When the great Lord himself descended to earth, Śilāda, filled with wonder and devotion, spoke to Nandin with a heart overflowing with gratitude. “O Nandin,” he said, “since the great Lord has appeared, my birth in this world, O Lord of the worlds, has truly borne fruit. My son has come for my protection—O Lord, homage to you, Lord of gods, Lord of Nandī, salutations to you.” Turning to his divine son, Śilāda implored, “Son, mighty-armed one, God of gods, teacher of the world, protect me. Considering you as my son, O Lord of Nandī, whatever I have spoken—may that be forgiven by you, child, for you are to be praised by gods and demons alike. Whoever recites or hears what has been spoken by my son, or causes the twice-born to hear it with devotion, rejoices together with me.” Thus, after praising his young son and bowing with great reverence, Śilāda, steadfast in his vows, addressed the assembled sages: “Behold, O sages, all of you, my imperishable great fortune! Because Nandī, the Lord, has descended in the sacrificial arena, who in the world—whether god or demon—is equal to me? This Nandī, who was born here in the sacrificial ground, is for my benefit alone.” His heart brimming with joy, Śilāda bowed to the great Lord and returned swiftly to his hut, as delighted as a poor man who has found a hidden treasure. When I, Nandin, arrived at the hut of Śilāda, I relinquished my divine form and took a human one. In that moment, for reasons unknown, my divine memory faded. Seeing me thus, my father, honored by the world, was overcome with intense sorrow. Surrounded by his kinsmen, he lamented deeply, yet, knowing all, he performed the proper birth rites and other ceremonies for me. Śilāda, son of Śālaṅkāyana, devoted himself to my education. He taught me the Ṛgveda and the Yajurveda, and the thousand branches of the Sāmaveda with all their details. He instructed me in Ayurveda, Dhanurveda, the arts of music, and the science of horses. He also taught me about the behavior of elephants and the marks of men. When I had completed my seventh year, two divine sages, Mitra and Varuṇa, radiant with the power of austerity and yoga, came to the hermitage by the command of the Lord to see me. These great souls observed me again and again and then declared, “O dear one, Nandī, though master of all the meanings of the scriptures, has but a short life. Such a wonder has never been seen—that after this year, there is no further lifespan.” Hearing these words, the best of Brāhmaṇas, Śilāda, devoted to his son, embraced me, overwhelmed by grief, crying out, “Alas, my son, my son!” and collapsed in anguish. Distressed, he lamented, “Ah, such is the power of fate and the Creator!” The residents of the hermitage, shaken by his sorrow, fell down in agitation, performed auspicious rites for my protection, and praised the great god Triyambaka, consort of Umā. They offered oblations to Triyambaka, pouring honey and all kinds of sacred materials, as numerous as blades of sacred grass. My father and grandfather, overcome with grief, lost consciousness and fell as if dead. Fearing death, I bowed my head to them as they lay before me. Circumambulating them, I set my mind on reciting Rudra hymns, meditating on the god Triyambaka in the lotus of my heart, in the subtle space within. In that deep meditation, I beheld the supreme Lord: three-eyed, ten-armed, peaceful, five-faced, ever-auspicious, standing in the sacred waters before me, adorned with the crescent moon. Pleased, Mahadeva spoke: “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 worldly in truth. No divine body has ever been seen before—not by you, nor by gods, sages, siddhas, gandharvas, or even the greatest of demons. What was worshipped before as divine, O Nandikesvara, is the nature of worldly existence—happiness and sorrow, again and again. The wise always abandon birth in this world.” Having spoken thus, the great lord of all gods, with both beautiful hands, touched me. Bhagavan Rudra, the supreme lord, remover of all distress, gazed at the Ganas and the goddess, daughter of Himavat, and spoke with a pleased heart: “You are ageless, freed from old age, always devoid of suffering. You are imperishable and undecaying, along with your father and friends. My beloved Gana, endowed with my strength and valor, you are always dear to me, always at my side; you will possess my strength, endowed with the power of great yoga.” Having spoken these words, the god Bhagavan, along with the Ganas, untied from himself a garland made of kusa grass and bound it around my neck. With that auspicious garland, I was transformed—three-eyed, ten-armed, like a second Shankara. From that very garland, the supreme lord took up with his hand and said, “Speak, what do you desire today? I will grant you the highest boon.” Then, taking pure water from his matted hair, he prepared to fulfill my wish.