On that dreadful battlefield, chaos reigned. Countless horses, elephants, warriors, lords, and chariots lay overturned, their throats slit and blood running in rivers across the earth. Weapons, unsheathed and gleaming, were strewn everywhere, while mountains of corpses rose up, making the entire field resemble the world in turmoil at the end of an age. As the day wore on, the sun itself, like a wounded hero overcome in battle, was conquered by time and set. Its once-blazing radiance faded forever, abandoned to the depths of the ocean. At that moment, twilight arose—a blood-red line reflected in the sky, as if the sun’s head had been severed at the close of day, and its dying light stained the heavens with the color of battle. From every direction—the earth, the underworld, the sky—darkness surged forth, swelling like a flood at the world’s dissolution, encircling everything like rings of spirits. Yet, as this darkness was pierced, the sun reappeared atop the mountain of day, adorned with the crimson hue of twilight, its crown studded with the pearls of emerging stars. In this lifeless, pitch-black gloom, lakes lost all flavor, and the lotuses within shrank and closed, as if reflecting the sorrow in the hearts of the dead. Birds, their wings drooping, quickly fell asleep, tucking their necks in like tortoises, resting in their nests just as causes rest in every limb. Meanwhile, rows of water-lilies, bathed in the gentle light of the nearby moon, blossomed joyfully, like prosperity arising among the valiant. The lotus ponds, their waters turned red and guarded by the arrows of evening, became battlefields themselves, their lotuses closing their faces in defeat. Above, the sky resembled a vast lake adorned with star-lilies, while below, the actual waters sparkled with both lilies and the reflection of stars. In every direction, darkness, having fulfilled its purpose, spread out like water flowing forth, enveloping all beings. On the battlefield, ghosts and spirits gathered in crowds, singing their eerie songs. The air rattled with the clatter of bones and echoed with the playful cries of crows and vultures. Funeral pyres, built from the wood of shattered chariots, blazed with flames, their sparks fed by the fat and flesh of the fallen, crackling with the sound ‘paca-paca.’ Fragments of bones burst and scattered, heaps of bodies lay strewn, and ghouls began their ghastly games, hidden amid the play of the cremation ground. The tumult of dogs, crows, yakṣas, and ghosts filled the air, making the battlefield as noisy as a wild forest where all manner of beings had gathered and were stirred up together. Frenzied ḍākinīs snatched away blood, flesh, fat, and marrow, while piśācas chewed and sucked at the oozing remains. In the midst of this assembly, the cremation ground stood revealed—streams of blood flowed past heaps of corpses, and a great body, brought by the undertakers, was laid down with a horse left beside it. The place was alive with the dreadful dance of skulls and bones, gaping bellies, and the mournful wailing of jackals, while clouds of fat, blood, and tears drifted overhead. A river of blood rushed forth, inhabited by spirits of the dead, while crows, agitated, snatched at skeletons, and ghouls crowded the scene. Within the hollow chests of corpses, young ghouls slept, and beneath a lone tree, a demon lingered, intent on his drinking games. Amid the quarrel of drunken ghosts, the cremation ground blazed, the air thick with the scent of blood and fat. The clatter of coins and dice rang out, accompanied by harsh, swift cries, as yakṣas, eager for the taste of half-cooked corpses, rejoiced. Swords gleamed in the hands of women from Bengal and Kaliṅga, while flames before them shone like falling stars. In the midst of the revelry of descending ghosts, blood flowed freely, and bands of yogis sang nearby, their chants heard by the piśācas. The music, played mostly on great stringed instruments, enchanted men who, possessed by the impulses of the piśācas, became like piśācīs themselves. Some warriors, who had never before known fear at the sight of ghosts, now stood half-dead with terror, while at times the very ground seemed to rise up, teeming with ghosts and demons. Some night-wanderers, terrified by the corpses falling from the shoulders of ghosts, crowded into the narrow spaces of the sky, packed with ghostly chests. Dying kings were carried off with great effort, while heaps of Śavaras were scattered, disturbed by yakṣas eager for a feast. The darkness of night was driven back by the fragments of flames issuing from the mouths of ghosts, as if clusters of fresh ashoka flowers were scattered all around. Strange children with trunk-like heads were bound to the necks of headless bodies, and the sky was filled with yakṣas, rākṣasas, piśācas, ajas, cāḍas, and globular spirits. Between the caves of sky-mountains, darkness stood like a solid mass, filling the seat of the clouds, while the wind, wild as the play of spirits, shook the gates of the world as if they were mere tree stalks. Thus, on that battlefield, long haunted by the dreadful wanderings of night-roaming beings, the howls of vetālas and the cries of owls rose up, echoing through the night. As dawn approached, the armies of sky-gazers departed as they had arrived, and the kings rested in their chariots or wherever they found shelter, each in their own abode, as if at peace. On the battlefield, now visible like a vast lake, people stood as they would in the day; the dark ones had withdrawn, and it seemed as though the night had ceased its course among men. In the house of night, its walls made clear by handfuls of darkness, the host of spirits danced joyfully, as the mind swelled with the festival of gain. In the silent and peaceful quarters of the sky, the lord of play—noble in spirit—appeared somewhat weary, as if on the verge of sleep. With the coming of early morning, the affairs of state were swiftly deliberated by wise ministers, while he reclined on a bed cool as moonlight and curved like the crescent moon. In a chamber that resembled the rising moon, within a cool and sheltered retreat, he entered sleep for a short while, his lotus-like eyes gently closing. Then, O lovely one, leaving that house behind, they entered the sky—just as a breeze slips through the openings of a lotus bud. But, O foremost of the learned, a question arises: how can this gross body, which is only so much, pass through an opening as slender as a thread, O Lord?