Resplendent before them stood a wondrous form, adorned with a multitude of radiant gems, garlanded with many kinds of fragrant flowers, and anointed with sacred ointments. Around his body, serpents were draped as his sacred thread, marking him as a terror to the enemies of the gods. As he stood there, his smile illuminated the entire world, filling it with a sense of peace and awe. Then, Mahadeva, the great Lord, spoke in a voice both gentle and profound: “I am pleased with you, O best among the gods. Know that you two were born from my very limbs in ancient times. From my left arm came Vishnu, who is ever undefeated in battle.” Overwhelmed with joy and devotion, the two bowed low at the feet of the Lord, their hearts brimming with gratitude. They prayed, “May devotion to you, O god, lord of the gods, ever dwell within us.” Having thus spoken and blessed them, the blessed one vanished from their sight. The knowledge imparted there was supreme and subtle, known as the wisdom of Shiva. Filled with reverence, they offered salutations to Mahadeva, Maheshvara, and Shankara, the great-souled one. Whoever honors him in this way, it is said, attains all desires and is freed from all sins. Thus was revealed the mighty power of Maheshvara. Moved by these events, the listeners expressed their eagerness: “We long to hear more of the greatness of Mahadeva. Tell us, how he once assumed a strange and bewildering form, by which even the great sages were confounded. They worshipped him, seeking his favor, yet he was not pleased with them. Please recount all of this, you who are foremost among the wise.” In answer, it was told how, out of compassion for his devotees, the Lord of gods created the delightful Devadāru forest, a place thick with many trees and creepers. There, some ascetics lived on algae, some dwelt within the water. Others ground their food with their teeth or crushed it with stones. These great-minded sages spent their days in intense austerities. Into this forest came a figure, his body smeared with pale ash, naked, marked with strange signs. In his hand he carried a flaming torch, and his eyes were red and tawny. His face was painted in both coal-black and white hues. Sometimes he danced with amorous abandon, sometimes he cried out again and again. He would repeatedly approach the hermitages, begging persistently. At times, he roared like a bull or brayed loudly like a donkey. The sages, angered by these antics, let wrath taint their hearts. “Because you sang with your hands,” they declared, “you shall become a donkey!” United in their anger, all the sages pronounced this curse together. As a result, all their austerities were disrupted, and their radiance ceased to shine. The great sacrifice, source of their prosperity, was destroyed. He who had assumed ten forms was made sorrowful again and again, and was finally cast down to earth by the angry sage Gautama. By the curse of the sages, Nahusha was transformed into a serpent. Even Dharma himself, the very embodiment of righteousness, was cursed by the great-souled sage Mandavya. Yet, through all these events, none could affect Virupaksha, the god of gods, Maheshvara—Shiva himself—who alone remained untouched.