Then, the great god revealed his divine majesty by assuming eight forms all around. In that moment, the sun shone forth brilliantly, and the moon appeared, tracing its dark path across the heavens. The earth, the wind, man, water, and ether—all these, along with the sun, the moon, and the all-pervading principle—manifested as his eightfold forms. From that time onward, he became known as the Lord with Eight Forms. By the grace of this Eight-formed One, Virinchi—Brahma—began the work of creation anew. Having created all that exists, Brahma, the lord of beings, repeated this act at the end of each age. There was a time when, for a thousand ages, all creatures, both moving and unmoving, lay in deep slumber. Desiring to bring forth creation once again, Brahma undertook severe and mighty austerities. Yet, as he immersed himself in these penances, nothing came to be. After a long period, suffering gave rise to anger within him. From his eyes, now blazing with that anger, tears began to fall. From these drops of tears, beings known as bhūtas and pretas sprang into existence. When Brahma beheld these elder beings—bhūtas, pretas, and night-wanderers—he, the unborn and all-pervading god, reproached himself for what had come forth. Overwhelmed by anger, the blessed lord of creatures abandoned his vital breaths. Then, from his very mouth, Rudra arose, composed of pure vital energy. Rudra appeared as the Lord who is half male and half female, radiant like the rising sun. He then divided himself into eleven forms, remaining thus. With half of his being, the soul of all, he created Śivā, also known as Umā. She in turn brought forth Lakṣmī, the gracious one; Durgā, the excellent; and Sarasvatī, the goddess of wisdom. Further, he created Vāmā, Raudrī, Mahāmāyā, Vaiṣṇavī with lotus eyes, Kalā, Vikiriṇī, Kālī, and Kamalavāsinī. He also brought into being the goddess Balavikariṇī, Balapramathinī—the subduer of all beings—and Manonmanī. In this way, many other women were created by her, numbering in the thousands. United with the Rudras, the great god thus became Lord of the three worlds. The Supreme Lord stood before her, who is the soul of all, even as Brahmā, the supreme lord, had perished. In his compassion, Maheśvara, son of Brahmā, restored Brahmā’s life-breaths, granting him those vital airs that were within himself. Rudra, now joyful and somewhat restored in vigor, addressed Brahmā, the Lord of the gods, with these supreme words: “Do not fear, O highly fortunate one, O Virin̄ca, teacher of the worlds. I have established your life-breaths here; therefore, rise up, O Lord.” Hearing these words, Pitāmaha—Brahmā—felt as though awakened from a dream. His spirit grew serene, and his eyes shone like blooming lotuses. With his life restored, he gazed long upon Maheśvara, and after a time, spoke with a gentle, deep voice. Rising and joining his palms in reverence, Brahmā said, “O illustrious one, speak, O highly fortunate Lord, for you fill my mind with joy. Who are you, possessing eight forms, yet established as elevenfold?” Maheśvara, the destroyer of the enemies of the gods, touched Brahmā with his auspicious hands and replied, “Know me as the Supreme Self, and this as my unborn Māyā. These Rudras are established here, having come to protect you.” Then Brahmā, bowing to the Lord of gods, spoke with joined palms and a voice choked with joy: “O Lord, O God of gods, I am afflicted by sorrows. O Lord Śaṅkara, you should deliver me from this cycle of existence.” The blessed Lord, Umā’s consort, smiled kindly at Pitāmaha. Then, the Lord of the universe vanished, along with the Rudras and the goddess. Therefore, O Śilāda, know that in all the worlds, one not born from a womb is indeed rare. Know also that a man without death is rare; even the lotus-born Brahmā is subject to death. Yet, if Lord Rudra, God of gods, is pleased, then even this is possible. “Your son, not born from a womb and free from death, is not unattainable—by me, by Viṣṇu, and by the great-souled Brahmā. It is not possible to describe one who is unborn and deathless.” Thus speaking, the compassionate one blessed the best of Brāhmaṇas. Surrounded by the gods, the Lord departed, riding upon a white bull. When the thousand-eyed Indra and the granter of boons had departed, Śilāda devoted himself to worshipping the great god Bhava, seeking to please him through austerity. For that devoted Brāhmaṇa, intent on the highest goal, a thousand divine years passed as if in a single wondrous moment. His body became covered by an anthill, swarming with hosts of insects and red creatures with sharp, needle-like mouths. Devoid of flesh, blood, and skin, untouched like a wall, only bones remained—so did Śaṅkara regard him. When the sage was touched by the hand of the enemy of Kāma, at that very moment, O best of sages, the twice-born Śilāda was freed from all fatigue. Pleased by his austerity, the glorious Śaṅkara, accompanied by his attendants and myself, spoke: “I am satisfied with your penance. O great-minded one, what is the purpose of this austerity for you? I shall grant you a son who is all-knowing and accomplished in the meaning of all the scriptures.” Then, bowing to the Lord of the gods and offering praise, Śilāda spoke with a voice choked with joy to Soma, the one adorned with the moon: “O Lord, God of gods, destroyer of Tripura, Śaṅkara, I desire an unborn, deathless son, O most excellent one.” For, in ages past, the supreme Lord Rudra, pleased by austerity, had spoken to Śilāda through Brahmā with great affection.