Listen now to the sacred tale, as it was once spoken among the sages. This age is known as Brahmā’s kalpa, a cosmic era marked by many distinctions, during which the grand processes of creation unfold—both the first beginnings and the subsequent developments of the universe. Let me explain the measure of time, the very form that defines a kalpa, and, as before, describe the renowned Padma Kalpa. Attend closely, for these truths are profound. At this moment, Śaunaka, the wise sage, addressed Sūta: “O Sūta, you told us how Vidura, the foremost of devotees, renounced his most cherished family ties—those bonds so difficult to abandon—and journeyed to holy places throughout the earth. The conversation between Vidura, son of Vyāsa, and the sage Kauśārava was rooted in spiritual inquiry; or perhaps, when Vidura questioned him, that great soul replied with nothing but the truth. Please, gentle one, tell us what Vidura did, why he left his family, and what prompted his return.” Sūta replied with reverence: “I shall recount what the great sage answered when King Parīkṣit questioned him. Listen well, for this follows the king’s own inquiry.” The king had asked, “In which deed of the Lord, the maker of the universe and of myself, was his fame increased by Kṛṣṇa? Please describe this to me.” Śrī Nārada then spoke: “When the gods, empowered by the Lord, defeated the demons in battle, the vanquished sought refuge with Maya, the supreme master of illusion. Maya, mighty and resourceful, constructed for them three wondrous cities—one of gold, one of silver, and one of iron—each difficult to perceive and joined by subtle, ingenious means. These cities were fortified beyond imagination. With their new strongholds, the demon armies and their lords, remembering ancient enmities, began to devastate the three worlds. In desperation, the rulers of the worlds, along with their retinues, approached the Lord, bowed in supplication, and pleaded: ‘O God, protect us! The inhabitants of Tripura are destroying us.’ The Lord, moved by compassion, assured them, ‘Do not fear.’ He strung an arrow to his bow and released a mighty weapon upon the cities. From the orb of the sun arose arrows blazing like fire—swift and unseen, like rays of light, they struck the cities. All the inhabitants of those cities fell, their lives extinguished by the divine assault. Yet Maya, the great yogī, gathered them up and cast them into a well filled with nectar. Touched by this nectar of immortality, the demons, now strong as thunderbolts and brimming with energy, rose again, splitting the clouds like flashes of lightning. Seeing his resolve thwarted and Vṛṣadhvaja disheartened, Lord Viṣṇu devised another plan. At that moment, Brahmā assumed the form of a calf and Viṣṇu himself became a cow. Together, they entered Tripura at the opportune time and drank the nectar from the well. The demons witnessed this, yet, deluded by illusion, did not prevent it. Realizing what had happened, Maya, the great yogī, addressed the guardians of the nectar. Smiling gently and free from sorrow, he recalled those afflicted by grief and the workings of destiny, knowing that none—god, demon, human, or otherwise—is truly independent here. What is ordained for oneself or for another cannot be averted by either, for fate is supreme. Then, by his own wondrous powers, Maya performed the principal act of Shiva. Through righteousness, knowledge, detachment, prosperity, austerity, learning, and action, he manifested the chariot, charioteer, banner, horses, bow, armor, arrows, and all else required for battle. Fully armed, he mounted the chariot, took up the bow and arrow, and, in a single moment, prepared himself as the Lord of Victory. With that arrow, O King, Hara—Shiva—burned the three impregnable cities to ashes. In the heavens, celestial drums resounded, and the skies filled with hundreds of divine vehicles. The gods, sages, ancestors, and perfected beings, overjoyed, showered flowers and proclaimed victory, while the celestial Apsaras danced in delight. Having thus destroyed the three cities, the Lord—praised by Brahmā and others—returned to his own abode. So are the deeds of Hari, who, by his own power, playfully imitates the ways of mortals, sung by the sages. What more can I say? These stories themselves purify the world. Now, Sūta continued: Approaching the lands of Ānarta and his own prosperous regions, the Lord blew his resounding conch, its sound as if sweeping away all sorrow. That conch, white-bellied and high-pitched, touched by the reddish lower lip of the mighty Lord, when blown in his lotus-like hand, called out like a swan in a pond of lotuses. Hearing that fear-dispelling, resounding blast, all the people, eager to behold their beloved Lord, came forth. Gathering together, their strength renewed, they honored him as one would cherish a lamp in the darkness—content and fulfilled in themselves simply by his presence. With faces blooming with joy, they spoke in voices choked with happiness, as children would to a father who is both their protector and dearest friend: “We bow to you, Master, whose lotus feet are ever worshipped by Brahmā, Shiva, and Indra. You are the supreme refuge for those who seek well-being; even time, the supreme lord, holds no sway over you. For our welfare, you are the creator, sustainer, and protector of the universe. You are our mother, friend, lord, and father. You are our true teacher and the highest deity—by following you, we have become accomplished. Ah, we are truly blessed by you, for even the gods of heaven rarely behold what we see: your face, radiant with loving smiles and glances, and your form, adorned with every auspicious sign. O lotus-eyed one, whenever you departed for the lands of the Kurus or the Madhus, longing to see your friends, each moment of your absence stretched into millions of ages for us, like eyes bereft of the sun, O Acyuta.” As the people spoke these words, the Lord, ever affectionate to his devotees, listened and bestowed his gracious glance upon them, then entered the city. He was protected by the Madhus, Bhojas, Dasharhas, Kukuras, Andhakas, and Vrishnis—mighty families whose strength matched his own—and thus the city was made secure, guarded as the serpents guard Bhogavati. In every season, with all prosperity, surrounded by auspicious trees, creepers, hermitages, gardens, parks, and lotus ponds, the city shone with splendor. At the gates, doorways, and roads, festive arches were erected, adorned with colorful flags and banners, shading the city from the sun. The grand avenues, streets, markets, and squares were swept clean, sprinkled with fragrant water, and decorated with fruits, flowers, and grains. Thus did the city rejoice at the Lord’s return, resplendent in beauty and filled with the joy of his presence.