As he stood there, his mind was troubled with doubt: “How can I become the slayer of my own kin?” He pondered deeply, torn between duty and affection. Sensing his turmoil, the gods approached and urged him, “Strike Mahiṣa and the mountain with your spear; fulfill the purpose of the gods!” Still, his heart was heavy. “How can one kill a mother’s grandson, a nephew, a brother, or a brother’s son?” he wondered. Yet he remembered, “By following the will of the supreme mother, even those burdened with the greatest sins can attain heaven.” But he hesitated, recalling the dharma: “Even those who have committed offenses should not be slain, especially revered teachers and elders.” Resolving at last, he said, “When the demon emerges from the cave, then I will strike down the enemy with my spear.” Addressing those who had urged him, he declared, “You are not wiser than I; why do you speak so? Listen instead to the words once spoken by Hari.” He recalled, “Namuci, my own younger brother, was slain before.” The gods pressed him on: “Strike him down with the spear given by Pāvaka, and show your valor.” Trembling, the youth spoke these words to Śatakratu: “Because you reproach me, it is clear you do not possess true wisdom.” Suddenly, the very house called out, “Come, come! If you are strong, fight!” A challenge arose: “Whoever can circumambulate the Krauncha mountain more swiftly…” One set out on foot and, with surprising speed, completed the circumambulation even faster. Having done so, Guha stood and taunted, “Fool, why are you standing still?” The boy addressed Śakra, “This is not something you have done before.” With the task accomplished, they approached the great gods—Maheśa, Brahmā, and Mādhava. The question was put to the mountain: “By whom was this circumambulation done before?” The answer came: “After you completed it, Guha did it later, O Gotrabhit.” Then, the crooked one struck with his spear, along with the buffalo. Witnessing the buffalo’s defeat at the hands of Guha, Brahmā, Indra, Rudra, the Aśvins, and the chief Vasus rejoiced and ascended to heaven. But then, he was stopped by the wielder of the discus, who swiftly embraced him and called out, “Guru!” Hari, the enemy of the serpent-race, quickly took Kumāra, along with Śikhaṇḍin, up to heaven. Yet, grief lingered: “My brother, my maternal uncle’s son, has been defeated by me; therefore, I will cause my own body to waste away.” But consolation came: “By bathing in the river Aghavatī and beholding Hara with devotion, you will shine with the radiance of the sun.” He bathed and worshipped the gods. Radiant as the sun, he went to the mountain, the abode of Hara. There, as he worshipped the Bull-bannered One, Hara was pleased and granted him a boon. The devotee prayed, “Just as one would sever an image with the hand, may the Lord grant me the same power over Bāṇa.” Hara assured him, “The might of Bāṇa’s arms, now grown formidable, shall be cut down—there is no doubt.” Overjoyed, he fell at Hara’s feet, offered homage, and reported the boon he had received. The slaying of Krauñca, he learned, was done for the sake of one who sought refuge, destroying sin and increasing merit. A question was then posed: “Tell me, by whom was the lord of the Daityas pierced with an arrow?” This Daitya was a hero, unconquered in battle, powerful, and impartial among friends, Brahmins, the poor, and the wretched. Pātālaketu, the mighty Daitya, was struck on the back by an arrow, swift as the crescent moon. “By whom did the prince slay that Daitya with a feathered shaft?” it was asked. It was told: Pātālaketu, blinded by folly, had obstructed the prince’s penance and disturbed his meditation. Frustrated, the prince gazed at the sky and released a long, hot, and deep sigh. His powerful horse, swift as the wind, could cover thousands of yojanas in a single day. Then, standing as if in penance, the great sage met the Daitya. The prince, resolute, pierced him with arrows, bringing the episode to its destined end.