O Mahadeva, O Maheshvara—salutations to you! Thus, with heartfelt reverence, salutations were offered to Shankara, the great-souled one. It is said that whoever offers such salutations to him attains all their desires and is freed from all sins. I have now told you of the mighty power of Maheshvara. Yet, a curiosity arose among the sages to hear more of Mahadeva’s greatness. They wished to know of the time when he assumed a strange and bewildering form, a form so unusual that even the great sages were confounded. Though they worshipped him with devotion, seeking his favor, Mahadeva was not pleased with their offerings. The sages, eager for understanding, implored the wisest among them to tell all of this—how it came to pass, and the purpose behind it. Out of compassion for his devotees, the Lord of gods had created the delightful Devadaru forest, a place abundant with many trees and creepers. Within this sacred grove, ascetics lived in diverse ways: some sustained themselves on algae, some dwelled within the waters, others used their teeth as mortars, and some crushed their food with stones. These great-minded ones spent their days in intense austerity. Amidst them appeared a being whose body was smeared with pale ash, naked and marked with strange signs. He carried a flaming torch in his hand, and his eyes were red and tawny. His face was adorned with both coal-black and white colors. Sometimes he danced amorously; at other times he cried out again and again. Repeatedly, he would come to the hermitage, begging insistently. He roared like a bull and made loud, jarring noises like a donkey. The sages, disturbed and angered by his behavior, became tainted by wrath. In their anger, they cursed: “Because you sang with your hands, you shall become a donkey!” As if by a shared will, all the sages together gave voice to their anger. As a result, their austerities were obstructed, and their radiance no longer shone with its former brilliance. The great sacrifice, source of their prosperity, was destroyed. He, who had assumed ten different manifestations, now found himself made sorrowful again and again. In their fury, the sage Gautama cast him down to the earth. By the curse of the sages, Nahusha was transformed into a serpent. Even Dharma himself was cursed by the great-souled Mandavya. In all these events, only Virupaksha, the god of gods—Maheshvara—remained unaffected. The sages then spoke amongst themselves, reflecting on what had transpired among the celibate ascetics and the forest dwellers. “This is the great misconduct by which these twice-born have been deluded,” they said. “Let us speak sweet words and adopt the discipline of a single garment.” Upon hearing the words of the sages, the blessed one—he who destroyed Bhaga’s eyes—responded. “It is not possible for any of us to forcibly cast down this linga,” they admitted. Yet one among them declared, “But I shall cast down this linga, O best of the twice-born!” Thus addressed, the great god, perceiving their intentions and actions, disappeared from their midst and assumed the form of the linga. When the Blessed Lord thus vanished and became the linga, all present became agitated, and nothing at all was revealed to them.