Then, in the heat of battle, Hari was seized around the waist by the mighty lord of elephants. Life left him, and he was cast down from the elephant’s broad shoulders, his form offered up to the gods above. Yet, undaunted, the goddess spun the fallen body with her left hand and sounded it like a great drum, its thunderous beat echoing across the battlefield. From her resounding laughter, wondrous beings of many forms sprang forth. Some bore the faces of horses, others of buffalo, and yet others had the snouts of wild boars. Their appearances were varied: faces, eyes, and feet of every kind, each wielding a different weapon, fearsome and strange. Among them, some played instruments, while others sang hymns in praise of Ambika, the Mother. But the goddess, fierce as a thunderbolt, struck them down as easily as lightning shatters a field of crops. Then Cikṣura, the commander of the demon army, rose to challenge the gods. Like a dark cloud pouring rain, he unleashed a torrent of arrows upon the earth. He seized sixteen arrows, each adorned with golden feathers and honed to a razor’s edge. With deadly accuracy, one arrow slew the charioteer, another cut down the proud banner fluttering above. When his bow was shattered, the mighty Cikṣura did not falter. He grasped his sword and shield, but with four swift arrows, the goddess broke them apart. Undeterred, he seized a spear and, exulting in the chaos like a jackal that has overtaken the lion’s mate in the forest, pressed on. Yet, enraged, the goddess struck him with her arrows, and the demon crashed to the ground, defeated. Suddenly, another demon, terrifying in speed and with a dreadful mouth, rushed forward. Alongside him came Durddhara, Durmukha, and a third with cat-like eyes, all surging toward Kātyāyanī with a storm of weapons and missiles. The goddess only laughed, her voice ringing out as she began to play the ḍamaru drum. At this, her host of spirits danced and laughed with wild delight. With the Supreme Lady in their midst, she struck at the demons, seizing some by their hair. The Mother of the World herself danced, her hands moving over the vīṇā, and she drank wine, her garments loosening as her energy was spent. Witnessing this, the great demon lords looked on with awe and dread. With her beak, tail, and chest, and by the force of her breath, she scattered the spirits around her. One demon, seeking to slay the lion in battle, turned and fled. Ambikā, now overcome by wrath, stirred the very oceans and scattered the clouds as she advanced toward the demon fortress. With a single blow, she severed the trunk of the elephant, and the mighty buffalo-demon, noble in his lineage, was struck down as well. She hurled the spear gifted by the fire-god, but its tip was blunted and fell harmlessly to the ground. Next, she swung the mace of the lord of wealth, but when it was thrown, it too broke and fell to earth. Undeterred, she seized the staff in anger and, with a mighty blow, shattered Yama’s staff into countless fragments. Abandoning the lion of the buffalo-demon, Durga swiftly mounted the demon’s own back. With her soft and tender feet, she pressed down upon him, as if moistening a hide with gentle force. Then, piercing his throat with her spear, a man bearing a sword emerged from the wound. The goddess, with her excellent sword, swiftly severed his head, and a cry of distress rose from the demon army. Struck by Bhavani’s attendants and terrified beyond measure, the demons fled, seeking refuge in the netherworld. Thus stood Narayani, the foundation of all worlds, Katyayani, fierce-faced yet beautiful in form. Declaring, “I will again be born for the sake of the gods,” Durga entered among them. At this point, the listener, filled with wonder, asked, “Today I am filled with great curiosity, O knower of Brahman. Tell me in detail, for the destruction of the demon Shumbha, as she desired the welfare of all the worlds.