The battlefield had become a ghastly spectacle. There, figures with sagging bellies, elongated arms, ears, lips, and noses hurled one another about, wallowing in a mire thick with blood, flesh, and fat. The confusion was so great that it resembled the tumultuous frothing when Mandara mountain churned the milk ocean—only now, it was an illusion conjured to bewilder and overwhelm. Perceiving the swiftness with which this illusion took hold, one of the warriors swiftly recreated it, intensifying the chaos. Then, wielding the Vetāla weapon, he summoned forth legions of corpses. Some of these were headless, others with heads intact, all seized by the wild frenzy of Vetālas. Like a horde of goblins and Vetālas, they became entangled in the melee. From this, a formidable force emerged, so vast and powerful it seemed capable of swallowing the earth itself. In response, the opposing king conjured his own illusion—a demon army, fierce and intent on conquering the three worlds. These demons rose everywhere, towering like mountains, terrifying in their might. Leaving their bodies behind, these beings appeared like denizens of hell, their presence so fearsome that even gods and demons quaked in terror. They roared with monstrous voices, the sound rolling like thunder from dark clouds, while headless forms danced wildly. Ghosts and ghouls, firmly rooted in their haunted dwellings, joined the macabre display. Their heads were crowned with heaps of lotuses, and the air was filled with the clamor of flutes. Their intestines, strung like garlands, dripped with streams of blood. The Vetālas reveled with their drums, their ghostly radiance shining, their bodies glistening with fat, flesh, and marrow, and streams of blood-wine adding a grotesque beauty. The assembly was crowded with drunken Vetālas, skulls, and the thunderous tumult of wild dancing. Skulls and clubs abounded, and their stamping feet sent waves of blood splashing in all directions, stirring up surging currents. Spirits, radiant like masses of twilight clouds, built bridges across the rivers of blood. Amidst this dreadful turmoil, one among them, intent on destroying all enemy armies and calming his own, took decisive action. With steadfast memory and noble patience, he recalled the supreme weapon of Vishnu—peerless, save for Shiva’s own. Empowered by the Vaishnava mantra, he released the arrow, and from its tip blazed forth missiles like firebrands. Rows of spinning discs turned the quarters into a hundred suns, while advancing maces appeared like bamboo thickets rising in the sky. Thunderbolts split into many streams, their shafts like arrow-tips filling the heavens, and spears and swords formed groves along the riverbanks. The other king, not to be outdone, invoked the very same Vaishnava weapon, its power sufficient to quell all arms. From this, too, rivers of weapons surged forth, neutralizing the onslaught: arrows, spears, maces, lances, swords, and axes clashed in the sky. A battle of these weapon-rivers unfolded above, shattering mountain passes and splintering the peaks of noble ranges. Spears were split by arrows, swords shattered by blades, lances struck by mighty javelins, and missiles cleft by spears. It was as if the Mandara mountain, intoxicated with the task of churning the ocean of arrows and waters, had become a mighty club and a thunderbolt, poised to strike with irresistible force. Whirling circles of spears quelled showers of missiles, like the moon surrounded by stars, and death itself seemed eager to devour with the tip of his lance. Mountains were scorched by the spinning discus and the heat of thunderbolts, their rocky flanks gleaming with the flash of tridents and the piercing sound of iron goads. The air resounded with the clamor of Bhusundi slings and clubs, with the tumult of maces and the crossing of countless axes wielded by fierce warriors. Crests and crested helmets were shattered, beaks and fans severed, and even the mighty river Ganges seemed broken by the loud, cracking, and splitting sounds. All around, swirling dust from shattered weapons formed a vast canopy, and the clash of arms sent forth blazing flashes of lightning. The sound was like the breaking of Brahma’s cosmic egg. Mountains of families were destroyed, and streams of weapons were cut down in the battle between the two warriors. Time itself seemed to pass in the mere act of parrying weapons, yet both heroes, confident in their strength, stood undaunted in the ocean of battle. Then Viduratha released the Agneya weapon, which thundered like a bolt of lightning and set the chariot ablaze, as if it were dry brush along a riverbank. In the vastness of the sky, within the hollow of battle, he stood armored, like a rain-laden cloud shrouded in mist. Having unleashed the king of weapons, the two fought a most ferocious battle. In their strength and valor, they came to a truce, each recognizing the other’s might. Yet, in that moment, the fiery weapon swiftly reduced the chariot to ashes. Like a lion emerging from its cave after burning the forest, the fire reached the nearby river. The river, close at hand, countered the fire with the Varuna weapon. Abandoning his chariot, the warrior leapt to the ground, sword and shield in hand. In the blink of an eye, with his sword, he sliced the hooves of the enemy’s chariot horses as easily as cutting lotus stalks. Viduratha too, now without his chariot, took up shield and sword, and both, equally eager and armed, circled each other, ready for battle. As their swords clashed, grinding against each other like saws, the gathered people watched, as if witnessing the grinding of teeth in a fierce contest. Viduratha seized a spear, casting aside his sword, and hurled it with a thunderous roar, as though a great calamity or bolt of lightning had struck the ocean. Unbroken, the spear struck his opponent’s chest, just as a beloved, unwilling for an unpleasant match, falls upon her suitor. Yet, by this blow, death did not come—only a stream of blood flowed, like water from a wounded serpent. Seeing him thus wounded, as darkness is dispelled by the moon, Taddeshalila, radiant and joyful, spoke of her former play.