In the midst of a cosmic battle, mountains themselves became weapons, hurled with terrible force. Mighty boulders smashed against each other, and the vast oceans overflowed, their waters stained crimson with blood. Upon the peaks—where gods and demons alike contended—towering palm forests sprang up, their forms rising to become the very faces of the heavens. Weapons of every kind filled the air: spears and arrows, javelins and maces, swords and spinning discs. In their fury, gods and demons cast mountains aside as easily as stones, their sharp teeth and nails clattering in the tumult. Amidst this chaos, lions—alive and fierce—rained down upon the earth, adding to the terror of the scene. The armies of the sun revealed their might, their eyes blazing, their flames venomous and their heat scorching. At the end of the age, the quarters of the world burned. Serpents, wild as intoxicated oceans, soared and spread across the earth and its mountains, their presence filling every space. Thunderous roars echoed as makaras crashed through the swirling waves of the sky-ocean, which was encircled by mighty mountains. The world became constricted and perilous, as torrents from rivers of weapons surged and whirled, threatening to overwhelm all. The sky itself became a battlefield. It was adorned with mountains, weapons, and Garuda-peaks, and filled with the bodies of great serpents and hosts of demons. For a moment, the heavens were flooded with clouds, then with fire, then with sunlight, and then darkness—each following the other in swift succession. The world grew intolerable. All realms blazed with the fire of the age. Garuda’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. From the earth, the demons soared upward, like birds taking flight from mountain slopes. The gods, overwhelmed by the onslaught, fell to the ground like rocks shaken loose from the mountains at the time of dissolution. Both gods and demons, their bodies scorched by the great fires that clung to the forests of weapon-trees, reached the heights of the sky. There, the heavens shone with mountains swayed by the wild winds of the age. The sky was filled all around with streams of blood, flowing from the bodies of gods, demons, and mountain-lords. It shone crimson, like the Ganges at dawn, encircling the heavens and the ocean in its terrible beauty. There was a rain of mountains, a rain of water, a rain of fierce and varied weapons. Uneven stones fell from above, and then a rain of fire poured down upon all. Those skilled in battle, having shattered the walls of all great mountains, unleashed everywhere a shower of flowers, as if the very branches of the quarters themselves bloomed in the midst of chaos. Gods and demons, agitated by the tumult, struck one another with confusion, their arms wielding weapons and their bodies blazing with the fire of Indra’s thunder. Seated on vast thrones, they wandered the sky, scattering streams of blood. At that time, the world’s belly was filled with severed heads, hands, arms, and thighs, whirling like ominous locusts in the sky. Dense clouds, fierce as mountains, blocked out the sun and the mountain ranges at the edges of the quarters. The universe became dreadful, as if at the end of time: wild fire raged, waters churned, winds howled, and the sun scorched. Forests were torn apart, hosts of gods and demons destroyed, yet the walls and corners of the cosmic egg remained unbroken. Turmoil reigned. The directions themselves were thrown into confusion by mountain peaks struck and scattered by heavy weapons. The air resounded with the cries of fierce cave-dwelling beasts and the roars of lions as clouds crashed down. The sky was filled with rivers and oceans of illusion, with 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, like leaves blown through a forest by the wind. Blows from hands, as irresistible as the movement of mountains’ wings, struck down all before them. Torrents of water, full as the ocean and released from the ruined cities of the gods by the fall of warriors’ bodies—like mountains—rushed forth at once. The sky thundered with a deep, rolling roar. Spaces between the mountains ran red with blood. The world-cave itself became agitated, swirling with the currents of battle as if it were a pool of blood. This tumult of battle, crowded with gods and demons and spreading endlessly in all directions, brought both pleasure and pain, creation and destruction. It became, in truth, a mirror of the very cycle of worldly existence. During this time, the war was waged by every means: through illusion and dispute, through alliance and conflict, through flight and steadfastness, and through cunning stratagems. There were moments of self-pity, fierce weapon-battles, and repeated disappearances. By all these means, the war with the gods raged for thirty-five years. Years, days, months—ten, eight, five, and seven—passed away for the trees, fires, weapons, waters, food, and mountains. Throughout this time, through persistent practice, the bonds and attachments of the warriors grew ever stronger, their minds consumed by the conviction of “I am”—the sense of ego. Just as, from excessive closeness, a mirror appears as if it were the reflected image itself, so too, by the intensity of repeated practice, they attained the state of egoity. And just as a distant object does not appear reflected in a mirror, so too, without repeated practice, the impression of an object does not arise in the mind. When bonds and attachments arose, and the tendency toward ego-identity was born, then came the thought, “My life, my possessions,” and thus misery entered their hearts. Seized by fear, struck down by delusion, and bound by the cords of hope, they fell into wretchedness. Indeed, the notion of “mine” is imagined by those without true ego, just as the idea of a snake is superimposed upon a rope, due to the marks left by the cord that resembles a snake. The pitiable craving of those who think “mine” leads them to wish, “Let this body, from head to foot, remain firm,” and thus they fall into dejection. Thoughts such as “Let my body be steady, let my wealth be for my happiness” bind the mind, and for such ones, courage disappears. Because bodies lack deep impressions and the enemies of the gods lack stability, their inclination toward violence was quickly wiped away, as if swept clean. Thinking, “How can we remain secure in this world?” they were struck with anxiety and fell into dejection, like lotuses without water. Among them, those attached to their own sense of self found pleasure in food and drink, remaining in the world, fierce and bound to the cycle of birth. Then, in that battle, out of fear, they became dependent, like deer surrounded in the forest by a herd of intoxicated elephants. Stricken by the thought, “We will die, we will die,” their hopes wounded, they wandered slowly and sluggishly through the battle, as if caught in the wrath of Airavata. For those who desired only bodily existence and were fearful, death placed a calamity-bringing step upon their heads due to their weakness. Their strength faded, and they could not slay the foremost warrior, just as fires with depleted fuel cannot burn the offering. While the gods struck, the demons became incapable of fighting. The warriors, wounded and battered in every limb, stood as if they were nothing more than ordinary beings. What more can be said? The demons, their minds terrified by death, fled from the battlefield as the gods advanced. As all of them fled, they scattered in every direction among the mountains of the demons, seeking refuge in the renowned abodes of the asuras known as Dama and Vyala.