The Śaka warriors, who had set forth with the strength and power of elephants and crocodiles, found themselves overpowered by a sudden, swift assault. Their cause defeated, they bowed in submission, their hair hopelessly entangled with the hair of their foes, a sign of their utter defeat. From Daśārṇa, the thunderbolt, having broken free from its restraints, appeared as terrifying as Bhairava’s net, and vanished into the red clouds, much like the Vaitastā river disappears into the sea. With the destruction of the Gurjara army, the women of Gurjara suffered greatly—their hair shorn away by the sharp, towering spears of the Taṅgaṇa warriors. Weapons, shining like lightning, rained down from the sky, swift and devastating as torrents of arrows from a storm cloud, striking the armies with the force that scatters fish in a flood. Among the Ābhīras, terror spread as the dark, ominous flight of Bhusuṇḍī birds passed overhead, and their enemies fell like herds of cows collapsing on lush pastures. The Taṅgaṇa river, adorned with golden-bodied women, now naked and vulnerable, was ravaged by the fierce Gauḍa soldiers, who tore at their nails and hair in the struggle. The Taṅgaṇa warriors themselves were shattered, their bodies fragmented by the spinning, cutting disks that wheeled through the tumultuous sky, while vultures and kites—fierce as Rudras—descended to devour them. The loud, rumbling uproar of the Gauḍa warriors, brandishing clubs and leaping wildly, struck terror into the Gandhāra cows, who fled in panic, as if they were being counted and driven off. Against the Persians, a mass of whirling weapons, vast as the sky and the ocean, descended, creating a darkness dense as night. Weapons, beautiful as the churning of the ocean by Mount Mandara, were scattered like a garland of trees upon snowy slopes, forming a line of missiles. Just as clouds rise and fill the heavens, so too did the multitude of weapons fill the sky, appearing as if the ocean itself was leaping with restless, circling waves. The sky-forest was filled with white parasols shining like a hundred moons, arrows dense as swarming locusts, and spears piercing through like crows darting into their holes. The Kekaya warriors, their crests tossed into the sky by flocks of herons, wailed in despair, their garlands torn by the cries of the birds. The tumultuous sound, like the roaring of fierce beings, stirred the daughters of the Himalaya to passion, their bodies overcome by the clamor. The reeds, overwhelmed by invisible birds of mercy, were shaken and stripped of their feathers, like dust whipped up by agitated winds. Driven mad by the force of weapons, abandoning their armor and golden garments, the creators of joy in Nandana danced, laughed, and sang wildly. The clamor of jingling bells arose as a shower of weapons fell, and, driven by the wind of arrows, the dust was scattered far and wide. The Kauravas, shattered by Shaiva weapons and struck by whirling spears, became as lifeless as corpses, carried up into the sky, resembling celestial beings in their flight. The city of the Pandavas, steadfast as the earth itself, was thrown into turmoil by the heroic army, shaken solely by their movement and vigor. The warriors of Uddehaka were crushed by the intoxicated Kashi soldiers, whose lances, sharp as tusks, tore through them like wild elephants tearing apart lotuses. The armies of Brahmavāsantaka were cut down by spinning discs and fell to the ground, just as blossoming trees are felled by the saws of great woodcutters. In the forest of Bhokkaṇaka, axes wielded by the Jaṭharas hewed down the trees, and as the forest fell, the lord of Bhadra, standing nearby, burned it with a rain of fiery arrows. The aged elephants of Kashi, caught in the tangled creepers of battle, perished unawares, consumed like dry fuel in a blazing fire. The warriors of Trigarta, after wandering in the whirlpools of battle, became as insignificant as blades of grass; fleeing with their heads scattered, they plunged into the depths of the netherworld. The warriors of Magadha—slow, windless, mountain-like, and ocean-bright—overwhelmed in battle, sank dispirited into the mire, like old elephants mired in mud. On the battlefield, Jahnu sapped the consciousness of the warriors, just as sunlight destroys the delicacy of flowers strewn along the path. The Kosalas, unable to endure the fierce assault of the Pauravas, fell like children under a rain of released maces, spears, arrows, and javelins. Their limbs severed by arrows, the warriors appeared like coral trees on a mountain, their bodies streaming thick blood as they fled in terror. Showers of iron arrows, tossed by the mighty wind of weapons, whirled about, shining like swarms of bees over the ocean. Clouds of arrows, dark as rainclouds and frothing with arrow-foam, roared and trembled as they swept over trees covered with arrow-feathers, moving with the speed of their discharge. The ancient forests, with all their creatures, were shattered by the force, breaking apart like delicate threads stretched to their limit. Crowds of people fell upon the chariots, their wheels upright, and the warriors’ heads buried or raised, like clouds falling upon forested mountains. Reaching the dense forest of sal and palmyra trees, the battle became a thicket of people—a wild grove of upraised trunks and severed arms. Meanwhile, the beautiful women, intoxicated by youth, rejoiced in the gardens and groves on Mount Meru, sheltered by the foremost of heroes. That lofty forest of warriors shone with the tumult of battle-cries, until it was overrun by the enemy, blazing with the force of a world-ending fire. Some, having had their weapons seized by Huns and joined by demons, after striking down their foes, fled to the Karnas and Dasharnas like birds flying to water. The Kashi warriors, their voices broken and splendor lost by the might of the Tajika troops, withered like lotuses in a dried-up stream. Encircled by belts of arrows, spears, lances, and maces, they fled, cast into a hell named Karkota’s domain. The Kurukshetra warriors, surrounded by ascetics disguised as fighters, became powerless, like virtues overcome by the wicked. The Dravidians, swift and decisive, took the heads of the banyan-tree dwellers with arrows and fled as quickly as lotuses are plucked from a pond. Thus, the tumult and devastation of battle swept across the land, leaving behind a vivid tapestry of courage, terror, and the inexorable turning of fate.