The second day of battle was about to commence. Everyone was waiting in anticipation for the conches to blow. The faces of warriors on both sides were taut and grim. The sky was filled with dark rain clouds. They hung pretty low in the sky. The possibility of a heavy downpour or thunderstorms through the course of the day seemed very portent. Lightening occasionally connected between cloud and cloud. Low claps of thunder were heard.

As though on cue, it started pouring from the heavens the minute the conches blew. It was followed by a split-second of silence where only the pitter-patter of rain drops was heard before all madness broke loose. A terrible force had been unleashed. Everyone to his own. There was noise. There was turmoil. There was blood.

The lines between both armies had been breached. The army of Mahishmati had entered the battle formation. But the lines closed behind them as smoothly. Their entire army was now within. The fighting dragged on just like the rain that continued to pelt the hard ground of the battlefield. Rivulets of red started overflowing.

Mrithyunjay and Aditya Varma had been within their sights. But the moment, either Narasimha or Marakasura thought they were disengaged and free to pursue them, another warrior from the opposing side took that spot. This stalemate continued throughout the day. But the losses to the Mahishmati army had not been as great as the previous day.

After defeating the warrior with whom Mrithyunjay had been fighting, he turned to fight with the next person near him. The man shivered and placed his weapons before Mrithyunjay's feet, "Please forgive me, Sir. I am not a soldier. Captain Kshatrajith and  Captain Prathikara forced me and many people from our village to wear these uniforms and hold these weapons."

Mrithyunjay shouted to his men, "If anybody tells they are not soldiers and surrenders their weapons, let them go. Don't touch them." Looking at the man at his feet, he reassured him, "Go, friend. You won't be harmed."

The man started fleeing from the battlefield. Taking courage from his example, several other villagers dropped their weapons and started running. They had reached the edge of the field when they all began falling down one by one. Prathikara and his archers let up after the last man had fallen. He shouted to his men, "Now get back to the battle. Dead men tell no tales."

The rain had stopped but the slaughter didn't. The numbers of the dead and the wounded on the battlefield kept mounting steeply. The helpers and healers had been simultaneously doing their job of removing the dead and wounded while the battle was going on. One of the healers on Mrithyunjay's side was giving water to a wounded soldier when a projectile hit him from behind. He looked back in shock and disbelief. He shouted, "I am a healer."

Another projectile hit him. Kshatrajith pushed him down, "So? You are on the field."

"I gave water and succor even to your soldiers when they asked me", he argued.

Kshatrajith's sword pierced him, "I'll give you water and succor now."

He poured the water from his knapsack over the dead healer's wide-open lips.

Bhavani had finished fighting a warrior of the Mahishmati army when she found something unusual happening. Several soldiers of the Mahishmati army had been crouching beside fallen soldiers. She held her sword up to the neck of one of those soldiers. A few fingers and toes rolled out of his lap. "What were you doing with the bodies of dead soldiers?"

"I was just taking the gold and silver rings and bands", the man confessed.

Bhavani's face crinkled with disgust, "Was it just our soldiers or yours too?"

"I've been taking from both since morning", he said. "Please forgive me, Madam."

Bhavani slashed the man from top to toe, "Ask that to your Maker when you meet him!"

There was a slight bit of respite in fighting. Narasimha scanned through the hordes to see if he could find Mrithyunjay. But he had lost sight of him. He roughly calculated the time left. There was approximately a prahaar left before fighting would be called off for the day.

Narasimha spied General Marakasura near him. He rode up to him, "General, I feel we are missing something. Give the orders to our army to draw back from their battle formation. We will reassess our strategy today evening."

Pointing towards the rapid changes happening within the battle formation of their opposing army, the General remarked, "It's too late Prince. The scorpion has stung."

The battle array had smoothly transitioned and transformed into the deadly Vrushchika Vyuha. General Samarth had already drawn first blood. The hotheaded and impetuous Captain Prathikara had met his end. A second rear division under Bhavani's command had already advanced half way towards Captain Kshatrajith like the upraised fang of a scorpion.

Narasimha sped to the rescue of his captain and his division of the troops, "We must go to his aid." His troops followed close behind him. Narasimha's anger had been roused. His men had been falling since the beginning of this war and he had been powerless to save them. More than his enemies, his anger was against himself.

At the other end of the battlefield, Bhavani's stood blocking Kshtrajith's path. She shot forth volleys of arrows from her quiver. Kshatrajith swatted them aside carelessly like flies. He picked up his lance rode towards her. Bhavani held the reins of her horse and galloped towards him. The wind blew away the restraints that held back her hair. Her thick coil of jet black hair flew behind her in waves.

Both warriors collided against each other with terrible force. The momentum carried both of them forward in opposite directions. They stopped and turned back readying themselves for the charge. Bhavani's eyes glowered in the failing light. The lance in Kshatrajith's hand flew and fell twenty feet apart. He was unseated and fell in the opposite direction. His neck was broken. His limbs were numb. His eyelids were closed. He did not move. Assuming that he was dead, Bhavani moved on to systematically wreak havoc upon the soldiers of Mahishmati.

Kshatrajith woke up from his stupor. His throat was parched. He cried, "Water...Water..."

His voice was too weak to carry beyond the din of the battlefield. None of the soldiers or healers could hear him. He tried to weakly raise himself. A sharp stab of pain hit him when he tried to move. He lay back on his back murmuring, "Water...water..." The light in his eyes dimmed and died out.

Narasimha had managed to reach where Bhavani was on the battlefield. He accosted Bhavani who had been running through their army like a wild forest fire. She seemed nettled by his presence, "Step away from my path, Narasimha. We have all sworn not to harm you."

"So you will harm me if you were not bound by that promise?" Narasimha asked. His guess about the promise had been right. His voice cracked momentarily. His facial expression was unreadable, "I free you from whatever is tying you down. Fight me now, Bhavani."

Bhavani stood rooted to the spot. She hadn't foreseen this. She did not lift her weapon. He lifted his sword and was about to strike her when she suddenly dropped her weapon, "I am weaponless. According to the rules of war, we cannot fight."

Narasimha goaded her, "Pick up your weapon and fight me." Bhavani refused to budge. She held her ground. She stared back but did not pick up her weapon. His rage knew no bounds. He shouted, "To hell with these rules! I will slay you now. Weapon or no weapon."

The conch blew bringing back Narasimha to his senses. Bhavani had a very sad expression on her face as she said, "Our fight was not against you, Narasimha."