A wondrous gathering took place, O sage, as the greatest of the gods and celestial beings assembled together. There stood Brahmā, Hari, Rudra, Śakra, Śiva, and Ambikā herself, as well as Jīva, the radiant Moon, the glorious Bhāskara, the Wind, and Fire. Present too were Īśāna, Nirṛti, Yakṣa, Yama, and Varuṇa, alongside all the Viśvedevas, the Rudras, and the mighty Vasus. The goddesses graced the assembly as well: Lakṣmī herself, Śacī, Jyeṣṭhā, and Sarasvatī, the bestower of wisdom. Aditi and Diti were there, as were Śraddhā, Modesty, and Fortitude. Nandā, Bhadrā, Surabhī, Suśīlā, and Sumanā joined them, together with the radiant Vṛṣendra, Dharma, and Dharma’s own son. Surrounding and embracing me, these divine beings offered their praise. My father, Śilāda, beheld this astonishing sight and, overwhelmed with joy, bowed low and praised his son, the bestower of boons. With reverence, he spoke: “O Lord, God of gods, Three-eyed One, my imperishable son! Since you are the protector and guardian of the worlds, what more need be said? My son is all-pervading.” He continued, “Unborn one, source of the universe, Grandfather, father, son, great Lord, teacher of the worlds—I bow to you. O child of great fortune, Supreme Lord, protect me. Because you have gladdened me, Lord of gods, I am called Nandī by name. Therefore, please gladden me, O Nandin! I bow to the Lord of the universe. Be gracious; my parents have today gone to the world of Rudra, O mighty one.” “O Nandin,” he said, “since the great Lord has descended, my birth in this world has truly borne fruit. Since my son has come for my protection, O Lord of gods, Lord of Nandī, I offer you homage and salutations. Son, protect me, mighty-armed one, God of gods, teacher of the world. Whatever I have spoken, considering you as my son, O Lord of Nandī, may that be forgiven—for you are to be praised by gods and demons alike. Whoever recites or hears these words spoken by my son, or causes the twice-born to hear them with devotion, rejoices together with me.” Having thus praised his young son and bowed with great respect, Śilāda, steadfast in his vows, addressed the assembled sages: “Behold, O sages, my imperishable great fortune! Because Nandī, the Lord, has come down in the sacrificial arena, who in the world—whether god or demon—can equal me? This Nandī, born here in the sacrificial ground, is for my benefit.” Delighted, Śilāda bowed to the great Lord and quickly returned to his own hut, his heart full as if a poor man had suddenly found a treasure. When I, O great sage, arrived at Śilāda’s dwelling, I relinquished my divine form and assumed a human one. For some reason, my divine memory faded. Seeing me in this human state, my father—so highly honored—was overcome with intense sorrow. Surrounded by his kinsmen, he lamented deeply, yet, knowing all, performed the birth rites and other ceremonies for me. Śilāda, son of Śālaṅkāyana, devoted as ever, instructed me in the branches of the Ṛgveda and the Yajurveda. He taught me the thousand branches of the Sāmaveda, with all its parts and sub-parts, as well as Ayurveda, Dhanurveda, music, and the science of horses. He also imparted knowledge of elephant behavior and the marks of men. When my seventh year was complete, two divine sages, Mitra and Varuṇa—endowed with the power of austerity and yoga—came to our hermitage by the Lord’s command, wishing to see me. Observing me closely, these great souls declared, “O dear one, Nandī, though master of all the scriptures’ meanings, has but a short life. Such a wonder has never been seen: after this year, there is no further lifespan.” Hearing these words, Śilāda, devoted to his son, embraced me and, overwhelmed by grief, cried out, “Alas, my son, my son!” and fell to the ground, overcome with sorrow. In his distress, he lamented, “Ah, such is the power of fate and the Creator!” Hearing his anguished voice, the residents of the hermitage also fell down, agitated, and performed auspicious rites for protection, praising the great god Triyambaka, consort of Umā. They offered oblations to Triyambaka, pouring honey in abundance, as numerous as blades of sacred grass, with all kinds of offerings. My father and grandfather lost consciousness, writhing and lamenting, as if dead. Fearing death, I bowed my head to them, circumambulated them, and became intent on reciting Rudra hymns, meditating deeply on Triyambaka in the lotus of my heart, within the subtle space. In that sacred moment, I beheld the supreme Lord: three-eyed, ten-armed, peaceful, five-faced, ever-auspicious, adorned with the crescent moon, standing before me in the holy waters. Pleased, Mahadeva said, “Child Nandin, mighty-armed one, how can you fear death? It is I who sent those two Brahmins; you are like me, without doubt. Child, your body is indeed worldly. No divine body has ever been seen before—not by you, nor by gods, sages, siddhas, gandharvas, or the foremost of demons. What was worshipped before, O Nandikeśvara, as divine, is truly the nature of worldly existence—happiness and sorrow, again and again.