Armed and resolute, the hosts of gods and their allies mounted their own vehicles and prepared to depart. With great speed, they set forth outside, their ranks filled with elephants, horses, chariots, and other wondrous conveyances. The Vidyadharas and other celestial beings, each mounted their respective vehicles, ready for the coming conflict. As the procession advanced, there arose a curiosity about the particular duties and vehicles of each divine being. To address this, the vehicles of the various deities were described in brief and orderly fashion. The king of the gods, Indra, rode upon his lordly white elephant. The lord of Dharma, Yama, had a mighty buffalo named Pauṇḍraka as his vehicle. Varuṇa, the deity of the waters, traversed the battlefield upon the divine-moving Śiśumāra. Dhanada, the god of wealth, rode a vehicle born from the foot of Ambikā, accompanied by swift and strong white bulls of the Saurabheya lineage. The Ādityas, radiant solar deities, were carried by horses and charioteers. The Kinnaras rode upon serpents, while the Aśvins, divine physicians, mounted their horses. Poets journeyed on vibrant parrots, and Gandharvas went forth on foot. Thus armed and mounted, all these celestial warriors set out joyfully for battle, their energy and enthusiasm palpable. Attention then turned to the vehicles of the Daityas, the mighty demons. Their chariots numbered in the thousands, vast and immense, colored black as night. Some were drawn by eight shining steeds, white and golden in form. Jambha’s chariot was divine, its horses gleaming like gold. Śambara rode an aerial car, while Ayaśaṅku’s vehicle was a lordly deer. The divine armies, both gods and demons, rushed forward, many advancing on foot, eager to clash. As they charged, dust rose and covered the world, making it appear tawny. In the chaos, some warriors attacked their own side, while others struck at the enemy. Elephants charged at maddened rivals, horsemen confronted each other, and all sought victory in fierce mutual combat. From the turmoil of battle, a dreadful river arose, quelling the dust. It was impassable, its turtle-like elephant heads and fish-like arrows filling its waters. Entrails floated like seaweed, froth from banners garlanded its surface, and it teemed with forest birds, herons, jackals, and wild beasts. Heroes used chariots as rafts to cross this ghastly river, plunging into its depths and emerging swiftly, driven by the desire for victory. Within this river and on its banks, demons, yakṣas, and delighted hosts of piśācas rejoiced. They plundered flesh, leapt about, roared at one another, and even the birds joined in the frenzy. Others, scorched by weapons, fell down—the battlefield becoming like a cremation ground. The battle, staked on life itself, shone forth with pairs of warriors facing each other, skilled in weapons and dice, their bodies lean from hardship. Amidst this chaos, Indra, the lord of the gods, appeared, fierce and brilliant, mounted on his maddened elephant. Prahlāda, the mighty Daitya, stood ready, his chariot yoked with eight horses, weapons uplifted. Then Śambara approached Vāyu, and Maya engaged Agni in combat. The gods—Agni, Sūrya, Vāyu, and the lords of the planets—faced their powerful adversaries in single combat. Thousands of iron arrows were released, the air filled with shouts: “Go! Stop! Why do you stand?” Thus, the great battle raged, with all forces striving for supremacy.