As torrents of water poured down from all directions, the world was engulfed by fierce, overwhelming clouds. Under the command of the Supreme Lord, these clouds unleashed their power, flooding every corner of the earth. The deluge was so intense that it extinguished even the dreadful, inauspicious fires that once raged. For twelve years, the rain clouds dominated, covering everything in their relentless downpour. Driven by the great soul, the clouds continued to fill the world with streams of water. The oceans, no longer contained by their shores, overflowed and spread across the land. Mountains were shattered, and the earth itself sank beneath the rising waters. The sky was filled with bewildered clouds, and everywhere darkness prevailed. Swept away by powerful winds, the clouds eventually vanished. Then, the terrible wind itself was restrained by Viṣṇu, bringing a momentary stillness. The god who dwells within the primeval lotus drank up the waters, and, with all that moved and did not move destroyed, he slept upon the dreadful, single ocean. All beings—gods, asuras, men, yakṣas, and rākṣasas—had perished. The sage, having rested, meditated upon the Supreme Person. When he opened his eyes, he saw the earth submerged in water. There was no banyan tree, no land, no directions, no sun. The moon, fire, wind, gods, asuras, and serpents had all vanished. Only the vast, dreadful ocean remained, shrouded in darkness, without any support. The sage, Mārkaṇḍeya, began to sink and attempted to swim across the endless waters. Afflicted and bewildered, he wandered, swept by the flood, unable to find any savior. Seeing him thus lost and distressed, the Supreme Person, pleased by his meditation, spoke to him out of compassion: “Child, you are weary and young, devoted to me with firm vows. Come, come quickly, Mārkaṇḍeya, to my side. Do not be afraid, for you have come before me. O steadfast sage, you are a child, afflicted by fatigue.” Hearing these words, the sage was seized by anger and astonishment. He wondered aloud, “Who is this, who calls me by name, as if mocking my austerity, as if challenging my body, famed for thousands of years? Such conduct is not proper, even among the gods; yet Brahmā and the lord of gods call me long-lived. Who is this, with dreadful intent, who today seeks my death, calling me Mārkaṇḍeya, and wishes to bring about my end?” Filled with anxiety, the sage pondered, “Is this a dream I have seen, or has some delusion come upon me?” As he reflected, a thought arose that dispelled his sorrow: “I will seek refuge in the god, the Supreme Person, with devotion.” Resolving thus, he fixed his mind upon the Lord and beheld, once again, the vast banyan tree rising above the waters. On a branch of this expansive tree, he saw a wondrous golden couch, beautifully crafted by Viśvakarman. It was adorned with vajra and beryl, sparkling with jewels and coral, embellished with padmarāga and other precious stones, covered with diverse fabrics and surrounded by a radiant halo. Upon this divine couch stood the Lord, Kṛṣṇa, in the form of a child, shining with the brilliance of ten million suns. He was radiant and splendid, with four arms, a beautiful form, eyes like lotus petals, the mark of Śrīvatsa on his chest, and holding the conch, discus, and mace. His chest was adorned with a garland of forest flowers, he wore divine earrings, and his neck was graced with heavy necklaces, decorated with celestial gems. Seeing the Lord, the sage’s eyes widened in astonishment. His body bristled with joy, and bowing to the Lord, he spoke: “Alas! In this dreadful, single ocean, with all beings destroyed, how does this child alone stand here, utterly without fear?” Though Mārkaṇḍeya was a sage who knew the past, present, and future, he did not recognize the Lord at that moment, deluded by the Lord’s māyā. Unable to perceive the true nature of the child, he spoke in distress: “In vain is the power of my austerity, in vain my knowledge, in vain my actions; in vain is my long life, and in vain even my humanity. I do not know, as I lie asleep, this divine child upon the couch.” Thus reflecting, the sage, drifting and bewildered, seeking protection, fell into despair. Then, shining with his own glory like the rising sun and filled with radiance, the Lord’s brilliance was too much for the sage to bear. Seeing Mārkaṇḍeya approach, the child, as if smiling, spoke with a voice like thunder: “Child, I know you are weary, and have come to me for refuge. Quickly enter my body, for I have arranged your rest.” Hearing these words, the sage was bewildered and said nothing. Powerless, he entered the child’s open mouth. Inside the belly of the divine child, Mārkaṇḍeya beheld the entire earth, surrounded by many peoples. He saw oceans of salt, sugarcane juice, wine, clarified butter, curds, milk, and water. He beheld those seas, as well as the islands of Jambu, Plakṣa, and Śālmalī. He saw Kuśa, Krauñca, Śāka, and Puṣkara, the regions such as Bhārata, and all the mountains as well.