In the midst of that great conflict, a dreadful weapon was taken up—the serpent-missile, whose power was that of binding fetters and agonizing restraint. As it was unleashed, the sky itself became alive with serpents, immense as mountains, writhing and coiling in the air. The earth below was overrun as well, snakes twisting and turning across its surface like the stalks of lotuses in a crowded lake. Even the mountains were shrouded beneath dark, shifting blankets of serpents. So complete was their manifestation that all things—mountains, forests, the very ground—were hidden beneath the forms of these serpents, leaving the earth helpless and overwhelmed. Fierce, hot winds began to blow, carrying with them embers and ashes, their heat sharp and stinging like fiery dust-storms, all heralding the venomous force that had been set loose. But then, Viduratha, master of mighty weapons, invoked the Suparna-missile. Instantly, the sky was filled with Garuḍas—divine birds, golden and radiant as mountains. The horizons themselves glowed with gold, filling every direction with their brilliance. From the tumult of these mountain-winged beings, winds of dissolution arose, churning the very air. The serpents, breathing and hissing, circled and swayed, their hoods undulating, filling the clouds with a tremendous, rumbling roar. Yet, the mighty Garuda, king of birds, began to devour the serpents that covered the earth, swallowing them as effortlessly as Agastya once drank the ocean. The serpents hissed and rustled as they were seized, but soon the earth was liberated from their suffocating presence. Once freed from the serpent-blanket, the earth appeared vast and seamless, shining like a great, uninterrupted expanse of silver, waterless and pure. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the host of Garudas vanished, becoming invisible, dispersed like a cluster of lamps scattered by the wind or a mass of autumn clouds fading from sight. In the aftermath, the mountains, now covered with the shadows of vanished wings as if fearful of thunderbolts, seemed dreamlike—like a vision or an imagined city filled to the brim with wonders. But the respite was brief, for the ocean then released the darkness-weapon, spreading a dense, blinding gloom. Darkness swelled, thick as the belly of a black cloud, pouring through the mountain passes until the land seemed a single, shadowy ocean, the mountains like fish within it, and the stars sparkling like scattered jewels. The darkness deepened, becoming an ocean of inky mud, a mass of lampblack that no passage of time could dispel. All people felt as if they had fallen into a pit without light; everywhere, as at the end of an age, activity came to a standstill. Then Viduratha, greatest among those skilled in arms, empowered by nourishing mantras, released the solar missile within the dome of the cosmic egg. As Agastya, the sun, rises and with his rays drinks up the dark ocean, so too did the gloom vanish, pure and swift as in the autumn season. Freed from the garment of darkness, the spotless directions shone forth, radiant as beautiful women before a king. The rows of forests became visible, just as the minds of the virtuous are freed from the net of greed-born darkness. Yet the conflict did not end. The oceans, agitated by wrath, unleashed the terrifying demon-missile, its arrows summoned by mantra. From every direction, fierce forest-demons arose in anger, like great oceans churned by the roar of the underworld elephant. Their tawny, matted hair smoked as they crackled and snapped, their fires licking fiercely as if fed with moist fuel. Circling in the sky, they made dreadful, drum-like sounds, vast as blazing meteors trailing plumes of smoke. Their bodies, with lotus-like faces seized by sprouting fangs, rose up like tangled locks of hair fiercely aflame, bursting forth from every pore. Devouring, rushing, and roaring with threatening intent, they resembled storm clouds ignited by lightning flashes from their tangled hair. At that moment, Viduratha, lord of play, released the Narayana weapon, the divine missile that wards off evil spirits. As the supreme weapon was unleashed, the hosts of demons vanished instantly, just as darkness disappears at sunrise. The army of demons was swept away, and the three worlds became clear and bright, like the sky after the autumn clouds have departed. But Sindhu then released the fiery weapon, which blazed across the heavens, burning the quarters of the sky as if the fire of dissolution had been set loose. All directions became veiled with masses of smoke and cloud, as if the sky and the netherworld were filled with thick darkness. The mountains shone with blazing forms, as if made of gold, like gardens bursting with flowers and clusters of champaka trees. The groves of sky, mountain, and horizon were tangled with flames, as if blood had been spilled in a festival of death, saffron-hued. People, fearing even the touch of nearby light, burned as if the oceans themselves were twisted by the music of the thousand-formed one’s flute. Then, as one strikes again after defeating an enemy, Viduratha, having worshipped Varuna, released his water-weapon. Floods of water rushed in from all sides like masses of darkness. The mountains themselves seemed to flow downward and upward, as if they had become liquid, pouring from every direction. These waters resembled fragments of the autumn sky, swiftly falling clouds, great oceans standing tall, or the rocks of mountain ranges. They rose like masses of tamala trees, gathered like nights, stirred like heaps of soot, or like the distant boundary of Lokāloka. They were like the winding caves of the netherworld, eager to rise and see the sky, their forms resounding with the thunderous noise of mighty storms. The mass of water, like a creeper amidst a blaze of heat, swiftly pervaded the worlds at twilight, just as night follows day. Absorbing the fiery mass, the water filled the earth, and the ever-flowing body of water, having lost its liquidity, became manifest—bringing a strange and profound stillness to all.