O best of sages, the preparations for battle were magnificent. The Ādityas, radiant deities, were equipped with noble horses and skilled charioteers. The Kinnaras, wondrous beings, rode upon serpents, while the Aśvins, divine twins, mounted swift horses. Poets soared on parrots, and the Gandharvas, famed for their music, advanced on foot. With their weapons ready, all these hosts set out joyfully for battle, brimming with great energy. Now, let me describe to you the vehicles of the Daityas. Listen well, for I speak the truth. Their chariots numbered in the thousands, vast and immense, their color dark 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 possessed a wondrous aerial car, while Ayaśaṅku rode a majestic deer. Their armies, divine in form, rushed forth on foot to attack. As the battle commenced, dust rose and covered the world, making it appear tawny and dim. In the chaos, some warriors struck their own side, while others fought the enemy. An elephant charged at a maddened lord of elephants, and horsemen clashed with their rivals. Each sought victory over the other, and mutual combat raged fiercely. From this strife, a dreadful river arose, quelling the dust of battle. It was impassable: elephant heads served as turtles, arrows swam like fish. Entwined entrails floated like seaweed, froth from banners formed garlands upon its surface. The river teemed with forest birds, herons, jackals, and wild beasts. Heroes, undaunted, crossed its depths using chariots as rafts, plunging bravely within. Warriors, eager for glory, emerged swiftly from its waters. Within this river, the demons, yakṣas, and delighted hosts of piśācas rejoiced. They plundered flesh, leapt about, and roared at one another, as did the birds. Others, scorched by weapons, fell down; the battlefield became as a cremation ground. Life itself was staked in this contest, and pairs of warriors faced each other—skilled in weapons and dice, their bellies lean from hardship. Then appeared Śatakratu, the lord of the gods, fierce in brilliance, mounted upon a maddened elephant. Prahlāda, his name renowned, stood ready upon a chariot yoked with eight horses, weapons raised high. Śambara approached Vāyu, and Maya engaged Agni in battle. The gods—Agni, Sūrya, Vāyu, and the lords of the planets—met their mighty adversaries in single combat. They released thousands of iron arrows, shouting, “Go! Stop! Why do you stand?” Amidst this, a terrifying river was set in motion, flowing with the force of the Mandakini. Swelling with the strength of demons and spirits, it became dreadful to cross, for it flowed with blood. The foremost hosts of Apsarases led away those heroes who, slain in battle, faced their death. Now, the thousand-eyed one, Indra, took up his great bow and released his arrows. He hurled them at Purandara, the one adorned with peacock feathers. Both struck each other with swift, gold-tipped arrows. Indra shot at the king of the Daityas, and Andhaka witnessed the assault. Then, Indra reduced his foes to ashes, as fire consumes mountains. Leaping from his chariot, Indra stood firm upon the ground, his arms strong, surrounded by allies. Having turned his enemies to ashes, he approached Andhaka, wielding his thunderbolt. Thus unfolded that wondrous and dreadful battle, O sage, where gods and demons vied for supremacy, their valor and might shining forth amidst the tumult of war.