As the battle raged, weapons of illusion crafted from maya confronted one another, each opposed in power and purpose. In the midst of this magical warfare, the burden of weapons and the protection of chariot-wheels were suddenly swept away by surging waters, as easily as blades of grass caught in a current. The chariot of Sindhu began to float atop the flood. Realizing the peril, Sindhu recalled the weapon of drying, a powerful means of rescue in calamity, and invoked it in the form of an arrow. With its radiant force, the watery illusion vanished, much like night dissolving at dawn. The dead remained lifeless, and the earth was left parched, stripped of moisture. But then, driven by foolish rage, a heat equal to the previous flood arose. It tormented the people, spreading harshly like a withered forest scorched by fire. The directions themselves shone with the luster of beautiful limbs, dripping with molten gold, as if adorned by the ornaments of royal women. Those who opposed this fiery assault fell into a stupor, like tender leaves burned in the summer blaze. Viduratha, his mind resounding with the twang of his bowstring, bent his bow into a circle and invoked the mighty rain-cloud weapon. Rows of clouds gathered, dark as nights accumulated together, sluggish in their rise, as if stirred by the agitation of tamala groves. These clouds moved about, full of water, roaring tumultuously and encircling all directions, their forms heavy with mist. Winds began to swirl, carrying showers that broke through the grandeur of the clouds. They were noble in their coolness, adorned with garlands of scattered spray. Lightning flashed, sudden and bright, like frightened golden serpents or the glances of demon women cast upward into the sky. The mountains shook, echoing with thunder, like the roaring of elephants, lions, and bears moving through the forests. Torrential rains fell in great streams, harsh as the gaze of Death, with a crashing sound like hard iron striking. At first, a hot, mountain-like vapor arose from the earth, as if clouds from the netherworld had been stirred up for battle. The clouds whirled in confusion. Then, in a blink, the mirages faded away, just as worldly desires vanish when filled with the nectar of supreme knowledge. The earth became covered in mud, unmoving, filled with streams pouring forth like an ocean overflowing with water. Viduratha released the wind weapon, which whirled through the expanse of the sky, dreadful and terrifying, like the dance of destruction at the end of an age. Fierce winds blew, their bodies struck by thunderbolts, shattered fragments of rocks flying in 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 them, hurling them to the ground. Forests were torn apart, cliffs split open, and even Viduratha’s chariot was tossed about by the exceedingly fierce wind. He was thrown about like a battered branch in a river. Viduratha, master of great weapons, then abandoned the mountain weapon. As if intent on making the sky dense, the wind ceased due to the blow of mountain weapons. With the wind calmed, tranquility prevailed, and the rows of trees suspended in the air fell gently to the earth. In the array of various people-devouring formations, countless crows gathered, uttering cries, shrieks, and howls in all directions. The uproar of wind-torn trees sounded like incoherent babbling, and mountains were seen falling from the sky like leaves from branches. Rivers, like the ocean, arose here and there, along with Mainaka and other mountains. Then, a blazing thunderbolt weapon was unleashed, and thunderclouds roared. Fires consumed mountains with their flames, shattering peaks and cities with countless blows. Summits split as fierce winds scattered fruits. To pacify the thunderbolt weapon, Viduratha invoked the Brahma weapon. When both the Brahma and thunderbolt weapons were subdued together, Sindhu activated the dark, ghastly demon weapon. Lines of ghosts arose, spreading endless fear; as in twilight, fear itself, the day turned dark. The ghosts seized the world, filling it with darkness, resembling pillars of ash moving with wild gestures. They appeared in great forms, graspable by the fist yet nothing at all—some with hair standing up, thin bodies, some even with beards. They wandered the sky, dirty-bodied, dull-eyed, wicked, and wretched, gluttonous, cruel, unstable, and dwelling in empty homes at the ends of muddy streets and under trees. Licking, in forms of the dead, black-bodied like dog-eaters, they seized the remnants of the enemy's force, intoxicated. Nearby soldiers, minds disturbed and terrified, abandoned their weapons and armor, frightened for their lives and stumbling as they fled. With eyes, limbs, faces, and feet causing terror through their distortions, they discarded their loincloths and garments, naked and laughing in response. Defecating and urinating, their wild dancing began, and the king of the goblins approached the king, who was not far off. As he advanced, the wise king recognized the illusion, understanding it to be a magical display conjured for battle by the goblin king.