At the time of the great dissolution, when the universe draws to its end, countless beings are swept up in the cosmic unraveling. Some, whose refuge is scattered by the sun’s rays, begin to dissolve and fade away, much like delicate drops of frost melting under the heat of the morning sun. Others, not having attained their destined realms, are caught in a long descent, falling through the ages. Only after they have completely disintegrated are they reborn, it is said, as forms composed solely of consciousness, subtle and formless. There are those who remain entirely motionless, suspended like a tangled ball of hair floating in the sky, their fortunes flickering and shifting like the ceaseless play of the wind. For some, the practice of the Vedic scriptures prescribes a different path—an existence where the beginning is prolonged and the order of their lives is established in another way. Within this vast diversity, some beings become like Brahma and other great creators, some like Vishnu and other divine architects. There are those who are lords of all creatures, and others who exist without any lord at all. Some preside over wondrous creations, some dwell among the animal forms, and some inhabit worlds that are nothing but a single ocean, devoid of water or any substance. Others take the form of lumps of stone or metal, or find themselves within the narrow paths of worms. Some are entirely divine in their appearance, while others are only partly human. There are worlds always veiled in darkness, inhabited by beings suited to such gloom. Some are filled with swarms of gnats, shining with the peculiar glory of fig fruits. Some beings are always empty within, their essence arising from the profound stillness of emptiness. Others, who are full in this world as we understand it, cannot even conceive of such emptiness, much like the silent, unmoving mountains of the sky. Within some, there is an inner vastness—a great expanse so immense that not even Vishnu or the other gods who grant life can bestow it. In each cosmic egg, there is a portion of earth that, by its very nature, acts as a magnet, drawing the elements together just as a jewel attracts iron. Yet, the true origin of creation lies beyond the grasp of our minds, and so, O wise one, it is beyond my power to fully describe that world. Just as intoxicated yakshas might dance unseen by each other in the thick darkness of a great forest, so too, within the supreme sky, countless worlds arise and shimmer, each hidden from the others by the vastness of the cosmos. Reflecting on these mysteries, the two goddesses left that world behind and beheld their own palace—it appeared to them as a silent city, deep in slumber. There they saw the great royal corpse, still adorned with garlands of flowers, and nearby sat the subtle body, the play of the mind itself. The palace was filled with people overcome by the deep sleep of three dark nights, and the air was heavy with the fragrances of incense, sandalwood, camphor, and saffron. Upon seeing her husband’s form, Lila, eager to re-enter his world-cycle, let herself, her body now formed only of thought, fall into that very sky. She entered a certain expanse, a world-cycle created by her husband’s thought, breaking through the covering of the world and the shell of the cosmic egg. Together with the goddess, she reached once more the vast pavilion of the cosmic egg, now covered again, and swiftly entered it as before. Within, she beheld the world born of her husband’s thought—a muddy marsh of existence, as if a swan gazed upon a mountain-lotus sullied by the dark waters of ignorance. The two goddesses entered that sky and the world made of sky within the cosmic egg, just as a tiny ant enters a ripe wood-apple through a small opening. Passing through other worlds, mountains, and the mid-space, they finally reached the earth, crowded with mountain ranges and oceans. There they saw Jambudvipa, adorned by the golden Mount Meru with its nine-petaled interior, and within it, in the land of Bharata, lay the realm of Lila’s husband. Meanwhile, in that realm, upon the richly decorated earth, a certain king, whose dominion stretched to the farthest borders, was engaged in a great act of conquest. All the beings of the three worlds had gathered to witness the excitement of the battle, so much so that the sky was crowded beyond measure. The two queens arrived without fear and beheld the sky filled with hosts of celestial beings, as if adorned by clouds. The space was alive with Siddhas, Charanas, Gandharvas, and Vidyadharas, all surrounded by heavenly nymphs eager to capture the hearts of heroes. Spirits, demons, and ghouls danced with blood and flesh in their mouths, while Vidyadhara women showered flowers from their hands. The scene was encircled by Vetalas, Yakshas, and Kumbhandas, all respectfully observing the duels, and by mountain peaks seized for defense against the rain of weapons. The region of the sky was filled with flying weapons and fleeing hosts of spirits, illuminated by eager warriors and the radiant soldiers of Indra. The foremost elephants of the guardians of the worlds, splendidly adorned for the sake of the heroes, approached, while groups of heroes gathered and Gandharvas and Charanas watched in anticipation. Noble warriors were the focus of eager glances from passionate women, and the crowd of spectators was stirred by the excitement of the contest. Amidst the tumult of fierce battles, with the talk of warriors passing from one to another, beautiful women skilled in playful laughter and graceful gestures waved yak-tail fans. The highest sages chanted auspicious hymns for the righteous side, while the wives of many lords of the worlds sang fresh songs of praise. Hosts of women, eager for the embrace of heroic arms, gathered there, and the glory of the brave, pure as white, made even the sun appear pale like the moon. O venerable one, you may ask: what kind of warrior is truly called ‘heroic’? Who in heaven is adorned, and who is said to be slain by the ḍimbāha? He who, following the conduct prescribed by scripture and for the sake of his lord, dies or is victorious in battle—he is called a hero and attains the world of heroes. But if a man is slain in battle with his limbs severed, he is said to be killed by the ḍimbāha and becomes fit for hell. If a man fights for wealth, disregarding the scriptures, for him, death in battle brings unending hell. But he who acts in accordance with the true meaning of scripture and the customs of the world, and fights with devotion—such a one is truly called a hero.