There fell, with darting flame and blinding flash
    Lighting the farthest heavens, from on high
  A thunderbolt whose agonising crash
    Brought fear and shuddering from a cloudless sky.

  There came a pelting rain of blazing coals
    With blood and bones of dead men mingled in;
  Smoke and weird flashes horrified their souls;
    The sky was dusty grey like asses’ skin.

  The elephants stumbled and the horses fell,
    The footmen jostled, leaving each his post,
  The ground beneath them trembled at the swell
    Of ocean, when an earthquake shook the host.

  And dogs before them lifted muzzles foul
    To see the sun that lit that awful day,
  And pierced the ears of listeners with a howl
    Dreadful yet pitiful, then slunk away.

Taraka’s counsellors endeavour to persuade him to turn back, but he refuses; for timidity is not numbered among his faults.  As he advances even worse portents appear, and finally warning voices from heaven call upon him to desist from his undertaking.  The voices assure him of Kumara’s prowess and inevitable victory; they advise him to make his peace while there is yet time.  But Taraka’s only answer is a defiance.

  “You mighty gods that flit about in heaven
    And take my foeman’s part, what would you say? 
  Have you forgot so soon the torture given
    By shafts of mine that never miss their way?

  Why should I fear before a six-days child? 
    Why should you prowl in heaven and gibber shrill,
  Like dogs that in an autumn night run wild,
    Like deer that sneak through forests, trembling still?

  The boy whom you have chosen as your chief
    In vain upon his hermit-sire shall cry;
  The upright die, if taken with a thief: 
    First you shall perish, then he too shall die.”

And as Taraka emphasises his meaning by brandishing his great sword, the warning spirits flee, their knees knocking together.  Taraka laughs horribly, then mounts his chariot, and advances against the army of the gods.  On the other side the gods advance, and the two armies clash.

Sixteenth canto.  The battle between gods and demons.—­This canto is entirely taken up with the struggle between the two armies.  A few stanzas are given here.

  As pairs of champions stood forth
  To test each other’s fighting worth,
  The bards who knew the family fame
  Proclaimed aloud each mighty name.

  As ruthless weapons cut their way
  Through quilted armour in the fray,
  White tufts of cotton flew on high
  Like hoary hairs upon the sky.

  Blood-dripping swords reflected bright
  The sunbeams in that awful fight;
  Fire-darting like the lightning-flash,
  They showed how mighty heroes clash.

  The archers’ arrows flew so fast,
  As through a hostile breast they passed,
  That they were buried in the ground,
  No stain of blood upon them found.