From the mighty Viduratha, arrows poured forth ceaselessly, streaming like floods from the ocean or rays from the sun. These arrows flew through the air as if they were flowers swept from a great tree by a fierce wind, or showers of sparks struck from red-hot iron. They rained down like streams from a rain-cloud, droplets from a waterfall, or brilliant sparks from a great city fire. The crackling sound of the two bows echoed sharply across the battlefield, and both armies fell silent, as if the ocean itself had grown calm, watching with mute attention. A flood of arrows surged through the sky, swelling like the Ganges rushing toward the ocean, accompanied by the roaring tumult of yakṣas. From the cloud of bows came an unceasing rain of golden-tipped arrows, thunderous and dreadful, mingled with the cries of the dying. Within the city, the lady watched from her window, observing the river of arrows advancing to flood the ocean. She looked on with playful curiosity. Beholding that mass of arrows and anticipating her husband’s victory, her lotus face blossomed with joy, and she spoke: “Victory, O goddess! Our lord triumphs—look! Even Mount Meru would be reduced to dust by this torrent of arrows.” Her voice, thick with deep affection, stirred the two goddesses who watched with intent eyes and faces bright with laughter; in that moment, they felt a human tenderness in their hearts. Yet that ocean of arrows was drunk up by the Sindhu fire, just as the river Jahnu, with its unapproachable heat, swallowed the Mandakini. With a dense shower of arrows, Viduratha pierced through the mass of shafts, driving it downward and casting it into the ocean of the sky. Just as the movement of a lamp that has gone out cannot be discerned, so too the course of that multitude of arrows vanished, unknown. Cutting through the torrent, Viduratha spread his own dense cloud of arrows in the sky, accompanied by the corpses of warriors. But Viduratha’s foe swiftly scattered that as well with his finest arrows, like a furious doomsday wind dispersing a common raincloud. Thus, with countering showers, the two kings delivered ceaseless blows, each rendering the other’s attacks futile. Then Sindhu, out of friendship for the Gandharvas, took up the weapon of stupefaction. By its power, all beings except Viduratha fell under delusion. The warriors laid aside their weapons and garments, became mute, faces downcast; they appeared as if dead, or like figures painted on a canvas. As long as Viduratha’s chariot slowed under the influence of delusion, so long did King Viduratha take up the weapon of awakening. As the people attained awakening, like lotuses at dawn, a flood of energy arose in Viduratha, as if an ocean surged in anger against a demon. He took up the dreadful serpent-weapon, causing the pain of binding fetters; by it, the sky became filled with serpents, resembling mountains. The earth writhed with snakes, just as a lake is filled with lotus stalks; all the mountains became covered with black serpent-blankets. All these objects were concealed by the forms of serpents; the earth, with its mountains and forests, became helpless. Hot winds, carrying embers and ashes, heralding the force of poison, blew fiercely, their heat like fiery dust-storms. Then Viduratha, master of great weapons, took up the Suparna-weapon; by its power, Garuḍas arose, golden like mountains. All directions became golden, fulfilling every corner; winds of dissolution arose, born from the tumult of mountain-winged birds. The circles of serpents, breathing and hissing, were drawn about by the swaying of their hoods, filling the masses of clouds with a great, rumbling roar. Then the mighty Garuda devoured that host of serpents covering the earth, as Agastya once drank the ocean, while the serpents hissed and rustled as they were seized. Freed from the serpent-blanket, the earth appeared vast, seamless, and shining, like a great, uninterrupted, waterless expanse of silver. Suddenly, that host of Garudas vanished somewhere, becoming invisible, like a cluster of lamps scattered by the wind, or a mass of autumn clouds. Once again, the mountain range, covered with wings as if out of fear of thunderbolts, appeared as if it were the world seen in a dream, or a city of imagination filled to the brim. Then the ocean released the darkness-weapon, producing dense, blinding gloom; darkness grew, resembling the belly of a black cloud. Spreading through the gaps in the mountains, it became like a single ocean; the mountains became like fish, and the stars appeared as jewels. The darkness increased, like an ocean of inky mud, a mass of lampblack that could not be dispelled even by the passing of ages. All the people seemed to fall into a dark pit; like at the end of an age, all activities in every direction came to a standstill. Then Viduratha, the best among those skilled in weapons, empowered by nourishing mantras, gave the solar missile within the dome of the cosmic egg. As the sun Agastya rises, with his rays he drank up the dark ocean, pure as the autumn season. Freed from the garment of darkness, the spotless directions shone forth, like lovely women with beautiful breasts before the king. All the rows of forests became visible, as the minds of the virtuous are freed from the net of greed-born darkness. Then, the oceans, agitated by anger, suddenly unleashed the terrifying demon-missile, composed of arrows produced by mantra.