The sage, burdened by confusion and despair, reflected deeply upon his life. He lamented that his austerities, his knowledge, his actions, his long years, and even his humanity—all seemed to have been in vain. As he lay asleep, he found himself unable to comprehend the divine child who rested upon the couch nearby. Lost in these thoughts, drifting and bewildered, he sought protection but was overwhelmed, and so he fell into utter despair. Suddenly, the child shone forth with his own radiant glory, dazzling like the rising sun, filling the space with brilliant light. The sage could not bear to gaze directly upon him, so intense was his effulgence. As the sage approached, the child, as if smiling, spoke in a voice deep and resonant, like the rolling thunder of clouds. “Child,” said the divine boy, “I know you are weary and have come to me for refuge. Quickly, enter my body, for I have prepared a place for your rest.” Hearing these words, the sage was bewildered and silent, powerless to resist. He entered the child’s open mouth. Within the belly of that divine child, the sage beheld a wondrous sight—the entire earth, surrounded by countless peoples. He saw oceans of salt, sugarcane juice, wine, clarified butter, curds, milk, and water. He beheld those seas, and the continents known as Jambu, Plakṣa, and Śālmalī. He saw Kuśa, Krauñca, Śāka, and Puṣkara, the regions such as Bhārata, and all the mountains as well. He gazed upon Meru, the golden mountain adorned with every kind of jewel, its peaks sparkling with gems and filled with many caves. Meru was crowded with sages, thick with forests and groves, inhabited by diverse creatures, and full of marvels. Tigers, lions, boars, chauri-oxen, buffaloes, elephants, deer, monkeys, and many other animals made it exceedingly delightful. Attending Meru were gods beginning with Indra, perfected beings, celestial bards, serpent-spirits, sages, yakshas, apsarases, and other hosts of divine beings. Thus, the sage wandered within the body of the boy, beholding the splendid Sumeru. He saw the great mountains: Himavat, Hemakūṭa, Niṣadha, Gandhamādana, Śveta, Durdhara, Nīla, Kailāsa, and Mandara. He saw Mahendra, Malaya, Vindhya, Pāriyātra, Arbuda, Sahya, Śuktimān, Maināka, and Vakraparvata. And he saw many other earth-supporting ranges, all adorned with jewels. He beheld Kurukṣetra, the Pāñcālas, Matsyas, Madras, Kekayas, Bāhlīkas, Śūrasenas, Kāśmīras, Taṅgaṇas, and Khasas. He saw mountain-dwellers, Kirātas, those with ear-ornaments, desert peoples, outcastes, and all other tribes. He saw deer, monkeys, lions, boars, hyenas, hares, elephants, and other creatures. He saw all the sacred fords, villages, and cities of earth, as well as agriculture, cattle-tending, trade, and commerce. He saw the foremost gods beginning with Indra, and other celestial beings—gandharvas, apsarases, yakshas, and ancient seers. He saw hosts of daityas and dānavas, nāgas, great sages, the sons of Siṃhikā, and other enemies of the gods. Whatever moving or unmoving thing had ever been seen in the world, he saw all of it within the child’s belly. Indeed, whatever exists—from Brahmā down to a blade of grass, moving or unmoving—he beheld it all. He saw the earth-world, the mid-region, the heaven-world, Mahar, Janas, Tapas, Satya, Atala, and Vitala. He saw Pātāla, Sutala, Vitala, Rasātala, Mahātala, and even the cosmic egg itself, all within the child’s belly. His movement was unobstructed, by the grace of that god, and he did not suffer loss of memory. While wandering in the womb of the divine child, he could not find the end of the body of Viṣṇu, though the entire universe was contained within it. Unable to find the limit of that vast body, the sage sought refuge in the boon-giving god. Then, suddenly, by the force of wind, he emerged from the mouth of that great-souled child, whose mouth was open. Having exited from the belly, the sage again saw the earth as a single ocean, devoid of people. He saw once more the god, just as before, in the form of a child, seated on a couch atop a branch of the banyan tree. He saw the god with the mark of Śrīvatsa on his chest, clad in yellow garments, four-armed, holding the universe, his eyes wide like lotus petals. The god, seeing the sage approach—floating and unconscious, emerging from his mouth—spoke to him, smiling. “Child, did you rest in my belly? And while wandering there, did you see anything wondrous? You are my devotee, O best of sages, weary and sheltered by me; therefore, I speak to you for your benefit—look upon me here.” Hearing these words, the sage’s body hair stood on end with joy. He saw that one, difficult to behold, adorned with divine jewels. His gaze became clear and pure in a moment, by the grace of that god, and a new vision appeared to him once again.