This place, a most sacred ford, was revered by gods and gandharvas alike. It was said that whoever bathed here on this very day would be instantly freed from the burden of the skull—released from its haunting grasp. For this reason, the ford came to be known as Kapālamocana, the holy site where the skull is released. There, following the Vedic rites, he immersed himself in the purifying waters of Kapālamocana. By the grace of the Blessed Lord, this ford earned its renowned name, Kapālamocana. Because of this, Dakṣa did not invite him to his great sacrifice. Nor did Dakṣa invite his own worthy daughter to the ceremony. Jayā journeyed to the lord of mountains, to Mandara with its enchanting caves. But why, some wondered, did Vijayā not go? And what of Jayantī and Aparājitā? All those who had been invited made their way to their maternal grandfather’s sacrifice. One, filled with longing, arrived, eager to see and to join the gathering. She asked, “Were you not invited by your father, or will you go anyway?” She spoke of her maternal uncle Śaśāṅka, who had gone to the sacrifice with his wife. “All were invited to the sacrifice; why were you not invited?” she questioned. Overcome by anger, the daughter met her tragic end. Tears streaming down her face, she wailed aloud. Someone, seeing her distress, approached Jaya and asked, “Ah, what is this?” He found her, righteous yet fallen to the ground, her limbs slack as if struck down by an axe. “Why has she fallen to the earth, like a severed vine, though she is virtuous?” he wondered. News of this calamity reached Daksha’s sisters at the sacrifice, along with their husbands. Her maternal aunt, consumed by inner grief, was left devastated. From the furious one’s entire body, flames burst forth in anger and sorrow. From this wrath, hosts of beings with lion faces arose, led by the formidable Virabhadra. Virabhadra went to Kanakhala, where Dakṣa was conducting his sacrifice. In the northwestern direction, the trident-bearing god stood, and in the very center, Sharva appeared, holding a trident in three places, his wrath unmistakable. The seers, yakshas, and gandharvas beheld the scene in astonishment, wondering what was unfolding before them. Then Dharma, the gatekeeper, charged at Virabhadra. With one hand, Dharma seized a trident blazing like fire; with a fourth hand, he grasped a mace and attacked the host. He stood firm, manifesting eight imperishable arms, each bearing a different weapon. Brandishing a bow and arrows, he was intent on slaying the leader of the hosts. Arrows rained down like monsoon clouds, sharp and unrelenting. Their bodies, soaked and reddened with blood, shone like kimshuka trees in bloom. Witnessing this sudden and terrible battle, the gods rose up, seizing their own weapons. The twelve Ādityas, led by Indra, and the eleven Rudras joined the fray. The Yakshas, Kimpurushas, birds, and mountain-bearers all gathered for battle. Ugra, renowned among the Bhojas and mighty-armed, descended from the Soma lineage, also joined. All of them, armed for war, rushed against the fierce Virabhadra. But Virabhadra charged at them all with tremendous speed, unleashing a relentless shower of arrows upon his adversaries.