As the darkness fulfilled its purpose and receded, it left the battlefield transformed, its shadows dispersing in all directions like water flowing from a breached dam. All beings—visible and invisible—spread out across the land, and the night became alive with the restless energy of spirits. The battlefield itself was crowded with ghosts and spirits, their voices rising in eerie songs amid the rattling of bones. Crows and vultures, drawn by the carnage, let out playful cries as they darted through the tumult. Flames glowed brilliantly, leaping from funeral pyres constructed from shattered chariot wood. Sparks danced in the air, and the fires, fed by the fat and flesh of fallen warriors, crackled with a sound like 'paca-paca.' Fragments of bones burst and scattered across the ground. Heaps of bodies lay strewn about, and ghouls, hidden in the play of the cremation ground, began their watery games. The tumult grew, filled with the barking of dogs, the cawing of crows, and the wild calls of yakṣas and ghosts. It was as noisy as a forest teeming with all manner of beings, stirred up together in a chaotic frenzy. Frenzied ḍākinīs snatched blood, flesh, fat, and marrow, while piśācas hungrily chewed and sucked at the oozing remains. In the midst of this assembly, the cremation ground stood revealed—streams of blood flowed, and heaps of corpses lay everywhere. A great corpse, brought by the undertakers, was laid down, with a horse left beside it. The place was filled with a dreadful dance of skulls and bones, some with gaping bellies, ending in the wailing of jackals. Clouds of fat, blood, and tears drifted overhead. A river of blood rushed forth, inhabited by the spirits of the dead; crows, agitated, snatched at skeletons, while ghouls crowded the area. Within the hollow chests of corpses, young ghouls found their beds, sleeping undisturbed. In a lonely spot beneath a single tree, a demon lingered, intent on his drinking games. Amid quarrels of drunken ghosts, the cremation ground blazed, winds thick with the scent of blood and fat swept over the land. The clatter of coins and dice rang out, accompanied by swift, harsh cries. Yakṣas, eager for the taste of half-cooked corpses, exulted in their feast. Women from Bengal and Kaliṅga wielded swords, their flames shining like falling stars before them. In the midst of the revelry of falling ghosts, blood flowed freely. Bands of yogis sang nearby, their voices heard even by the piśācas. The music was played mostly on great stringed instruments, and men, possessed by the impulses of piśācas, became like piśācīs themselves. Some warriors, who had never before been frightened by ghosts, now stood half-dead with fear. At times, the ground itself seemed to rise up with ghosts and demons. Night-wanderers, terrified by falling corpses thrown 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 good food. Flames burst from the mouths of ghosts, dispelling the darkness of night as if clusters of fresh ashoka flowers were scattered all around. Children with the heads of trunks were bound to the necks of headless bodies, and the sky was filled with yakṣas, rākṣasas, piśācas, ajas, cāḍas, and globular spirits. Within the spaces between the caves of mountains in the sky, darkness stood like a mass, filling the seat of the cloud. The wind, wild as the play of spirits, shook the gates of the world as if they were the stalks of trees. Thus, the battlefield became a place 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 the armies of sky-gazers departed as they had come, the kings rested in their chariots and other places, each in their own abode, as if at ease. On the battlefield, now visible like a great lake, people stood as in the daylight, for the dark ones had withdrawn, as if night had ceased its course among men. In the house of night, whose walls were made clear by handfuls of darkness, the host of spirits danced joyfully, the mind swelling with the festival of gain. In the quarters of the sky, movement was silent and peaceful. The lord of play, noble in spirit, appeared somewhat weary, as if in the gesture of sleep. In the early morning, affairs of state were swiftly deliberated by ministers skilled in counsel, while he reclined on a bed cool as moonlight and shaped like the crescent moon. In a chamber resembling the rising moon, within a cool and sheltered retreat, he entered sleep for a short while, his lotus-like eyes gently closed. Then, O lovely one, leaving that house behind, they entered the sky—just as a breeze slips through the openings of a lotus bud. O foremost of the learned, a question arose: How can this gross body, which is only so much, enter through an opening as slender as a thread, O Lord? O sinless one, he whose mind is deluded into thinking, 'This is a physical body,' cannot pass through a tiny opening. For one whose understanding is not confined by the thought, 'I am obstructed by this,' or 'I am not here,' experience itself becomes the experiencer. By whomsoever the first half of experience is perceived, saying, 'I will go,' that very one performs the act—how then does consciousness turn toward proceeding to the latter half? Water does not rise upward, nor does fire go downward; just as each proceeds according to its nature, so too does consciousness remain as it is set in motion. How could one seated in the shade experience heat? The experience of one is not felt by another in any way. Whatever way the mind has proceeded, in that very way it remains; only by supreme effort is it brought again to another state. The notion of a snake in a rope, arising from a false perception, is dispelled by force; otherwise, it remains just as it is. As is awareness, so is the mind; as is the mind, so is action. This is evident even to a child—who does not experience this? But that which is merely the form of a person in dream, imagination, or image—having only the shape of space—how and by whom could it be restrained? Indeed, for everyone, everywhere, the body is only mind; it is experienced as sensation, but sometimes it seems to arise from the heart.