The mountains blazed with dazzling forms, shining as if they were fashioned from pure gold, their slopes bursting forth like gardens in full bloom, adorned with clusters of champaka trees. Across the heavens, the sky, the mountains, and all the directions seemed to be tangled in masses of flames, as if a festival of death had painted the world with saffron and blood. The people, terrified by the mere touch of the searing light nearby, felt as if the very oceans were being twisted and churned by the thousand-formed ones playing their cosmic flute. In the midst of this turmoil, Viduratha, relentless as a warrior striking again after vanquishing a foe, completed his worship of Varuna and unleashed his weapon. Instantly, torrents of water surged in from every side, dark as gathering night, and the mighty mountains themselves seemed to flow downward and upward, liquefied by the power of the weapon. These floods resembled fragments of the autumn sky, swift-falling clouds, towering oceans, and the immense rocks of mountain ranges. They rose up like masses of tamala trees, gathered together as if night itself had thickened, swirling like heaps of soot or the shadowy boundary of Lokāloka. The waters surged like the winding caves of the netherworld, as if eager to break free and see the sky, their thunderous roar echoing like a storm. This deluge, like a creeper twining through a blaze of heat, swiftly enveloped the worlds at twilight, just as night follows day. The waters absorbed the fiery mass, filling the earth, and as their ceaseless flow lost its liquidity, a new form manifested. Thus, these weapons of illusion, born of maya and utterly opposed in nature, appeared and clashed with one another, their effects experienced by all. The weight of weapons and the protection of chariot-wheels were swept away by the surging water as easily as blades of grass, and the chariot itself was carried afloat. At this critical moment, Sindhu remembered the weapon that could dry up waters—a weapon that brings rescue in calamity—and invoked it in the form of an arrow. The radiant power of this weapon dispelled the watery illusion, bringing an end to the deluge just as the night ends at dawn. Those who had perished remained dead, and the earth, now dried, was revealed once more. Yet, no sooner had this respite come than a fierce and foolish anger arose, bringing with it an equal heat that tormented the people, spreading harshly like a withered, ancient forest set ablaze. The directions glowed with a strange luster, as if adorned by the molten gold of beautiful limbs and the ornaments of royal women. Those who opposed this heat fell into a stupor, like tender leaves scorched by the fire of summer. Seeing this, Viduratha, his mind resounding with the long, ringing twang of his bowstring, bent his bow into a circle and invoked the weapon of rain-clouds. Rows of clouds rose up, gathering like the darkness of many nights amassed together, slow and heavy as if stirred by the agitation of tamala groves. They moved, laden with water, roaring tumultuously, their circular forms encircling all directions, sluggish and trailing wisps of mist. Winds swirled, driving showers through the sky, breaking through the pomp of the clouds, noble in their coolness, and adorned with garlands of scattered spray. Lightning flashed, darting like frightened golden serpents or the wild glances of demon women cast skyward. The mountains shook, echoing with thunder that sounded like the roaring of herds of elephants, lions, and bears moving through the forests in every direction. Torrential rains crashed down in great streams, harsh as the gaze of Death itself, their sound like the striking of hard iron. At first, a hot, mountain-like vapor arose from the earth; it was as if clouds from the netherworld had been stirred up for battle, whirling in confusion across the sky. Then, in the blink of an eye, all mirages faded away, just as worldly desires vanish when the nectar of supreme knowledge fills the heart. The entire earth became covered in thick, unmoving mud, streams pouring forth everywhere, making the land seem like an ocean overflowing its bounds. Viduratha then released the wind weapon, which whirled through the vastness of the sky—dreadful and terrifying, like the dance of destruction at the end of an age. Fierce winds blew, their bodies struck by falling thunderbolts, shattering fragments of rock in the mountain caves. These gusts, marked by signs of doom, battered the warriors, leaving them grim and scarred. The winds twisted the mist and scattered dense foliage, shaking masses of trees and violently uprooting and hurling them down. Forests were torn apart, cliffs split open; even Viduratha’s own chariot was tossed about by the storm’s fury. He was thrown about like a battered branch in a raging river, until, as the master of great weapons, he abandoned the mountain weapon. The wind, which had seemed intent on making the very sky dense and impenetrable, was subdued by the might of the mountain weapon. With the wind calmed, tranquility returned, and the trees that had been suspended in the air now fell gently to the earth. Amidst the formations of warriors, countless crows gathered, uttering cries, shrieks, and howls in every direction, drawn by the tumult. The sound of the wind-torn trees was like incoherent babbling, and mountains were seen falling from the sky like leaves from their branches. Here and there, rivers swelled like the ocean, and even Mainaka and other mountains rose up. Then, a blazing thunderbolt weapon was unleashed, and thunderclouds roared in response. Fires raged, consuming mountains with their flames, shattering peaks and mountain cities with countless blows. The summits split apart as fierce winds scattered fruits from their branches. To pacify the destructive thunderbolt weapon, Viduratha invoked the mighty Brahma weapon. When both the Brahma weapon and the thunderbolt weapon were subdued together, Sindhu, undaunted, activated the dark and ghastly demon weapon, bringing a new and fearsome power into the fray.