Whatever task I am prompted to perform, I accomplish swiftly and without hesitation. However one calls upon me, I grant the fruits according to their invocation. It is not by my own will that I act, just as fire does not possess heat of its own accord; rather, I am honored and directed by the one who seeks victory, who thinks, “May I triumph in battle.” When he takes on the form of an image and worships in that manner, he attains the result just so. Viduratha, without truly reflecting on this, was guided by my instruction. With this understanding, I became resolved to seek liberation. Thus, Viduratha, together with his wife, obtained a new body through my grace. In due time, you too will bring liberation to the young one. His enemy is the king named Sindhu; after slaying Sindhu upon the throne of the earth, he will win victory and rule the kingdom. As the battle raged, masses of darkness moved across the field like armies taking the form of Bali. Lifeless bodies were strewn about, and as twilight descended, the stars began to glimmer in the sky. Gradually, the mountainous terrain of the battlefield took on a grim aspect; the world itself seemed to shine as if it had emerged from an ocean of black ink. Golden rays of the sun, beautiful as streams of molten gold, fell upon the mountains and the noble warriors, mingling with the glow of blood shed in battle. The sky and the battlefield alike became adorned with arms resembling wandering serpents, their brilliance scattered like gold across the land. Jewels from shattered earrings glittered among the carnage; severed heads floated in the blood-soaked field like aged lotuses in a pond. The sky was pierced by weapons, and arrows filled it as a herd of deer fills a forest. The air was dense with the red glow of twilight, crowded with accomplished warriors and corpses, adorned with garlands, serpent skins, and tattered cloths tangled in the rays of the setting sun. Banners, fluttering like creepers, formed arches from the fallen thighs, while dismembered hands and feet lay strewn about, resembling a thicket of arrows. The field was dark as a grassy meadow, gleaming with weapons, mingled with sand and fragments of blades, scattered with chains of arms, wild and terrifying, as if the field itself had gone mad. It resembled a grove of blooming ashoka trees, lit by the fires from clashing weapons, echoing with such tumult that even the leader of the siddhas fled in fear. The weapons themselves were shaped with golden craftsmanship, shining like the young sun—spears, swords, discs, javelins, and clubs resounded with the clangor of battle. Soon, all the armies were destroyed. The battlefield became empty, with only a handful of soldiers left on either side. Everywhere there were broken, shattered, dead, and fleeing men; heaps of fallen corpses lay about, and the mud flowed with rivers of blood. The ground bore the burden of these rivers, carrying heaps of corpses swept along, crowded with arrows, spears, swords, and heavy stones. The field was littered with headless trunks, severed by heroic blows, and resounded with the eerie cries of Vetala spirits, like the wild dance of palm trees in a storm. In that empty, blazing battlefield, the two heroes—like the sun and moon in the sky—moved upon their lotus-red chariots, shining as celestial omens. They were surrounded on all sides by thousands upon thousands of warriors, armed with discus, spear, club, dart, and many other weapons. Roaming freely across the vast field, they moved amid the cries of warriors and the grinding of great chariot wheels, passing through the slain and the survivors alike. They crossed rivers of blood with the playful ease of intoxicated elephants, their chariot wheels soaked in red water, tangled with clinging hair and entrails. Their chariots shook and toppled maddened elephants by the sheer force of their wheels, echoing with the jingling of gems and the clatter of ornamented yokes. Banners flapped loudly in the wind, while many great heroes and countless frightened soldiers followed in their wake. They bore heavy loads of spears, arrows, bows, lances, darts, spikes, and the dazzling brilliance of whirling discs. In the midst of this chaos, the two warriors, surrounded by vast circles of fighters, faced each other like storm clouds bristling with weapons. Their hands, thick from hurling volleys of arrows, each roared at the other like maddened, thunderous clouds. As these two lion-like warriors fought, their arrows became as mighty as stones and maces, filling the sky. Some arrows were shaped like sword blades, others like hammers and clubs; some had sharp disc-edges, others mouths like axes. Some had spear-points, some were razor-edged, some shaped like lance tips, and others like half-moons. Some bore lion-faced heads, some trident-tips, others three-pronged faces, massive as great stones. Stone-headed arrows flew about like showers of rocks driven by the winds of doom, and in that moment, all was confusion, as if the tumultuous end-time ocean had risen up between them. Then the king, arriving before the ocean with its towering waves, was filled with wrath and blazed like the midday sun. He drew his bow, making all directions resound, like the thunderous blast of the world-ending wind striking the slopes of the divine mountain. The mighty king unleashed volleys of arrows, strung in his quiver like the morning sun sends forth its rays. From his bowstring, a single great arrow would emerge, but as it flew, thousands and hundreds of thousands rained down from the sky. He possessed the force and swiftness of the ocean, the radiance of the sun’s face, and the might of Vishnu’s bow belonged to both combatants. His arrows, called Musulā and shaped like clubs, roared as they covered the sky, appearing like mountains at the end of an age. Those golden-tipped arrows flashed in the sky, scattered by the storm of missiles, like stars falling in distress at the world’s end.