Eager in play, with mighty arms, a broad and powerful body, and eyes of exquisite beauty, the Lord of the universe delighted in his divine sport. He moved with the majestic gait of an intoxicated elephant, clad only in the directions themselves, radiating a unique splendor. Smiling gently, the blessed Lord approached, bearing all his divine attributes. At that time, Vishnu assumed the enchanting form of a woman and followed behind the wielder of the trident, Shiva. In this guise, Vishnu shone with a pure, radiant smile, and anklets on his feet rang melodiously with each step. His noble gait was as graceful as a swan’s, and his playful charm was irresistible. By his own wondrous illusion, Hari wandered the world, begging alms and casting a spell of delusion over all. The women of the world, enchanted by his divine illusion, followed the god of gods, their hearts overcome with longing. Together with him, these playful women, seized by desire, wandered here and there, their minds fixed on him. All, afflicted by longing, followed Hrishikesha, yearning for union. Some sought embraces, while others expressed their feelings with subtle movements of their eyebrows. So powerful was the illusion that they experienced it as real, utterly convinced by the play of Maya. Just as the Lord of gods wielded a single, overwhelming power, the primeval Lord, whose ways are eternal, continued his sport. Witnessing this, the foremost sages became greatly angered at the one who was deluding them. Deceived by the illusion, they directed their wrath at him, cursing him in many ways. Yet, just as stars remain in the sky by the light of the sun, so too did the bewildered sages remain under the influence of the Lord’s power. In confusion, they asked the Lord of gods, “Who are you?” They declared, “Now, with your wife, you should remain here in this place, O virtuous ones.” They urged, “Take up the garment, abandon your wife, and practice austerity.” But when they beheld the source of the world, Janardana, standing nearby, the wise and tranquil-minded said, “Those who know dharma say that one should abandon his wife.” “This fortunate one among us is worthy of abandonment,” they added. Yet another replied firmly, “I will never abandon her in such a way.” “What you have said is untrue; depart at once!” came the retort. The Lord responded, “This appears to you as such,” and then continued his wandering. The Supreme Lord then went to the holy hermitage of Vasiṣṭha, seeking alms. Vasiṣṭha’s beloved and virtuous wife approached him and bowed in reverence. She kindly applied medicinal ointments to Viṣṇā’s face. Mahādeva then spoke to her, saying, “Among the siddhas, I am the foremost. This very goddess is mine; I always uphold her.” But the twice-born, agitated, struck out with staffs, clods, and fists, declaring, “Let this wicked-minded one uproot the liṅga of the Lord. If hatred arises in you toward my liṅga—” In that very moment, neither the Lord Keśava nor even the liṅga could be seen. All the planets lost their radiance, and the great ocean became agitated. With eyes filled with fear, Vasiṣṭha’s wife spoke to the brāhmaṇas, saying, “Surely, Shiva, begging, has been seen in our homes.” In their confusion and distress, all went to the great yogi, Brahmā, the origin of the universe, seeking guidance.