Alas, father! In the tender grass of youth itself, the seeds of death are already sown, lurking and ready to ignite like heaps of dry leaves set ablaze by the fire of a mighty hero. Suddenly, a long and swirling river of smoke rises, rushing upward—one sees the very Ganges of the sky, now filled with smoke, surging forward with unstoppable force. This smoke-river, fed by burning logs, ascends and blinds even the celestial beings; within its currents, sparks of fire and bubbles can be seen, dancing and flickering. Amidst this devastation, the fire has already consumed his mother, father, brother, son-in-law, son, and daughter, all within the same house; now, its hungry flames reach out to claim the rest. “Alas! Alas! Alas!” comes the desperate cry. “Go quickly, sir, flee from this house of embers! It is on the verge of collapse, about to tumble down like the lofty summit of Mount Meru itself.” Weapons—arrows, stones, spears, javelins, and swords—are hurled into the mass of blazing, smoke-filled clouds, only to vanish like moths rushing heedlessly into fire. All the winds, too, are drawn into the flaming inferno in the sky, just as the surging waves of the ocean are swallowed by the fierce fire beneath its surface. The great clouds, touched by the tips of the flames, become dark and smoky; even lakes dry up, just as the hearts of those consumed by passion become barren. Rows of trees, scorched and furious, are struck down by elephants; their branches crack and resound loudly as they crash to the earth, felled by those who have already satisfied their hunger. The household trees, once fragrant with blossoms and fruit, are now stripped and burned, left desolate—just like householders who have lost everything. Children, bereft of mother and father, wander aimlessly in the darkness, beaten and destroyed in the streets as the walls collapse around them. Elephants, driven away by the blind, roar harshly amidst the chaos of battle, their massive bodies weighed down by falling embers and burning coals. Stones, split by swords and embedded firmly in shoulders, fall upon men like thunderbolts hurled from some dreadful machine. Cows, horses, buffaloes, camels, dogs, and wolves are all caught up in the terrible battle, a conflict begun by those who block the roads in utter confusion. The crackling sounds of burning cloth and the howling winds of the flames accompany the wailing women as they flee, their forms appearing as though adorned with ground lotuses. See how the tongues of flame reach out to the flowing locks of the women, making their hair resemble the blossoms of the ashoka tree, like elephants toying with serpents. The slender flames, resting even on blades of grass, reach up to touch the eyelash-fringed eyes of the doe-eyed women. Even as the fire consumes him, a man refuses to leave without his wife—such are the powerful snares of affection that bind living beings. An agitated elephant shatters the flaming trees with its force and, in its fury, churns a pond already filled with withered lotuses. The smoke, rising to the clouds, flashes restlessly and rains down a multitude of blazing, fiery arrows. The sky itself stands thick with smoke, full of flickering sparks and swirling currents, amassed like a heap of jewels scattered across the firmament. Now the sky glows pale, illuminated by the crests of flame, marked with saffron as if for a festival of death—a grim sign of destruction. How terrible, how unjust is this enmity, devoid of all virtue; even noble kings fall, slain by mighty warriors wielding excellent weapons. The women who once adorned the royal paths, their garlands and ornaments loosened, their flowers scattered, now have their garments half-burnt, their breasts and chests dusted with ashes. Their hips and loins are revealed as garments slip and sway, jeweled bracelets drop from their arms to the ground, and their bodies bend low in sorrow. Necklaces and strings of pearls are broken and scattered, and the golden radiance of their bodies—breasts, hips, and sides—shines forth, some glimpsed, some hidden. The tumult of battle is subdued by the harsh cries of vultures overhead, while the wounded, pierced by arrows and bleeding, lie senseless upon the earth. Their garments are soaked in tears, blood, and mud; their arms drape over the shoulders of others as they are led away by the soldiers. With eyes full of distress, as if silently pleading, “Who will save us now?”, the soldiers weep, their tears falling like a shower of lotuses. Amidst this devastation, there are women with thighs as soft as lotus stalks, adorned with delicate anklets and garments as clear as crystal, resembling lotuses blooming in the sky. Their garlands, garments, ornaments, and cosmetics are all in disarray; their faces are agitated by jealousy, and their curling locks tremble. The royal ladies seem as if they have arisen from the ocean of desire, churned by the wild rod of beauty. Meanwhile, the queen herself, intoxicated by the bloom of youth, enters the palace like Lakshmi entering the heart of a lotus. Her garlands and garments are in disarray, her necklace of creepers broken and tangled; surrounded by her friends and maidservants, she is overcome with fear. Her face shines like the moon, her limbs are spotless, and her breasts heave with anxious breath; her shining teeth glimmer like stars, and she stands there, a celestial beauty, as if the sky itself had taken form. Then, one of her companions goes to the king, just as an apsara might rush to Indra with urgent news in the midst of battle. “O lord,” she says, “the queen has come with us, fleeing the inner chambers, seeking your protection—like a tender creeper blown by the wind, seeking shelter with a sturdy tree. The royal women have been seized by powerful, well-armed thieves, as if creepers along the shore of the great ocean were caught in a net of waves. All the chiefs of the inner apartments have been crushed by bold enemies who attacked suddenly, like forest trees felled by unexpected winds. Our city has been seized by outsiders who came upon us suddenly, like torrents of floodwaters overflowing in the darkness of a rainy night. Enemy warriors have overrun our city in great numbers, their blazing fires roaring, their smoky armor resounding, and the sharp tongues of their flames brandished like weapons.” Thus, amid fire and destruction, with hearts heavy and hope fading, the queen and her companions seek refuge, while the city reels beneath the onslaught of chaos and ruin.