Viṣṇu, the very embodiment of time, who assumes the form of time itself, is ultimately overcome by time’s inexorable force. Even when restrained by his own son, a fierce battle ensued against the imperishable Hari. In the presence of Prahlāda, the mighty being was torn apart by the sharp nails. Overwhelmed by fear, he abandoned his beloved son Prahlāda and fled. Yet, he found no refuge, for he could not reach the abode of Yama, being seized by lions that sprang forth from Narasiṃha’s own body. Then, assuming his supreme and eternal form as Nārāyaṇa, the Lord performed a consecration ceremony, installing Hiraṇyākṣa. Through severe austerities and the worship of Śaṅkara, he gained a great son, Andhaka. He then led her to Rasātala, making her a radiant singer, glowing like a blue lotus. Together, they journeyed to Viṣṇu’s abode to make their petition. At that time, Viṣṇu took on the pure, spotless form of the Boar, composed of all the gods, and with his mighty tusk, he lifted the earth at the dawn of the kalpa. Having accomplished this, Viṣṇu returned to his own divine nature and attained the supreme abode. The kingdom was then governed by one who had abandoned the asuric disposition, and, through Viṣṇu’s glorious influence, it became free of rivals. Yet, he did not honor ascetics or gods, being deluded by illusion. With eyes red from anger, an ascetic cursed the king of the asuras, declaring that his devotion to Viṣṇu would bring about his destruction. Bound to his kingdom and deluded by the power of the curse, the king remembered his father’s death and grew angry at Hari—at Nārāyaṇa, the god, and at Prahlāda, the enemy of the immortals. Yet, knowledge dawned within him, and he sought refuge in the divine protector, attaining great yoga in Nārāyaṇa, the supreme person. Andhaka, foremost among the asuras, inherited that great kingdom. His heart turned toward Umā, the goddess who dwelled on Mount Mandara, daughter of the mountain. Thousands performed severe austerities in worship of the Lord. But a terrible drought arose, devastating living beings everywhere. Driven by hunger, the people begged for food to sustain themselves. The sages, with minds free from doubt, ate what food there was. Then, a great rain fell, and the world was restored to its former state. The people resolved, “Let us go swiftly to the great sage Gautama.” The wise ones replied, “After staying at my house, you must certainly go.” So, they brought everyone to the great-souled Gautama. There, a cow was tied in the cowshed, but as soon as she was touched, she died. The sages were astonished and could not comprehend what had happened, so they spoke among themselves. “Until then, you must not eat food; we ourselves will go.” Led by misfortune, they departed to practice austerities once more. Someone, understanding the reason and filled with anger, cursed them. Because of that curse, they were born again and again in the same way. In the end, they offered praises with worldly hymns, like cows left after the others had eaten.