Verse 1

¹Then, when the joint of the moon came round, a fierce wind rose, terrible and heavy with dust, king, and a smell of pus was everywhere. ²Then a rain of filth, made by Balvala, came down on the sacrificial hall, and after it he himself was seen, holding a trident. ³Rama looked at him: huge of body, like a heap of broken lampblack, hair and beard the colour of heated copper, his face fierce with tusks and knotted brows. ⁴Rama called to mind his pestle, which splits an enemy's ranks, and his plough, which tames the daityas, and the two of them came to him at once. ⁵Bala dragged Balvala down out of the sky with the point of his plough, and in his anger struck that hater of brahmins on the head with the pestle.

⁶He fell to the earth with his forehead split open, pouring out blood and crying out in pain, like a red mountain struck by the thunderbolt. ⁷The sages, greatly favoured, praised Rama, laid blessings on him that do not fail, and poured the consecration over him as the gods did over the killer of Vrtra. ⁸They gave Rama the Vaijayanti garland, in which Sri dwells and the lotuses never wither, and a pair of heavenly garments, and heavenly ornaments.