses, gathered together, brilliant as flashes of lightning. Outside the asura hermitage, four crore sixty lakh Yoginis assembled. Between their circle and the demon host, battle was joined. The Yoginis’ arrows shattered the crowns of the demons, and rivers of blood began to flow, with blades of kaishika grass rising like reeds from their depths. Ghouls, perched atop the beaks of vultures as if upon palaces, drank from the skulls of demon warriors, filling them with the blood-liquor of the fallen. Vultures, mistaking entrails for ropes, seized them in their talons. Released by the powers of Siddhas and Vidyādharas, the air was filled with the fragrance of Mandāra blossoms. The horses of the enemy, purified by the Yoginis, had their bodies clung to and cleansed as they moved through the chaos. Some Yoginis struck with heavy staffs, others with sharp spears, and still others wielded pointed weapons. The Yoginis laid waste to the chiefs of the demons with flashing swords. Brāhmī herself came forth, arranging the lines of battle and slaying foes with divine skill. Māheśvarī, after a fierce and prolonged struggle, struck with her mighty trident. Kaumārī, with a single thrust of her spear, split open a demon’s head. Vārāhī, swift and powerful, crushed Bāṣkala’s head with her mace, and thus the name by which she would be renowned arose from the slanders of her enemies. Among the demon host, Pracaṇḍa and Cāmara stood out—two mighty warriors with great crowns and fearsome jaws—yet even their strength was no match for the fury unleashed upon that battlefield.