Those whose minds are ensnared by attachment and craving are destined for destruction; for in this world, none are truly weak except those bound by the insatiable thirst of desire. The world itself—balanced and imbalanced alike—finds its stability in its own deep-seated tendencies, moving ceaselessly, like waves upon the ocean. Thus, it is these very tendencies that must be recognized, addressed, and ultimately brought to an end. Having heard these profound truths, the gods departed, each returning to their own realms. They carried with them the delicate fragrance of lotuses, drifting away like gentle breezes bearing garlands from the forest. For several days, they rested in their luminous and splendid abodes, as bees might linger within steadfast lotuses, content and unmoving. After some time, auspiciousness arose among them—a sign of the Self’s awakening. The gods sounded their drums, their thunderous roar echoing like clouds at the world’s dissolution. Yet, once again, a dreadful and prolonged battle erupted in the skies, as the gods joined with demons who had surged up from the netherworld. The heavens became a torrent of swirling weapons: swords, arrows, spears, maces, clubs, axes, sharp discs, thunderbolts, mountains, rocks, blazing trees, and even weapons shaped like serpents and Garuḍa. An illusory river, fierce and swift, surged in all directions, its tumultuous waters filled with stones, mountains, and trees torn from the earth’s edge, roaring like a mass of thunderclouds. Within this river’s central current, blazing torches, spears, rocks, lances, swords, arrows, javelins, and maces tumbled together. Celestial mansions, surrounded by waters like the sacred Ganges, were battered by showers of missiles raining from every direction. The river itself—its body formed from earth and the elements, fierce in its blows and greedy for gifts, its form in the sky woven from rays—would subside only when the armies of gods, demons, and siddhas were pacified. But, conjured by illusion, it would rise again, sustained by its own essence. Mountains, battered by mighty weapons, fell like rocks; vast oceans brimmed with crimson waters; and forests of towering palms grew atop the peaks of gods and demons, shaping the very faces of the heavens. Spears, arrows, javelins, maces, swords, and discs flew through the air, and mountains hurled by gods and demons crashed down. Amid the clamor of sharp teeth and claws, a rain of living, roaring lions descended upon the earth. The armies of the sun, with blazing eyes and venomous flames, scorched the quarters of the world; serpents, wild as intoxicated oceans, soared and spread across the earth and its mountains. Thunderous roars, the crashing of makaras, and the swirling waves of the sky-ocean—encircled by mighty mountains—made the world constricted and perilous, as torrents from rivers of weapons surged and whirled. The sky itself was adorned with mountains, weapons, and Garuḍa-peaks, filled with the bodies of great serpents and demon hosts. In one moment, it was flooded with clouds, then with fire, then sunlight, and then darkness. The world became unbearable, its realms ablaze with apocalyptic fire. Garuḍa’s thunderous cries filled the sky, and torrents of weapon-fire and mountain-masses poured forth, burning the abodes of the gods and the spaces between them. Demons soared from the earth, like birds rising from mountain slopes into the sky, while the gods, overwhelmed, fell to the ground like rocks shaken loose during cosmic dissolution. Gods and demons, their bodies scorched by the great fires clinging to forests of weapon-trees, reached the very heights of the sky, which gleamed with mountains swayed by the winds of the age. Streams of blood from gods, demons, and mountain-lords flowed through the sky, coloring it crimson, like the dawn Ganges encircling heaven and ocean. There were rains of mountains, rains of water, rains of fierce and varied weapons, rains of uneven stones, and then rains of fire falling upon all. The skilled in battle shattered the walls of mighty mountains, unleashing showers of flowers everywhere, as if the quarters themselves were blossoming. Agitated by the chaos, gods and demons, their arms wielding weapons in confusion, struck one another. Their bodies blazed with the fire of Indra’s thunder, and seated on vast thrones, they wandered the sky, scattering streams of blood. The world’s belly became filled with severed heads, hands, arms, and thighs, whirling in the sky like ominous locusts, while dense clouds—fierce as mountains—blocked the sun and the mountain ranges at the world’s edges. The universe became dreadful, like the end of time itself: wild fire, agitated waters, relentless wind and sun, forests torn apart, hosts of gods and demons destroyed, though the cosmic egg’s boundaries remained unbroken. Tumult reigned as mountain peaks, struck and scattered by heavy weapons, threw the directions into confusion. The world echoed with the cries of fierce cave-dwelling beasts and the roars of lions as clouds crashed down. The sky was choked with rivers and oceans of illusion, clouds of fire and smoke, trees, corpses of gods and demons, mountains, and showers of rocks. Heads, arrows, spears, maces, missiles, and weapons were scattered everywhere, as leaves are blown through the forest by the wind. Blows from hands, irresistible as the coming and going of mountains’ wings, unleashed torrents of water—full as the ocean—rushing forth from the ruined cities of the gods, as the bodies of fallen warriors crashed down like mountains. The sky thundered with a deep, resounding roar; the spaces between mountains ran with blood; the world-cave churned, a pool of blood swirling with the currents of battle. This tumultuous battle, crowded with gods and demons, spread endlessly in all directions, bringing both pleasure and pain, creation and destruction—mirroring the very cycle of worldly existence. Through illusion, through disputes and alliances, through conflict and flight, through steadfastness and cunning, through self-pity, weapon-battles, and repeated vanishings—all these means were employed in that war with the gods, which raged for thirty-five years. Years, days, months—ten, eight, five, and seven—passed for the trees, fires, weapons, waters, food, and mountains. In that time, through persistent practice, the bonds and attachments, their minds consumed, firmly assumed the conviction of “I am”—the sense of ego. Just as a mirror, when pressed too close, appears to be the very object it reflects, so too, by the intensity of repeated practice, they attained the state of egoity. And just as a distant object does not appear in the mirror, without repeated practice, the impression of an object does not arise in the mind. When bonds and similar attachments arose, and the tendency toward ego-identity was born, then came the thought, “My life, my possessions”—and thus misery entered. Seized by the tendency toward fear, struck down by delusion, and bound by the cords of hope, they fell into wretchedness. Indeed, the notion of “mine” is imagined even by those without ego, just as the idea of a snake is superimposed upon a rope, due to the marks left by the cord-snake. The pitiable craving arises: “Let this body, from head to foot, remain firm.” Such thinking leads only to dejection. “Let my body be steady, let my wealth be for my happiness”—such thoughts bind the mind, and for those who cling to them, courage soon disappears.