For reasons unknown, a veil descended upon my divine memory, and I found myself in a human state. My father—revered by the world—saw this and was overcome with sorrow. Surrounded by his kin, he lamented deeply, yet, understanding all, he performed my birth rites and all the sacred ceremonies required for a child. Śilāda, son of Śālaṅkāyana, devoted father that he was, took it upon himself to instruct me. He taught me the branch of the Ṛgveda and likewise the Yajurveda. His teachings did not end there: he guided me through the thousand branches of the Sāmaveda, with all its parts and sub-parts, and instructed me in Ayurveda, the science of healing, Dhanurveda, the art of warfare, as well as music and the lore of horses. He also imparted knowledge of elephant behavior and the marks that distinguish men. By the time I had completed my seventh year, I had been thoroughly educated in all these disciplines. At this juncture, O great sage, two divine sages—Mitra and Varuṇa—endowed with the powers of austerity and yoga, arrived at our hermitage by the command of the Lord, desiring to see me. These noble souls observed me intently and then declared, “O dear one, Nandī, though he is master of all the meanings of the scriptures, his lifespan is short. Such a marvel has never been witnessed before: after this year, his life will end.” Hearing these words, my father Śilāda, the best of Brāhmaṇas and devoted to me, was overwhelmed with grief. He embraced me and, crying out, “Alas, my son, my son!” collapsed in anguish. In despair, he lamented the power of fate and the Creator. The residents of the hermitage, hearing his anguished cries, were thrown into turmoil. They fell to the ground, deeply agitated, and began performing auspicious rites for my protection, offering praises to the great god Triyambaka, the consort of Umā. Oblations were offered to Triyambaka, with honey poured in numbers as countless as blades of sacred grass, along with all manner of sacrificial materials. My father lost consciousness, as did my grandfather; both writhed in sorrow and fell as if dead. Fearing death myself, I bowed my head before them—my father and grandfather—who lay motionless before my eyes. I circumambulated them and became wholly intent on reciting the hymns to Rudra, meditating deeply on the god Triyambaka within the lotus of my heart, in the subtle space inside. In that meditation, I beheld the Supreme Lord before me—three-eyed, ten-armed, peaceful, five-faced, ever-auspicious—standing in the sacred waters. Pleased, Mahadeva, adorned with the crescent moon, addressed me: “Child Nandin, mighty-armed one, how can you fear death? It was I who sent those two Brahmins; you are like me, without doubt. Truly, your body is worldly. No divine body has ever been seen before, not by you, nor by gods, sages, siddhas, gandharvas, or the foremost of demons. What has been worshipped as divine, O Nandikeśvara, is bound to the nature of worldly existence—cycles of happiness and sorrow. The abandonment of birth is always for the wise among humans.” Having thus spoken to me directly, the great Lord of all gods, with both beautiful hands, touched me. Mahadeva, his heart filled with joy, and bearing the bull as his emblem, gazed at the Ganas and at the goddess, the daughter of Himavat. Beholding them, the Lord of the gods, pleased, spoke: “You are ageless, freed from old age, always devoid of suffering. You are imperishable and undecaying, with your father and friends. My beloved Gana, you are endowed with my strength and valor. You are always dear to me, ever at my side, and you will possess my strength, endowed with the power of great yoga.” Having thus spoken, Bhagavan, together with the Ganas, untied from himself a garland made of kusa grass. The mighty deity, Vrishadhvaja, placed this auspicious garland around my neck, and at that very moment, I was transformed—three-eyed, ten-armed, like a second Shankara. From that garland, the Supreme Lord took up a portion with his hand and said, “Speak, what do you desire today? I will grant you the highest boon.” Then, taking water from his matted hair—exceedingly pure—he declared, “Let this become a river,” and released it. From his matted locks, that divine, full, dark, and auspicious water, adorned with lotuses and lilies, began to flow as a great river. Mahadeva spoke to that supremely beautiful river: “Because you have arisen from the water of the matted locks, you are a great river; therefore, you will be called Jatodaka, the sacred and foremost stream. Whoever bathes in you shall be freed from all sins.” Then Mahadeva addressed Śilāda’s son through the goddess. She said, “This is your son,” and placed me at her feet, embracing me, smelling my head, and gently stroking me with her hands. Out of motherly love, she bathed me with three streams of milk flowing from her breasts, glancing at the Lord of gods, pure as a conch. Those three streams became three rivers, and the blessed Lord declared, “Let this be the river of three streams.” Upon seeing this river, the bull, overjoyed, bellowed loudly, and from that mighty sound, yet another river arose. This river became known as Vṛṣadhvani, famed by the Lord of gods, wondrous and auspicious, made of golden jambū wood and adorned with all gems. Finally, the Lord, Vṛṣadhvaja, tied upon my head a marvelous, divine crown, crafted by Viśvakarman himself.