O king, when at the end of every year that wicked Asura, lying covered with sands, wakes up and begins to breathe, then the whole earth with her mountains, forests and woods begins to tremble. His breath raises up clouds of sands and covers the very sun. For seven days continually the earth trembles and sparks and flames of fire mixed with smoke spread all over the ground. For all this, O king, I cannot enjoy peace in my hermitage. O king of kings, kill him therefore for the good of the world.
क्रूरस्य तस्य स्वपतो बालुकान्तर्हितस्य च। संवत्सरस्य पर्यन्ते निःश्वासः सम्प्रवर्तते।॥ यदा तदा भूश्चलति सशैलवनकानना। तस्य निःश्वासवातेन रज उद्भूयते महत्॥ आदित्यपथमाश्रित्य सप्ताहं भूमिकम्पनम्। सविस्फुलिङ्गं सज्वालं धूममिश्रं सुदारुणम्॥ तेन राजन् न शक्नोमि तस्मिन् स्थातुं स्व आश्रमे तं विनाशय राजेन्द्र लोकानां हितकाम्यया॥