Shambara, the mighty demon, set his formidable army in order, appointing powerful chiefs such as Dudrika and Hvadrumā to guard his forces. Yet the gods, ever watchful for opportunity, struck swiftly. Like hawks swooping upon startled flocks of finches scattered across the sky, the leaders of the gods fell upon Shambara’s commanders. The asura lord, undeterred, raised fresh leaders—restless and loud-voiced, surging forth like waves upon a stormy sea. But the gods, quick and relentless, slew these new commanders as well. This defeat enraged Shambara. Consumed by wrath, he advanced toward the celestial realm, intent on its destruction. As Shambara drew near, the gods, terrified by his sorcery, vanished from sight. Like deer fleeing into the groves of Mount Meru at the approach of a tawny lion, they scattered and disappeared. Shambara found heaven empty, the faces of the gods wet with tears, the hosts of lesser immortals wailing in despair—like a world trembling at the end of an age. In his fury, Shambara seized what he could, set ablaze the cities of the guardians of the worlds, and then returned to his own abode. Thus, the enmity between gods and demons grew ever more intense. The gods, defeated and disheartened, abandoned heaven and vanished in all directions. Yet Shambara would not rest—whomever he appointed as commander, the gods, striving with all their might, managed to slay. Each defeat only fueled Shambara’s anger, and he flared up like a fire fanned by the wind, his breath coming hard with rage. He searched throughout the three worlds for the gods, but found them nowhere. With great effort, he found only the virtuous, as one might stumble upon the wicked unexpectedly. Then, by his power of illusion, Shambara created three fierce and mighty demons—beings who arose as embodiments of time itself, to protect his strength. These terrifying forms had arms like the branches of wish-fulfilling trees and were vast as mountains shaken by wings. He named them Dama, Vyala, and Kata. Each bore these marks and acted as opportunity arose, their nature pure consciousness alone. Because they were newly formed, they carried no impressions from previous actions—no latent tendencies shaped their deeds. Their activity was the vibration of pure consciousness, free from all distinction. They held within them the subtle seed of action, which is thought itself, though this was still unformed and artificial. These warriors acted only as chance dictated, like a crow’s random meeting with a falling palm fruit—following the natural course of action, having abandoned all trace of past impressions. Just as children, half-asleep, move only their own limbs, so too did these demons act, lacking any sense of ego or identification with past deeds. They knew neither defeat nor death, nor flight or victory; they simply saw the soldiers before them, poised to strike, and attacked, shattering their enemies as mountains are split by mighty blows. Shambara, seeing this, felt great satisfaction in his city. He thought, “Indeed, my army, protected by the demon of illusion, will be victorious. These enemies have abandoned desire and aversion; thus, in battle, they neither fear nor flee, nor do they stand their ground. When my warriors do not retreat even when struck by the gods, truly my army, endowed with extraordinary strength, now stands firm. Guarded by the mighty demon Atibalā, my troops will surely attain stability, just as the golden earth of the celestial mountain remains unmoved even when struck by the tusks of the best of heavenly elephants.” Then the demons, with terrifying roars, rose up from the ocean caves, from the ravines of mountains, and from the peaks of the celestial mountain, as if playfully lifting winged mountains themselves. Their bodies were torn by the blows of celestial serpents, yet they swarmed into the sky, their hands striking down the very sun. It was as if, at the end of a cosmic dissolution, the terrified hosts of heaven-dwellers rose up from groves, caves, and the sacred mountain of the gods. Between the leaders of gods and demons, battle erupted—a conflict dreadful as the chaos of the world’s end, fought in another realm. Heads fell from the sky, as if the moon and sun themselves had been cast down by the force of dissolution, their flesh darkened by the gleam of earrings. The warriors staggered, roaring with the cries of battle and the thunder of lion-shouts, like mountains laughing amid the gusts of a destructive wind. The slopes of noble mountains trembled; their golden peaks were confused and frightened as weapons struck with the force of living rock. Sparks of fire, born from the clash of weapons, scattered like stars shattered at the end of an age. On the riverbanks, now filled with waves of blood and flesh, tall and slender ghosts—like palm trees at the world’s end—sang in chorus. In the sky, amid clouds stilled by showers of blood and dust, the tips of shattered crowns and earrings, struck by weapons, flashed forth. The directions became impenetrable, as the mountain-king was shattered by the blows of demons whose arms resembled wish-fulfilling trees and whose forms blazed like the sun. Mountains, their slopes split open by the blows of blazing swords, seemed reduced to heaps of fragments, as if consumed by the fires of dissolution. The gods, gathering their brilliance as if kindled by the fire of a great horse sacrifice, pursued the demons like winds chasing away clouds. Overpowering them, the gods seized the demons like wildcats snatching decrepit rats. The gods and demons shone in the sky like blossoming forests swaying on mountain peaks. The ten directions were filled with volleys of weapons, just as winds fill the forests of Mount Meru with showers of flowers. A terrible battle arose between the armies of gods and demons, a conflict as fierce as swarms of giant mosquitoes clashing within the hollows of fig trees—chaotic, unending, and dreadful as the world’s end.