Then, all the assembled sages began to speak among themselves, reflecting deeply on the situation at hand. They considered the conduct of those among them who were devoted to celibacy and the ascetics dwelling in the forest. They realized that a grave error had taken root among these twice-born ones, a delusion that had led them astray from the path of righteousness. In their discussion, the sages resolved, “Let us speak gentle words and adopt the discipline of wearing a single garment.” Their intention was to restore order and purity among themselves. Hearing the words of the sages, the blessed one—he who had once destroyed the eyes of Bhaga—spoke with authority. “None among us,” he declared, “is capable of forcefully casting down this linga.” Yet, he continued, “I myself shall cast down this linga, O best of the twice-born.” Thus addressed, the great god—perceiving their intentions and understanding their actions—acted accordingly. When the Blessed Lord vanished from their sight and assumed the mysterious form of the linga, a great agitation seized all present. Nothing could be seen clearly; all was obscured. The stars and planets began to move in reverse, their ordained courses disrupted. Sacrifices no longer took place in their proper times or seasons. The sages and ascetics found their power, strength, and brilliance diminished, as if the very light of their souls had been dimmed. In their distress, all of them gathered together and journeyed to the world of Brahmā. Falling humbly at his feet, they recounted all that had transpired concerning Śiva. They spoke of his appearance—how he held an owl in his hand, and how his eyes burned with a reddish-brown intensity. They confessed their disrespect, especially toward daughters-in-law, daughters, and granddaughters, having thought him mad. Seeking to appease his anger, they pleaded for refuge at Brahmā’s feet. Brahmā, listening to their words and perceiving the truth through deep meditation, addressed them: “This god is the great god, Maheśvara, to be known and revered by all. He is the lord of the gods, of sages, and of the ancestors. As Time itself, he withdraws all things at the end, manifesting as Maheśvara.” Brahmā described his marks: the curl of hair, the Śrīvatsa mark, and the sign of the sacred thread upon his chest. “In the Dvāpara age, he is Kālagni; in the Kali age, he is called Dharmaketu. Know that darkness is Agni, passion is Brahmā, and goodness—Viṣṇu is the illuminator. Where these qualities dwell, united with Brahman, there he abides.” Humbled and awakened, the sages worshipped Maheśvara, O best of the twice-born, having conquered anger and mastered their senses. They fashioned an image of him and sought refuge in the wielder of the trident, the destroyer of ignorance and unrighteousness. In his presence, all darkness was dispelled. Thereafter, the sages dwelled free from sorrow in the Devadāru forest. They established their altars on mountains, in caves, and in many sacred places. Assuming that very form, the god himself entered the forest, gracing their hermitage—now filled with the sweet sounds of birds. Mahesha entered that sacred hermitage, and all the sages, their minds fully concentrated, offered him praise. Along with their wives, sons, and attendants, these greatly fortunate ones gathered in devotion. With humility, they confessed: “Out of ignorance, whatever we have done against the god of gods—the secret and profound deeds—we acknowledge before you. We do not know how to welcome you, nor your path, nor anything at all. Yet, O Maheshvara, O god of gods, the great-souled ones praise you with all their hearts.