Along the moonlit ramparts, golden vines spilled down from the streams, glinting in the gentle light. Coral branches, radiant and red, were strung with pearls that chimed softly in the night air. In the city’s stables, fine white horses stood ready—slender, auspicious, and swift. Their hooves beat the earth in a rush, as if pouring forth rivers of energy, their natural gaits so unmatched that even the wind could not keep pace. These steeds seemed to cast off their hind parts, leaping as if to drink in the very sky. Some appeared to be yoked to chariots glowing with the light of eight full moons, their brilliance like yak-tail whisks, and the neighing of eight mighty horses filled the directions with their thunderous calls. Suddenly, the deep roll of a drum arose—loud and fierce as thunderclouds crashing against mountain walls. The city echoed with the wild cries of intoxicated soldiers, the jingling of countless bells, and the harsh clashing of weapons. Bows crackled, arrows sang as they split the air, and armor rattled as warriors collided. The crackling of blazing fires mingled with the cries of the wounded, the mutual shouts of battling heroes, and the agitated wails of bards reciting the deeds and losses of the day. A dreadful, almost tangible sound filled the hollow of the universe, swelling until it seemed to carve through stone and encompass all ten directions. Then, a mass of darkness rose, blocking the sun’s path; dust, thick as night, lifted the very surface of the earth toward the sky. The great city became as if enclosed in a womb, darkness growing dense—like ignorance swelling in the heart of youth. Lamps flickered and vanished, like stars lost at dawn, while restless hosts of night-beings gathered their strength amid the deepening gloom. Amid this chaos, two maidens—gifted with vast vision by the goddess herself—witnessed the great battle, their hearts trembling at the sight. Within the houses, the clamor of weapons rose, resounding like fires raging in a single, overflowing ocean. Into this tumult, the king, his resolve like wings, drew the enemy army with a storm of arrows and entered the fray as Mount Meru might plunge into the depths of a single ocean. A distinct, sharp sound arose—the crackling of qualities—while rows of arrows, thick as self-fashioned clouds, formed a ship sailing through the chaos. Weapons of every kind, like flocks of birds, soared into the sky; in all directions, mists glimmered with the shine of sharpened steel. Weapons clashed and blazed like torches, spinning through the air as the clouds of warriors thundered, pouring down streams of arrows. Cruel missiles darted like vultures at the heroes, some falling with crackling sounds, crushed by weapons even in midair. The darkness was quickly dispelled by the shining flames of weapons, revealing the entire army bristling as if with the fine hair of newly grown women. Headless bodies danced in grim procession, while demon maidens sang loudly of the treacheries of battle. The army of elephants, maddened and colliding, trumpeted with fury; intoxicated rivers swept hurled stones across the sky. Chariots crashed down like dried leaves from a forest, and red rivers of blood flowed from the mountain of battle, raining the dead upon the earth. Dust clouds, darkened with blood, were subdued by the fires of weapons, and the relentless sounds of battle—focused solely on destruction—brought terror with the certainty of death. Only a tumultuous, discordant uproar remained, resounding with confusion, churned by the waves of swords—yet the clouds above remained undisturbed. The clash of armies sounded like the rattling of funeral biers, the crackling of arrows fell like a torrent, and the meeting of mighty weapons rang out sharply. Yet, in the thick of night, all seemed veiled, as if the world itself slept. While this dreadful, tumultuous battle raged on, the goddess of Knowledge, in a playful mood, addressed her own manifestation standing before her. “Goddess,” she asked, “why is it that our lord neither wins nor loses in this battle? Tell me, even though you are pleased, in this war where even elephants flee.” She replied, “For a long time, I have been worshipped by this king Viduratha—but not by the ruler Viduratha for the sake of victory. Therefore, only he is victorious; Viduratha does not prevail. This awareness, this inner consciousness, is what determines all outcomes, as and when it arises. Whatever he prompts me to do, I quickly accomplish; however one invokes me, I grant the fruit accordingly. I do not act on my own, just as fire does not possess heat by itself. I am honored by him with the thought, ‘May I have victory in battle.’ By taking on the form of an image, he attains the result in that way. Viduratha, without considering this matter, was instructed by me. And with this, I resolved to be liberated; therefore, Viduratha, having obtained that body together with his wife— And by you, in due time, the young one will be liberated. This one’s enemy is the king named Sindhu; after slaying him upon the throne of the earth, he will become victorious and rule the kingdom.” Meanwhile, masses of darkness moved across the field, like armies in the form of Bali; lifeless bodies were cast forth, and in the twilight, stars began to appear in the sky. Gradually, the battlefield’s mountainous terrain became grim, the world shining as if lifted from an ocean of black ink. The sun’s rays, beautiful as streams of gold, fell upon the mountains and noble warriors, resembling the glow of blood in battle. The sky and battlefield were adorned with arms like wandering serpents, and radiance scattered like gold. Earrings and gems lay scattered everywhere; heads made the field resemble a pond of aged lotuses, while weapons pierced the sky, and arrows filled it like a herd of deer. Thus, the great battle raged on, its sights and sounds echoing through the universe, as the destinies of kings and kingdoms unfolded under the watchful gaze of the goddess.