Upon hearing these proud and boastful words, Hari—the immeasurable Lord Vishnu—laughed aloud. His lips curled with scorn, and he spoke with unmistakable disdain. “Do you not recognize the Lord of the universe?” he challenged. “He who is the destroyer, the mighty wielder of the pināka bow? Your false arguments and disputes lead only to your own destruction. “What other incarnations of yours or his remain now? Who has performed these deeds? The end of such stories will come by someone or other. Look to your own faults—you have brought yourself to this state. By that one who is skilled in destruction, you will be annihilated in a moment. “You are Prakṛti, the primordial nature, while Rudra is Puruṣa, the cosmic spirit; his power is established in you. From the lotus of your navel was born the five-faced Pitāmaha, Brahmā himself. For the sake of creation, the world was first conceived by Śaṅkara—blue and red in hue—who, engaged in severe austerity, contemplated the universe on his forehead. “And from that very forehead of Śambhu arose, for the sake of creation, that being; this is not a fault. I am a portion of the god of gods, he who takes the form of Mahābhairava. By both humility and strength, I have been appointed for your destruction; thus, tearing apart the demon, you are endowed with a portion of power. “You roar, tireless, out of pride and arrogance, and your help to the wicked only brings them harm. If, O lion, you consider yourself the great Lord reborn, know that you are neither the creator, nor the destroyer, nor ever independent. Like a potter’s wheel, you are set in motion by the wielder of the pināka bow; even now, the skull of the tortoise-formed one is fixed upon you. “O deluded one, why do you not realize—in the midst of Hara’s garland, have you forgotten, afflicted as you are by the rising of the tusk, that portion? Today, in your boar form, you were burned by the enemy of Tāraka, and with a loud cry, at the tip of his trident, you, Viṣvaksena, were destroyed by a ruse. “At Dakṣa’s sacrifice, I cut off your head, O you who are the form of sacrifice; and even now, the fifth head of your son Brahmā remains. That portion, that power, was severed by him with intent; you, along with the hosts of Maruts, were defeated in battle by Dadhichi. “How could you forget, when your head was itching, the discus—your beloved weapon, O wielder of the discus—which belonged to him who acted valiantly? From where did you obtain it, and by whom was it made? Have you also forgotten that? I seized all the worlds while you lay asleep in the ocean of milk. “How can you be called sattvic, when you lie overcome by slumber, while the power of Rudra expands from the base to the summit of your pillar? Though you are powerful and fiery, you are deluded; even you two are not capable of beholding the greatness of that energy. “Those who perceive as gross that supreme abode of Vishnu—of heaven and earth, Indra, Agni, Yama, and Varuna—must know: In the womb of darkness, the moon is born. You are time itself, the supreme lord; you are Mahakala, the time of time, O great lord. “Therefore, with your fierce aspect, you shall become death to Death himself—steadfast in your bow, the destroyer, the hero, the lord surpassing all. With upraised hand, you are the terrible fever, the golden beast and bird, the chastiser of the entire world—yet neither you nor the four-faced one. “Thus, seeing all this, withdraw your essence into yourself; otherwise, now, the wrath of the great Bhairava will fall upon you. Just as the thunderbolt of Sthanu, so will death descend upon you.” Thus Virabhadra spoke, his words ringing with the force of thunder. Narasimha, overcome by anger, roared with all his might and rushed forward to seize him. At that very moment, a most terrible form appeared, striking fear into all adversaries. Filling the sky, indomitable and awe-inspiring, there arose instantly from Shiva’s energy the mighty form of Virabhadra. This form was unlike anything seen before—neither golden nor gentle, nor like the sun, fire, lightning, or the moon. It was an incomparable manifestation of the great lord. Then, all the energies merged into that Shankara form, and from it emerged a great and dazzling radiance. It bore the marks of Rudra, with a distorted and fearsome appearance; in the form of destruction, the supreme lord was clearly revealed. As all the gods looked on, with cries of victory and auspicious sounds, he appeared—resplendent with a thousand arms, his matted locks crowned with the crescent moon. Half his body was that of a beast, with wings and a beak; his fangs were exceedingly sharp and great, and his weapons like adamantine claws. Around his neck was Time itself—mighty-armed, four-legged, born of fire, roaring terrifyingly like thunderclouds at the end of an age. His form was fierce, his three eyes blazing like fire, his teeth bared, lower lip prominent; Hara stood, joined with a thunderous roar. Hari, upon beholding him, lost all strength and prowess—his radiance, once like the sun, now flickered like fireflies. Then, whirling his wings, the terrible form lifted Hari by the navel and feet, bound his feet with his tail, and encircled his arms with his own. Striking Hari’s chest with his arms, Hara seized him, and then ascended to the sky, accompanied by the gods and great sages. Suddenly, out of fear, the bird form lifted and lifted Vishnu, grasped and cast him down, again and again. Soaring ever higher, bewildered by the blows of wings, the Blessed Lord Hari was carried aloft by the bull-bannered Lord, the ruler of all. All the gods followed, praising him with words of reverence. Vishnu, being led, powerless and subdued, wore a dejected face and joined his hands in respectful submission.