In ancient times, the world was filled with diverse beings living in extraordinary ways. Some sustained themselves by eating algae, while others dwelled deep within the waters. There were those who used their teeth as mortars to grind their food, and some who crushed it with stones. Amidst them, the great-minded sages devoted themselves to intense austerities, seeking spiritual perfection. Among these ascetics appeared a remarkable figure. His body was smeared with pale ash, and he roamed naked, bearing strange marks upon his skin. He held a flaming torch in his hand, his eyes blazing red and tawny, and his face was adorned with both coal-black and white colors. Sometimes, he danced with passionate abandon; at other times, he cried out again and again, his voice echoing through the hermitage as he begged repeatedly. He roared like a bull and made loud noises like a donkey, startling all who heard him. The sages, disturbed by his behavior, became inflamed with anger. One among them pronounced, “Because you sang with your hands, you shall become a donkey.” The collective wrath of the sages grew, just as he had wished, and all their austerities were obstructed, O Shankara. Their radiance faded, and the sacrifice—source of their prosperity—was destroyed. This being experienced ten different manifestations, each bringing sorrow. The sage Gautama, angered, 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. Except for Virupaksha, the god of gods, Maheshvara, none were spared. The sages gathered and spoke among themselves, reflecting on the misdeeds that had led the twice-born to such delusion. They resolved, “Let us speak sweet words and take up a single garment.” Hearing their words, the blessed one—destroyer of Bhaga’s eyes—responded, “It is not possible for any of us to forcibly cast down this linga.” But one among them declared, “I shall cast down this linga, O best of twice-born.” Thus addressed, the great god perceived their intentions and actions. When the Blessed Lord disappeared and assumed the form of the liṅga, all became agitated, and nothing was revealed. The stars and planets appeared to move in reverse; sacrifices failed to occur in their proper seasons. The sages’ power, strength, and brilliance were lost. In distress, all the sages gathered and journeyed to the world of Brahmā. Falling at his feet, they recounted all that had transpired concerning Śiva. Brahmā himself appeared, holding an owl in his hand, his eyes reddish-brown and intense. The sages confessed their disrespect, especially toward daughters-in-law, daughters, and granddaughters, saying, “Thinking him mad, we disrespected him. For the sake of appeasing his anger, we have come to you for refuge.” Hearing their words and knowing the truth through meditation, the Lord listened to their plea, ready to address the situation that had arisen.