For the sake of the cow, for the Brahmin, for a friend, and for the sake of good intention, there are those who dedicate themselves to protecting anyone who seeks their refuge. Such a person, who strives and even gives up his life in this cause, is adorned in heaven after death. Likewise, it is always the king’s duty to protect his own land; should he die in this pursuit, he is recognized as a hero and attains the exalted realm reserved for heroes. But not all who perish in battle are so honored. Those who fight and die for a king or lord whose intentions are rooted in harming the people, they do not ascend to glory, but instead fall into hell. When a battle is fought in accordance with righteousness, then even those intoxicated with violence and destruction cannot disrupt the cosmic order, and the people are freed from fear. It is often said by the ignorant that wherever a hero falls, he attains heaven. But in truth, as revealed by scripture, only the righteous warrior is a true hero. Those who, for the sake of the virtuous, endure the edge of the sword are called heroes; the rest are merely shield-bearers, carrying the burden but not the glory of heroism. For such heroes, in the sky above the battlefield, the divine maidens—beloved of the great souls who have become gods—stand with eager longing, awaiting them. The heavens themselves celebrate, adorned like a festival in the sky, with rows of celestial planes where gods and siddhas recline, surrounded by proud women adorned with garlands of mandara flowers. The sweet and gentle songs of the Vidyadharis fill the air, as if the heavens themselves are dancing in delight. Then, as the celestial nymphs danced in longing for the greatest hero, Lila, endowed with knowledge, stood in the sky and observed the scene below. In the region of Surashtra, ruled by Bhartṛpāla and covered with vast forests, there lay a wilderness so immense and wild it seemed a second sky. There, two mighty armies had assembled, calm and undisturbed, like two vast and gentle oceans, each led by a king. The warriors were fully prepared for battle, clad in sturdy armor, and their eyes were restless and agitated, alert to the first signs of assault, like fire kindled by sacred oblation. The warriors brandished spotless, unsheathed swords, and the field was crowded with flashing axes, spears, maces, and shields. The ground itself trembled beneath the rush of warriors, like a forest shaken by Garuda’s wings, while their golden armlets gleamed in the rising sunlight. Weapons were raised in anger as the warriors faced each other, their gazes locked as if painted upon a marvelous mural. Their ranks were drawn in long, straight lines of formation, and the air was filled with the thunderous, inescapable clamor of their gathering. In the early hours, with drums long since silenced, the battle formations stood unmoving, sluggish and tense. The two armies were separated by only the span of two bows, with a single bridge in the empty space between them, divided by the wind of imagination, like a single ocean made wild. The lord of one army was overwhelmed by anxious thoughts about the crisis at hand, his heart fragile and restless, like the croaking throat of a frog under the sun. His soldiers were countless, ready to renounce their very breath, archers with bows drawn, arrows poised at their ears, eager for the clash. The warriors stood motionless, watching for the fall of blows, their brows furrowed in fierce rivalry, each man hardened and tense. The harsh clashing of limbs and the sharp sound of armor filled the air, as bold and unyielding warriors, their faces hollowed by fearlessness, prepared for battle. Their lives hung by a thread, dependent only on the arrangement and sight of their positions, their bodies covered in dust, resembling aged men. Lila, watching the early blows, found her breath hurried, her mind stilled like one sealed in sleep. The tumult of conch shells, cymbals, drums, and trumpets had subsided, leaving the earth covered everywhere with dust and blood. Inch by inch, the field was abandoned by those intent on fleeing, and it was strewn with the shining bodies of fish-like warriors and the scattered ranks of makaras. Standards and clusters of banners rose above the trees, and the forests themselves were transformed by elephants lifting their trunks, making the battlefield appear as a wooded expanse. The air was filled with the fluttering wings of birds, the clamor of weapons, and the resounding ‘dhamad dham’—the whole sky echoed with the breath of warriors. Chariot formations pressed against the wicked and valiant demons, while the tumult of the Garuda formation scattered the host of serpents. The fierce array of the Śyena formation was broken, its ranks thrown into confusion, and groups of heroes fell, crushed by the collisions and blows of one another. Various battle formations, terrifying with their inner clamor, moved across the field, and great halls echoed with the uproar of warriors brandishing their heavy maces. The sun itself was darkened by a network of black weapons, and the sound of arrows, like the wind shaking the silk-cotton trees, roared across the field. It seemed as though the battlefield had endured countless aeons, as if at the end of a cosmic cycle, rising up like a single ocean agitated by the winds of dissolution. The chaos rose like darkness disturbed in the caverns of the underworld, like the wild shore at the world’s edge, trembling with the frenzied dance of madmen, and like a mass of great hells breaking through the earth. The tumult of lances, clubs, swords, and axes seemed to darken the world, as if soon to turn it into one unfathomable ocean, flooded by waves of heated water. At this, someone spoke: “O Lord, briefly tell me about this battle, for your words delight the listener’s ear.” In the sky above, two goddesses, wishing to witness the battle, sat together in a beautiful aerial chariot, steady and unmoving. Meanwhile, on the field below, the opponent of the playful Lord, unable to endure the intense suffering of battle, began to languish. Like a wave rising from the ocean of dissolution, a fierce warrior hurled a mace at his foe’s chest, as a rock is cast down from a mountain peak. Then, with the force of the ocean at the world’s end, a violent clash of weapons erupted between the two armies, scattering sparks and flashes like fire, as the great battle raged on.