Listen now to the tale as revealed in the sacred verses. The Supreme Lord, the embodiment of time itself, stands alone as the ultimate destroyer of all worlds. He is the radiant witness, blazing with immeasurable brilliance, manifesting as the very form of Śaṅkara, the auspicious one. The blessed sun, Āditya, is this Lord—his throat dark, his body fiery red, shining across the heavens. Behold, this is the universal creator, Rudra in form, whose essence is woven from the three Vedas themselves. All manifestations of the sun are to be understood as Sūryas, for there is no other sun but Ravi, the one true luminary. When he declared his intent, those who assisted him answered, “So be it.” Yet, soon after, he was reviled again and again, by hundreds and thousands, their minds clouded. Deluded by the māyā of Viṣṇu, these beings honored the words of Dakṣa, failing to perceive the divine Lord—except for Nārāyaṇa Hari, who alone saw the truth. Then, before all eyes, the Lord vanished in an instant. The protector of worlds himself sought refuge, for the blessed Viṣṇu is ever the guardian of those who seek shelter with him. Observing the hosts of sages and all the gods who had turned hostile to Brahman, it was clear that any man who acts thusly incurs great sin—of this there can be no doubt. The punishment created by the gods falls swiftly and terribly in such a place. The brāhmaṇas who had assembled to assist Dakṣa joined in the reviling of Mahādeva Śaṅkara, who is revered throughout the world. Indeed, those attached to false teachings are ever prone to disparage the divine path. Now, as the dreadful Kali age dawned, afflicted by its dark qualities, even Hṛṣīkeśa, though approached by his own devotees, would become indifferent. Yet he turned his mind toward Rudra, destroyer of all sins. Recognizing Paśupati, Lord of all beings, the all-seeing one addressed him: “O Śaṅkara, both your nature and my own self have been disparaged here. I ask for a single boon: swiftly destroy that sacrifice.” With this resolve, he suddenly created Rudra, intent on destroying Dakṣa’s sacrificial rite. This Rudra appeared with a thousand arms, unassailable, blazing like the fire at the end of the age. He held a staff, roared mightily, bore a bow, and was adorned with sacred ashes. No sooner was he born than he approached the Lord of the gods, palms joined in reverence. “O Lord of the Gaṇas,” he was told, “Dakṣa performs sacrifice at Gaṅgādvāra, having reviled me.” By the mighty Vīrabhadra, Dakṣa’s sacrifice was destined for destruction. With his consort, he mounted the bull, and the Gaṇa departed for the sacrificial grounds. Those who aided him became renowned as Romajās, fierce and resounding like Kālāgni-Rudra, their voices echoing in all ten directions. Encircling their chief, they advanced toward Dakṣa’s sacrifice. There, they beheld that place of immeasurable splendor, filled with the music of vīṇās and flutes, and vibrant with Vedic recitations. Then Vīrabhadra, with a gentle smile, spoke softly to Rudra: desiring a share, he said, “You have come seeking portions; grant the shares you wish for.” He was told, “Let him command what he wishes, for we will act accordingly.” Yet the assembled gods replied, “There is no portion of the sacrifice, nor are there mantras for the Lord.” Thus unfolded the events, as the divine will moved inexorably toward the destruction of Dakṣa’s prideful sacrifice.