In that dreadful realm, there exists a vast and terrible lake, its waters teeming with voracious fish that devour all that comes their way. Drawn closer, souls are irresistibly compelled—almost as if by their own desire for suffering—to plunge into the lake, only to be seized by agony. Whether they pause, set forth, or flee, it is as though the very calamities descend directly upon their heads, inescapable and relentless. Beyond the lake lies the pit of excrement and the fearsome hell known as Kumbhīpāka, where demons with razor-sharp claws tear at sinners along cruel and merciless paths. There, too, stretches the forest of sword-leaves and the forest bristling with pointed spikes, where every step brings burning, cutting, piercing, and breaking of the body. Fierce, black and spotted dogs roam, impossible to approach, their very presence terrifying. A silk-cotton tree stands nearby, its trunk and branches armored with hostile thorns. All these torments and adversities are reserved for those of wicked mind. In this place, the soul's desires are always thwarted: those longing for cold are scorched by heat, and those yearning for warmth are chilled by bitter cold. Here, sinners are ceaselessly cut into hundreds of pieces, again and again, by the thousands. A dreadful river appears, its waters home to terrifying serpents. This river, known as Karambha-sand, stretches for a hundred yojanas, its current both wide and perilous. Beyond it flows the great river Vaitarani, with its briny, salty water. In its depths, the mud is so thick and caustic that it breaks through skin, flesh, and even bone. Enormous owls, each the length of a bow, wield tongues as hard as diamond, shattering bones with ease. With immense difficulty, a soul crosses a yojana-long expanse of this mire, only to be beset by swarms of mice that gnaw at him in countless ways. Yet, when the morning wind blows, his flesh is restored, only for the torment to begin anew. There is also a dreadful mango grove, haunted by fierce birds, each adding to the suffering. In this state, the soul is stripped of veins, eyes, and ears—deprived of all bodily faculties. The entire landscape blazes constantly, shining like a fiery evening cloud. This is the furnace of Yama, deep and three yojanas wide, where thousands upon thousands—indeed, tens of millions—of departed spirits are gathered together. Within the belly of this blazing furnace, the souls come to rest, yet a swift, irresistible current carries them onward through the various stations of torment. Each stage is as difficult and terrifying as the last, each in its proper order. There are ten thorny creepers entwined along the path and thirteen cauldrons where the wicked are boiled in punishment. Everywhere, pitiless Rākṣasas stand guard, dreadful to behold. Some souls hang upside down in dry wells and choking smoke; others are cast into pits of dung and cooked over fires fed by fat. For those who emerge from these trials, seven further kinds of torment await them within the span of three yojanas. Burned, battered, and barely conscious, the soul struggles onward, and at last reaches a beautiful pond, its waters cold and refreshing, shaded by cool groves. Here, all the sinful are offered food and every sort of delicacy, a momentary respite amid their suffering. But the journey is not yet over. Before them rises the mountain named Śūlavaha, towering a hundred yojanas high. Upon this mountain, the rain-clouds pour down, but the water is always scalding hot. Not far away lies a grove called Śṛṅgāraka, where green meadows appear to promise relief. Yet, anyone who is touched or bitten here is transformed into a worm, enduring yet another form of misery. And so, after passing through these torments, the soul is delivered into yet another punishment, carefully devised and diligently prepared for retribution, as the cycle of suffering continues.