On that fateful battlefield, the air was thick with the scent of fire and blood. Sparks leapt from shattered shields, singeing the hair of warriors as the heavy clang of swords—gifts exchanged in the final moments of valor—echoed across the plain. From the mighty elephants, struck by spears, blood surged in waves, while the fierce grinding of tusks filled the air with a wild, unrelenting cry. Amidst the thunderous noise of maces crushing through masses of warriors, the sky seemed to bloom with clusters of fallen heroes’ heads, scattered like lotuses upon a pond. Dust clouds rose, churned by the arms of battling men and the stamping feet of elephants, obscuring the heavens. Victorious fighters seized the hair of their slain foes, retaliating fiercely against their enemies. Terror grew as nails clawed at eyes, ears, and noses. Chariots thundered across the trembling earth, many overturned by the charging might of elephants. Blood-soaked garments, torn by spear wounds, lay strewn across the ground, while weapons flew in streams, shrouded by swirls of dust kicked up by the relentless conflict. Among the chaos, one warrior stood proud as the sea, his strength gathered like a single, surging wave. Yet, even he was consumed by Death, who played and laughed wildly amidst the carnage. His voice thundered like clouds shattered by the peaks of proud mountains and kingly elephants, as he wielded wheels, spears, and maces near the forests and riverbanks. He moved like a ram among warriors, piercing the gaps between hissing arrows and the hollows of trees, though his banner and canopy were torn and scattered by the confusion of battle. He rushed into the midst of flying machines, stones, and wheels, his body marked by wounds, the cries of the injured resounding all around. His head bore the gash of cruel axes, and his garment was streaked by the distant flashes of shattered swords. The earth was littered with spears and darts, and the tumult of the army was wild with the leaping of goblins and the swinging of maces. He stood tall, a gateway in the sky adorned with heroic spears and javelins, his sword broken by Bhusunda, forming a ring above. Amid the reeds and bamboo of spears, he was like a peacock, his soldiers honored by the king, rejoicing in the rain of swords and spears. Celestial nymphs hovered eagerly, arms raised to seize the valiant, their excitement mingling with the clamor of warriors whose armlets trembled as they pressed on. Fierce soldiers were struck down by the forceful thrust of spears; elephants, their cunning lost, were broken by whirling discus and chariot wheels. Maddened elephants fell together beneath a rain of axes, while warriors roared, swinging clubs and scattering their enemies in terror. Chariots and trees shattered under the assault of machines and stones. Parasols, pale as lotuses, were torn apart by fierce swords. The earth, marked by dwindling armies, was disturbed and scattered by missiles; the sides of elephants were crushed as headless trunks fell in heaps. Elephants were halted by the blows of goads and the shouts of mighty warriors; heroes skilled with nooses mourned the loss of their companions. People fell like lotus petals, pierced by daggers that tore open their bellies, as if enacting the dance of Shiva himself—tridents raised, faces fierce. The tumult of archers running with full quivers echoed like the cry of birds, while warriors with slings and shields displayed their prowess, others performing the wild dance of battle. Pressed by warriors with fists like thunderbolts, one soared through the sky like a falcon, his chariot cloth flying behind him. Mighty elephants and horses, seized by the goad, tossed the banners of heroic kings, as the tumult rose with the fierce blows of clubs and the chaos of the fight. The earth was torn by the pounding of tall palaces and towers, and the rows of stones were shattered by arrows shot from doubled bows. Mad elephants were cut on both sides by saws, and the battlefield was strewn with rice grains as if from a giant mortar, the army’s birds bound by chains like clouds. A rain of arrows fell like a flood of warriors, their plumes dancing wildly in the confusion as the tumult of battle swirled like mountains shaken at the end of the age. Then, among the kings, warriors, ministers, and eager onlookers, excited words arose. The sky, adorned with the heads of heroes, shone like a lake filled with moving lotuses or a flock of birds in flight, appearing as stars in the heavens. “Look!” they exclaimed. “With winds reddened by streams of blood, the sky glows like evening; these cloud-sun warriors gleam at midday.” “Sister, what is this sky, filled with straw, that stands here?” one asked. “This is not straw, O brave one—these are clouds laden with arrows.” As many particles of dust as are quenched by blood upon the earth, for that many thousands of years the warriors’ abode remains in the sky. “Do not fear,” came the reassurance, “these are not swords with the sheen of blue lotus petals; these are the playful glances of Lakshmi, the observer of heroes.” The god of love himself, eager to loosen the girdles of heavenly women longing for the embrace of heroes, had set forth. Their arms shone like waving lotus stalks, their hands like red buds, eyes intoxicated as clusters of flowers, and their fragrance was sweet as honeyed blossoms. The goddesses of Nandana grove, hoping for the arrival of these heroes, began to dance, inviting them with sweet words. The army, like a village woman with wicked deeds, broke the enemy within using hard axes, harming even her beloved. Alas, one lamented, “My father’s head, with blazing earrings, was carried near the sun by an arrow, as if by Time itself, like the eighth planet in the heavens.” With both arms raised swiftly, a mighty warrior spun the wheel called Citradaṇḍa, fastened with a chain at his feet, revolving two massive stones. Tall as Yama, the god of death, he came from the southern direction, gathering the army from all sides, and declared, “Come, let us return as we came, like Yama himself.” Thus resounded the tumult and awe of that epic battle, where gods, heroes, and mortals alike were swept into the tide of destiny.