In the midst of a fierce and tumultuous battle, a valiant warrior stood out, his head wounded by the cruel blows of axes, and his garments marked by flashes from shattered swords. All around, the earth was strewn with spears and darts hurled in combat, and the tumult of the army was heightened by the wild leaps of goblins and the swinging of heavy maces. Towering tall in the sky, he appeared as a gateway adorned with heroic spears and javelins. His sword, broken by Bhusunda, formed a ring in the heavens, a testament to his might. Amidst the reeds and bamboo of spears, he was like a peacock, his soldiers honored by the king and rejoicing in the rain of swords and spears that fell upon them. Celestial nymphs, eager to seize the valiant, raised their arms in excitement, while the quarters resounded with the clamor of warriors, their armlets trembling as they pressed forward into battle. Fierce soldiers found their movements crushed by the relentless thrust of spears; elephants, once clever, had their ranks broken by the whirling of 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 impact of machines and stones, and parasols, pale as lotuses, were torn apart by fierce swords. The earth bore the marks of dwindling armies, disturbed and scattered by missiles, while the sides of elephants were crushed and headless trunks lay in heaps. Elephants were halted by the blows of goads and the shouts of mighty warriors; heroes skilled in the use of nooses lamented the loss of their companions. People fell like lotus petals, pierced by daggers that ripped open their bellies, and the dance of Shiva was enacted—tridents raised, faces fierce. The tumult of archers running with quivers full echoed like the cry of birds; warriors with slings and shields displayed their prowess, while others performed the dance of battle. Pressed by warriors whose fists struck like thunderbolts, he soared through the sky like a falcon, his chariot cloth flying behind him. Mighty elephants and horses, seized by the goad, moved among banners tossed by heroic kings, while the tumult was stirred by the fierce blows of clubs and the chaos of battle. The earth was dug up by the pounding of tall palaces and towers, and rows of stones were shattered by arrows shot from doubled bows. Mad elephants were cut on both sides by saws; the battlefield was filled with rice grains as if from a giant mortar, and the army birds were bound by chains like clouds. A rain of arrows fell like a flood of heroic warriors, their plumes dancing wildly in the confusion, as the tumult of battle swirled like mountains shaken at the end of an age. Then, among the kings, warriors, ministers, and eager spectators, excited words arose. The sky, adorned with the heads of heroes, shone with the appearance of stars—like a moving lotus in a lake or a flock of birds in flight. “Look!” they cried, “With winds reddened by streams of blood, they shine like the evening sky; 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,” came the reply. As many particles of dust as are quenched on earth by blood, for that many thousands of years the warriors’ abode remains in the sky. “Do not fear—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, eager to loosen the girdles of heavenly women longing for the embrace of heroes, had set forth. Their arms shone like waving lotus stalks, hands like red buds, eyes intoxicated like flower clusters, 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 with hard axes, harming her beloved. Alas, one lamented, “My father’s head, with blazing earrings, was carried near the sun by an arrow, as if by Time, like the eighth planet.” Another, with both arms raised swiftly, spun the wheel called ‘Citradaṇḍa’, fastened with a chain at his feet and revolving two massive stones. A warrior, tall as Yama, came from the southern direction, gathering the army from all sides, saying, “Come, let us return as we came, like Yama.” Headless bodies, their heads freshly severed, swarmed with vultures and jackals, danced wildly on the battlefield, their arms flailing. In the gatherings of the hosts of gods, lively discussions arose: “Tell, to which other world will these heroes go? Who will go, and from where?” The armies that had arrived were swallowed up like rivers by the ocean, their formations like fish and crocodiles—indeed, the warriors were in dire straits. The ground was strewn with elephants, their bodies pierced by spears, as if full rains had fallen and gathered among clusters of mountain peaks. “Alas, my head has been taken by a spear!” they tried to say, but only their severed heads uttered, “The head has been taken,” echoing in the sky like birds. “By whom we are being drenched with a shower of mechanical stones, let a net of chains be forcefully cast over this army.” Let all these utterly deluded, half-dead men—your own—be struck down and killed by you, the most wicked, with a blow of your foot. Amid the throng of celestial nymphs, their braided hair tossing in eager excitement, a warrior with a divine body arrived at your side—behold him. On the banks of the heavenly river, among blooming golden lotuses, in the cool shade and gentle breeze of the water, one approached from afar. The peaks of mighty mountains, shattered by the clash of various weapons, roamed the sky with a clamor, like fallen stars. Thus, the battle raged on, the earth and heavens alike bearing witness to the valor, destruction, and celestial wonders that unfolded.