In the vast expanse of the sky, where the empty river of space flowed endlessly, the tumult of battle transformed it into a swirling wheel, its waters made of flying arrows. Even the mightiest mountains seemed reduced to mere tiny rows beneath this spectacle. Along the celestial paths of the planets, the severed heads of heroic kings spun and tumbled, pierced and adorned by the sharp points and barbs of countless weapons. The sky itself took on a strange beauty, adorned with banners and lotus-stalks like ornaments, and arrows embedded deep within. It appeared as a lake of lotuses, with the wind rippling its surface. Amidst heaps of fallen elephants, terrified women vanished like ants among mountains, or like lovers lost in their beloved’s embrace. The playful winds tossed the flowing locks of the Vidyādhara women, who, radiant and joyful, proclaimed the bliss of a meeting graced by unparalleled beauty. When parasols were cast away and torn in the chaos, the moonlight above became their new white canopy, fashioned by the ever-glorious form of the moon itself. In the fleeting moment when death’s faintness passed, a warrior would instantly attain an immortal body, shaped by his own imagination, just as one finds oneself in a city within a dream. Showers of spears, lances, arrows, and whirling discs were hurled in volleys, standing in the sky-ocean like schools of fish, sharks, and alligators—undaunted and relentless. The sky, crowded with broken parasols and fans cut by arrows, shone as if covered with clusters of full moons gathered together. Tossed parasols and humming, beautiful fans radiated like waves of white geese stirred by the wind, while shattered banners and ornaments scattered across the field of the sky resembled showers of hailstones. Carried aloft by countless arrows, a rain of spears descended, bringing destruction as swarms of locusts devour the splendor of crops. The fierce roar of Death itself echoed, born from the harsh clashing of armor and the resounding ring of swords wielded by warriors with outstretched arms. Swept by winds as fierce as volleys of arrows, streams of blood from shattered teeth flowed freely. In this time of destruction, broken elephants lay like fallen mountains, and amidst the great red lake of blood where chariots, horses, warriors, and their lords were submerged, arose cries of “Alas! Lost! Destroyed!” as the chariot-city fell. The Night of Time danced wildly on the battlefield, the sharp, harsh clangor of swords striking armor resounding like the music of a veena. The directions were reddened by the wind, sprinkled with drops of blood fallen from men, elephants, horses, and the heaps of corpses. In the sky, now an ocean of sword-blades, the dark tresses of Kali were adorned with garlands of arrow-buds, flashing like lightning heavy with rain. Armies and earth alike were stained with fresh blood and bristling with weapons; the world shone with an intense blaze, as if transformed into a tumultuous realm of fire. Showers of arrows, spears, javelins, swords, and maces from Bhusunda and others clashed in mutual destruction, reduced to mere fragments. Yet, amidst this chaos, only the weapon of steadfast composure remained, as the battle—unaware of the actions of others—stood still, filled with the wisdom of seeking out agitation and wrath, as if asleep. With the ceaseless clamor of weapons striking and the ringing sounds of blows, the dreadful spirit of battle seemed to sing, rising with the tumult of destruction. The ocean of battle, filled with the dust of shattered weapons striking one another, appeared like a sea of sand, its waves formed by broken parasols. This mountain of battle, fierce and swift-winged, filled the worlds of rulers with the echo of shattered drums, as if performing a wild cosmic dance in the sky at the end of an age. Alas! Fie! The blazing arrows, flashing like lightning from dreadful, uplifted bows, resounded with sharp twangs and struck the peaks of mountains, carrying forth a terrifying roar. Before these fire-bright arrows, breaking limbs, ceased their furious assault, it was urged: “Let us quickly go from here, friend—let us go, for already the fourth day is passing.” Then, with waves of horses surging forward in readiness, the ocean of battle became like a madman performing a wild dance. The sharp fins of arrows rested on shields and drums, and the hollows were churned by the surging waves of horses and elephant troops, making the field tumultuous. He was surrounded by armies led by various weapons and commanders, with tumultuous crowds of intoxicated elephants and both moving and unmoving hosts. His head spun like a mass of grass caught in the eddies of hundreds of wheels, enveloped by dust and clouds, illuminated by the flashing blades of swords. He was like a ship tossed amidst vast formations of crocodiles—broken and breaking warriors—echoing with the thunderous roar of great whirlpools and reverberating caverns. Scattered like mustard seeds among advancing formations of fish, the multitude of arrows, and the circles of banners torn by weapon-waves, he was encircled by whirlpools resembling the wounds of weapons in the ocean, moving among their dense, tumultuous currents like a mighty timi fish. Terrifying in black iron armor, he led his army through dreadful waters, his forces trapped within lines of whirlpools and frightening mountains. Enveloped by clouds of darkness formed from the mist of arrow-spray, the deep, resonant sound drowned out all other noises. Agitated by the rising and falling fragments of heads, his warriors whirled within the inner circles of the vortex formations. Rising fierce as a stormy wave, bristling with the bow of hardship and the earrings of calamity, he surged forth like a mighty billow from the netherworld, his army swelling fearlessly. Foaming with the banners and parasols of endless comings and goings, he bore the flood of a river of blood, with chariots and trees swept away in its current. Adorned with bubbles of great blood, like an elephant in form, the current of his army churned with the water of horses and elephants. That battle, astonishing to men like a village in the sky, became as unsteady as mountains shaken by the earthquake at the end of all things.