As the sacred oblations were offered, each deity received their rightful share of the sacrifice. In that very moment, Brahmā himself rose once more from the primordial waters. From the depths, Rudra—born from the fire of anger and previously immersed in those vast waters—emerged, his radiance blazing like a thousand suns. This divine being, Rudra, was the embodiment of all knowledge, utterly pure, and containing within himself the essence of all the gods. Through his immense ascetic power, he became visible to all, perceiving every world at once. At that time, O best of men, fivefold creation came into being: the divine hosts and the four classes of beings who dwell upon the earth. Immediately, the Raudra creation—born of Rudra—arose. Now, listen to the account of Rudra’s creation. After performing severe austerities for ten thousand years within the great waters, Rudra awakened. As he opened his eyes, he beheld the earth, lush with forests, abundant crops, and teeming with humans and animals. Then, from Dakṣa’s abode and the hermitages of the sacrificers, Rudra heard the sounds of priests, deeply absorbed in yogic concentration, reciting the sacred words as prescribed. Hearing this, the great and all-knowing Lord, blazing with energy, was seized by intense anger and spoke: “I was created by the sage, the all-pervading one, with the command: ‘Create beings!’ This was truly spoken. But now—by whom has this act, this description of creation and its beginning, been performed?” Thus, filled with great wrath, the Supreme Lord let out a thundering roar. From his ears, as he roared, flames burst forth, and from those flames sprang forth fierce beings: vetālas, terrifying spirits, pretas, and piśācas. Alongside them appeared the kūṣmāṇḍas and yātudhānas, their faces blazing, armed with countless weapons, emerging in their millions. Beholding these hosts, each bearing diverse arms, Rudra created a most splendid chariot, constructed with the very limbs of Vedic knowledge. Upon this chariot were the Ṛg and other Vedas, horses, the threefold essence, the triple braid, triple worship, three pressings, the righteous dice, and the sound of the wind. Day and night were its two banners; righteousness and unrighteousness, its two rods. The chariot itself was all knowledge, with Brahmā as the charioteer, accompanied by the other gods. Gayatri became his bow, Om the bowstring, and the seven notes served as the arrows of this Lord of gods. Having assembled these divine implements, the glorious and wrathful Lord of gods set out for Dakṣa’s sacrifice. As Rudra advanced, leading the Angirasa spirits through the sky, the priests’ mantras were lost, silenced by his arrival. Witnessing this reversal, the priests cried out, “Let the gods arm themselves—a great danger has come upon us!” They warned, “Some mighty demon, created by Brahmā, approaches, seeking a share of this sacrifice—a share difficult to obtain in this rite.” Thus alarmed, the gods turned to their grandsire, saying, “Dakṣa, revered one, what should we do? Tell us your will.” Dakṣa replied, “Take up your weapons quickly; prepare for battle here.” At his command, the gods armed themselves, and a great battle erupted between them and Rudra’s followers. On the battlefield, ghouls, spirits, goblins, planets, and witches, all wielding various weapons, clashed with the guardians of the worlds. The gods hurled dreadful arrows, swords, and axes, driving the fierce spirits toward Yama’s abode. Yet the spirits, in their fury, attacked the gods before Rudra, wielding blazing brands, bones, and arrows. In that terrifying conflict, Rudra, with a single arrow, pierced Bhaga’s eyes. Blinded and wounded, Bhaga fell, and the radiant Pushan, enraged, confronted Rudra. Seeing Pushan loosing volleys of arrows, Rudra, destroyer of enemies, struck down Pushan’s teeth. Witnessing Pushan’s defeat, the Vasus fled in all directions, and even the eleven Rudras quickly withdrew. Seeing his allies routed and scattered, the glorious Vishnu, the younger brother of the Sun, addressed his own army: “Where is your courage? Have you abandoned your pride and greatness? Why do you not recall your resolve, your noble lineage, your glory? Even the Supreme Lord, the self-born Lotus-born one, once offered futile salutations on earth out of fear.” Having spoken, Hari—clad in yellow garments, holding conch, discus, and mace—mounted Garuda, the mighty bird. Then there erupted a hair-raising battle between Hari and Hara. Rudra struck Hari with the fearsome Pashupata weapon, and Hari, enraged, struck Rudra with the Narayana weapon. The Pashupata and Narayana weapons, released in anger, clashed in the sky. The two great gods fought fiercely, each intent on the other’s destruction, and their divine battle raged for a thousand years. One wore a crown with matted locks; the other blew a conch, while his rival sounded a beautiful drum. One wielded a sword, the other bore a staff; one’s body shone with the Kaustubha gem, the other was adorned with sacred ashes. One whirled a mace, the other a staff; one’s neck gleamed with jewels, the other with bones; one was clad in yellow garments, the other wore a serpent as a belt. Thus, these two mighty and rival powers—Rudra and Narayana—each surpassing the other, were beheld by the Grandsire, Brahmā. He spoke, “Withdraw your weapons, O virtuous ones, each according to his own nature.” Heeding Brahmā’s words, both Rudra and Hari became peaceful, and the tumult subsided.