The illustrious son of a Brahmin, named Mātali, took his place as charioteer, grasping the reins with skill. Mātali, son of Śamīka, guided the chariot forward. As they entered the fray, the glorious one beheld a mighty ploughman fallen upon the battlefield. From the hand of the greatest among the gods, he took a straight arrow, pale as the moon. Bowing reverently, he set the arrow to the string and drew it upon his bow. These arrows, bearing the sacred names of Brahmā, Śiva, and Viṣṇu, were unleashed and destroyed the asuras in the thick of battle. O Nārada, the thousand-eyed Indra covered the enemy with a shower of exceedingly sharp weapons. Struck by an arrow, a mighty foe fell at once to the earth, utterly overcome. With their leaders fallen, the army of the enemy was routed and left in defeat. Then Jambhāsura, seizing his terrible mace, advanced fearlessly against the imperishable Lord of the gods. Viṣṇu, with force, struck down Kujambha, who fell lifeless from his chariot to the ground. Consumed with rage, Jambhāsura rushed at Śakra in battle like a lion attacking an elephant, his mind wild with fury. He seized a spear, as fearsome as Yama’s own rod and gifted by Agni, and hurled it at his adversary. But swiftly, the mighty one reduced Jambhāsura’s mace to ashes and pierced his heart. Stricken, Jambhāsura fell unconscious to the ground. Seeing their champion fallen, the Daityas were seized with fear and turned away from the fight. In awe, they praised the might of Indra, and the noble son of Gotrabhit stood by Shiva’s side. Then a call rang out: “Come, come, hero, to the house, great Asura; let us once more fight, ascending the mountain.” Declaring his lineage, the warrior vowed never to leave the battlefield. “I shall conquer the gods, Dānavas, Gandharvas, along with Indra and Maheshvara!” he proclaimed. He then comforted Shambhu, his charioteer, speaking sweet and encouraging words. He resolved, “Until I destroy the hosts of Pramathas and gods with my showers of arrows, I shall not rest.” With that, he struck the swift, dark-colored horses with his whip. Yet, in their distress, the horses could barely pull the chariot, sinking at the hips under the strain. Even with the speed of the wind, it took a full year for them to reach the battlefield. Once there, he unleashed his power, covering the gods—including Indra, Upendra, and Maheshvara—in a storm of weapons. The blessed Janardana, wielder of the discus, spoke to the gods: “For victory, heed my command at once. Let the enemy’s chariot be shattered and the foe left chariotless. The enemy pointed out by the preceptor of the gods must not be overlooked, O gods.” At this, the gods, together with Indra and the wielder of the discus, charged forward with great speed. In a single moment, the mighty one struck down his foe with the mace. Pierced in the heart by the spear, the enemy’s life fled and he fell to the ground. The ascetics swiftly broke apart the chariot, its proud banner and strong axle splintered. Undaunted, the mighty one seized his mace and charged at the gods. Standing firm, the lord of the Daityas addressed Mahadeva with reasoned words: “Yet still, I shall defeat you—behold my valor today.” With determination, he gathered all who were with Brahma into his own body and declared, “Come, come, O contented one; though I stand alone, I am ready.” The swift Daitya advanced toward Shankara, brandishing his mace. There, on the mountain slope, the wielder of the trident—Shiva himself—stood on foot, facing his challenger with unshakable resolve.