At the dawn of the kalpa, the Supreme Lord assumed the spotless and wondrous form of the Boar, a form composed of all the gods. In this divine manifestation, Viṣṇu lifted the earth from the cosmic waters with his mighty tusk, restoring her to her place in the universe. Having accomplished this sacred task, Viṣṇu returned to his own transcendent nature and attained his supreme abode. In his own kingdom, free from the asuric disposition, he ruled with righteousness. By the power of Viṣṇu’s glory, his realm became unchallenged, with no rivals to threaten its peace. Yet, through illusion, he did not honor ascetics or the gods as was due. With eyes reddened by anger, he pronounced a curse upon the king of the asuras, declaring that devotion to Viṣṇu, the divine Vaiṣṇava path, would be the cause of his destruction. Clinging to his kingdom and deluded by the power of that curse, the asura king was overcome by anger against Hari, remembering the slaying of his father. This enmity was directed toward Nārāyaṇa, the Supreme God, and also toward Prahlāda, the asura’s own son, who was beloved of the immortals. Yet, in time, knowledge dawned within him, and he sought refuge in the great protector. Through this, he attained profound yoga in Nārāyaṇa, the Supreme Person. In the course of this tale, Andhaka, foremost among the asuras, came to possess that great kingdom. His heart turned toward Umā, the goddess who dwells on Mandara, the daughter of the mountain. For the sake of worshipping the Lord, thousands undertook severe austerities. In the wake of their penance, a fierce drought descended, destroying living beings. Driven by hunger, the afflicted wandered, begging for food to sustain their lives. The sages, with minds free from doubt, ate what was available. Then, a great rain fell, restoring the world to its former state. The sages resolved, “Let us go swiftly to the great sage Gautama.” The wise ones replied, “After staying at my house, you must certainly go.” Thus, they were brought near to the great-souled Gautama. In the cowshed, he tied a cow, but as soon as she was touched, she died. The sages, astonished by this sudden event, could not comprehend it and spoke among themselves, “Until then, you must not eat food; we ourselves will go.” Led by adverse fate, they departed to practice austerities as before. Someone, discerning the cause of these events and filled with extreme anger, uttered a curse upon them. Because of this curse, they were destined to be born again and again in similar circumstances. They offered praises with worldly hymns, like cows that remain after grazing, and pleaded, “By desire, the two great yogis, you ought to save from sinful food.” “What should be done for them?” he asked those who sought virtue. Seeing the best of brahmins bowing before him, Hari addressed the lord of cows, saying, “O great god, Dharma, born from the Veda, agrees with this course. All these, along with us, will go even to hells.” “O bearer of the bull,” he continued, “we will compose scriptures to bring about delusion.” At Shiva’s command, Keshava himself composed such deluding scriptures: the Pañcarātra, the Pāśupata, and thousands of others likewise. Thus, those who followed these paths would fall into terrible hells again and again, for many aeons. Yet, Hari assured them, “Continue on by my grace, for there is no other deliverance for you.