Ganesha, wielding his mighty weapons, struck down his adversaries on the battlefield, cutting through their ranks. Meanwhile, Vīrabhadra unleashed confusion among the gods and all others present, scattering them in disarray. Amidst this turmoil, the sages who were conducting the great sacrifice continued to offer their oblations into the sacred fire. But fear gripped their hearts, and abandoning their ritual, they fled to seek refuge in the imperishable one. Amidst their panic, the wielder of the great weapon reassured them, saying, “Do not fear,” and rose up in their defense. He unleashed a barrage of weapons at Vīrabhadra—arms powerful enough to tear through even the strongest armor. But as these weapons struck, they fell broken to the ground, like beggars bereft of hope. Undaunted, he prepared to overwhelm Vīrabhadra with a rain of divine weapons, but Vīrabhadra met each assault with his trident, his mace, and a hail of arrows, blocking every attack. With a ferocious strike of his trident, Vīrabhadra brought many of his foes down to the earth. Ganesha too stood firm, blocking the plough with his mace. Then, Khagadhvaja, enraged, hurled his discus at Vīrabhadra. At that moment, the lord of the gods, fish-bodied, abandoned his trident and rushed at the whirling discus as if it were the demon Madhu himself. Murari, the destroyer of demons, approached the lord of the hosts, seized him, and dashed him forcefully to the ground. Blood poured from his mouth as the discus was halted in its course. Hrishikesha then seized the discus and hurled it once again at Vīrabhadra. Witnessing the defeat, he went to Vasudeva and reported all that had transpired. Hearing this, the imperishable one was seized by anger, hissing like a serpent. He stationed himself, armed and ready, at the appointed place. The trident-bearing lord, his eyes reddened with rage, entered the sacrificial enclosure. He who brings destruction strode into Daksha’s sacrifice, striking terror into the heart of the foremost seer. Withdrawing from the chaos, he concealed himself within a twisted mango tree. In that moment, she was transformed into the best of rivers, known as Sita Sarasvati. The Kandishikas, approaching Shankara, attained dissolution in him. Having received the sacrificial cake and other offerings, O great sage, he sprang up, ascended to the sky, and returned to his own abode. Those present, with hands joined and flowers offered, stood bowed in reverence. She wept pitiably for Indra and the other lords of the gods who had fallen. Many immortals had been struck down by the blows of a mighty palm. Others, gods and their kin, were destroyed by the fire of his gaze. Then, burning with anger, one stretched out his arms and charged at Maheśvara. But Shankara caught him with both arms, restraining him with a single hand. Blood streamed from his fingers as he swung his foe about, just as a lion swings a young deer. The adversary’s arms grew limp, his sinews and joints torn apart. Again and again he called out, “Come here, Kāpālin,” to the Lord of the chariot. Struck by a powerful fist, his teeth fell to the ground. He collapsed, unconscious, like a mountain shattered by a thunderbolt. With his two terrible eyes, he glared at Vṛṣadhvaja, and, casting him down to the earth, he agitated all the gods with his might.