In the ancient days, the sages spoke of the supreme reality, Brahman, whose singular essence manifests in three distinct aspects: darkness as Agni, passion as Brahma, and clarity as Vishnu, the illuminator. Though his form is one, he reveals himself in these ways to guide creation. Wherever this Brahman resides, united with the power of yoga, it is there that one should worship Ishana, the imperishable master, the Lord of gods. The foremost brahmins, those who had conquered anger and mastered their senses, devoted themselves to the proper worship of the linga, which bore all auspicious marks. The linga was to be as beautiful as a thumb—perfectly shaped and universally approved—with a pedestal equal in height, eight-sided or even sixteen-sided. The pedestal itself was crafted to be well-formed, circular, divine, and capable of granting all desires; its base was made twice as wide, or equal, as tradition dictated. Further, the pedestal was fashioned with a cow’s mouth shape, one third of the whole, adorned with auspicious signs, and encircled by a band the width of a barley grain. It could be made of gold, silver, stone, or copper, and its breadth was three times its size on all sides. The pedestal might be round, square, hexagonal, or triangular, flawless and bright, marked with auspicious characteristics. Following the proper procedure, a vessel endowed with marks of worship was established at the center of the altar. This vessel was filled with gold and seeds, and consecrated by the brahmins with sacred mantras. Then, the linga was bathed with five pure and auspicious substances. Each person worshipped according to their means, knowing that sincere devotion brought success. With focused minds, they worshipped together with their sons and relatives, all approaching the wielder of the trident with joined palms, so that they might behold the Lord of gods, who is difficult to see for those whose minds are unpurified. Upon seeing him, all ignorance and unrighteousness were destroyed. Circumambulating Brahma, who radiated immeasurable splendor, the forest-dwelling sages set out for the Devadāru forest, beginning their worship as instructed by Brahma. They worshipped on diverse altars—in mountain caves, on secluded riverbanks, and sandbars—some adorned with beautiful moss, some with just a little water, some with seats of darbha grass, and some standing only on the tips of their toes. Some used wooden mortars as seats, others sat on stones; some stood in the posture of heroes, while others wandered like deer, delighting in that practice. The great-minded ones spent their days in austerity and worship. When a full year had passed and spring arrived, the supreme lord, out of compassion for his devoted followers, decided to grant them favor. In that auspicious mountain during the Kṛta age, the god was pleased and arrived at the Devadāru forest. His body was smeared with ashes and dust, naked, bearing unusual marks. He held a blazing firebrand in his hand, his eyes red and tawny. Sometimes he laughed fiercely, at other times he sang in wonder. Occasionally he danced amorously, then roared again and again, wandering through the hermitage and repeatedly begging for alms. Assuming such a form by his own power, the god entered the forest, and all the sages, composed in mind, praised him. With water, garlands, incense, and fragrances, together with their wives, sons, and attendants, those highly fortunate sages approached the Lord. They addressed him, saying, “O God of gods, whatever we have done out of ignorance—by deed, mind, or speech—may you forgive all of that; for our actions have been diverse, secret, and profound.” “O Hara, even for gods like Brahma and others, your paths are difficult to comprehend; we do not know your coming nor your going, not at all. O Lord of all, Great God, you are who you are—salutations to you! The great souls praise you, O God of gods, O Supreme Lord. Salutations to Bhava, to the Auspicious, to the source and cause of existence; to the one of infinite strength and power, to the Lord of beings, salutations. To the destroyer, to the tawny-hued one, to the imperishable and the perishable, to the bearer of the Ganga’s stream, to the support, to the essence of qualities—salutations. To Tryambaka, the three-eyed one, the wielder of the trident; to the god of desire, to the fire-god, to the Supreme Self—salutations. To Shankara, to the one marked by the bull, to the Lord of the hosts—salutations; to the one holding the staff, to Time, to the one holding the noose—salutations indeed. To the one who is foremost in Vedic mantras, who has a hundred tongues—salutations; to all that is past, present, and future, to all that is stationary and moving. O God, from your body this entire universe has arisen; you protect and you destroy it—may all be well with you, be gracious, O Lord.” “Whatever a man does, whether from ignorance or knowledge, all of it, O Lord, is done by you alone through your yogic power.” Having thus praised him, the sages, their hearts delighted, approached with austerity and asked, “May we see you as before?” Then the God Shankara, pleased in mind, assumed his own form and granted them divine sight, so they beheld his three-eyed form. With that vision, they saw the God of gods, Tryambaka, and again the dwellers of the Daru forest praised the Lord. “Salutations always to the one clothed in the directions, to Death, to the wielder of the trident, to the fierce and terrible one, to the one with a dreadful face. To the formless, to the beautiful, to the one of universal form—salutations to you; to the one with jingling ornaments, to Rudra, to the embodiment of the svāhā call—salutations indeed.” Thus, in reverence and awe, the sages worshipped the Supreme Lord, whose forms are countless and whose grace is boundless.