From Kailasa and Mandara, and likewise from the mountain of Himavat, peaks fall by the thousands with a great roar. During the earthquake, the great elements again and again agitate the four oceans, each in turn, until every one overflows its own shoreline. Fierce winds, carrying gravel, blow and uproot trees; sacred trees fall in the villages and in the cities. The sacrificial fire, fed with offerings by the twice-born, blazes yellow, red, and blue; its flame is turned to the left, it smells of a corpse, is full of smoke, and crackles harshly. O lord of the earth, sensations of touch, smell, and taste have all become distorted. The trembling banners of the kings smoke again and again; the kettledrums and the great war-drums discharge showers of embers. On the tops of palace towers and at the city gates, fierce vultures wheel about in the ill-omened leftward circle. Birds shriek loudly, crying ‘ripe, unripe,’ and settle on the tops of banners, foretelling the ruin of the lords of the earth. Horses and elephants by the thousands stand wretched and trembling, shedding their hair, weeping piteously.