In the depths of primordial darkness, where all things are yet unformed, the moon is born. You, O Lord, are the very embodiment of time itself—the Supreme, the great Mahakala, the master who governs even the passage of time. With your fierce and terrible aspect, you are destined to become the very death of Death, unwavering in your resolve, the destroyer, the hero, the Lord who surpasses all others. With your hand raised in power, you manifest as the dreadful fever that afflicts the world, as the golden beast and the golden bird, the chastiser of all beings. You transcend all comparison, neither you nor even the four-faced Brahma can be equated. Witnessing this awe-inspiring vision, all are urged to withdraw their essence into themselves, for if not, the wrath of the mighty Bhairava will descend upon them. Just as the thunderbolt of Sthanu brings sudden destruction, so too does death await those who stand in your way. When Virabhadra spoke thus, Narasimha, filled with uncontrollable rage, roared mightily and rushed forward to seize him. In that moment, a most terrifying form appeared, one that struck fear into the hearts of all adversaries. This indomitable figure, filling the sky, arose instantly from Shiva’s own energy—a form of Virabhadra never before seen. This form defied all description: it was neither golden nor gentle, neither radiant like the sun nor born of fire, not like lightning nor the moon. It was the incomparable manifestation of the great Lord. All energies converged and merged into this form of Shankara, and from that union, a blinding radiance shone forth. Bearing the marks of Rudra, yet with a twisted and fearsome appearance, the Supreme Lord was now revealed in his aspect of destruction. As the assembled gods watched, their voices rang out in cries of victory and auspicious sounds. The Lord appeared with a thousand arms, his matted locks crowned with the crescent moon. Half his body was that of a beast, adorned with wings and a beak; his fangs were long and sharp, his weapons like adamantine claws. Around his neck coiled Time itself—a mighty, four-legged being born of fire, roaring with a terrifying sound like thunderclouds at the end of an age. His form was fierce, his three eyes blazing outward like fire, his teeth bared, his lower lip jutting prominently. Hara stood, roaring thunderously. At this sight, Hari—Vishnu—lost all strength and prowess. Though his upper body shone like the sun, below he seemed as dim as flickering fireflies. Then, with a mighty sweep of his wings, the formidable being 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 soared into the sky, accompanied by the gods and great sages. Out of fear, the great bird lifted Vishnu higher and higher, grasping and casting him down again and again. Soaring and whirling, the Blessed One was bewildered by the force of the wings, powerless before the bull-bannered Lord who ruled all. The gods followed in awe, praising the Lord with reverent words, while Vishnu, led along and overcome, stood dejected, his hands joined in supplication. With gentle words, Hari began to praise the Supreme Lord: “Salutations to Rudra, to Sharva, to the great devourer, to Vishnu. Salutations to the fierce one, to the terrible one, to the wrathful, to the angry; salutations to Bhava, to Sharva, to Shankara, to Shiva, to you. To the time of time, to Time itself, to the great Time, to Death, to the hero, to Virabhadra, to the destroyer of heroes, to the wielder of the spear. To the great god, to the mighty one, to the lord of beasts, salutations; to the solitary one, to the blue-throated, to the glorious-throated, to the wielder of the bow. Salutations to the infinite, to the subtle, to you, the wrath of death; to the supreme, to the supreme Lord, to the highest of the high, to you. To the highest of the high, to the universe, salutations to you, the very form of the universe; salutations to the consort of Vishnu, to the field of Vishnu, to the radiant one. To the boatman, to the hunter, to the great disease, to the eternal, to Bhairava, to the refuge, to the one of the great Bhairava form. Salutations to the destroyer of Narasimha, to the slayer of Kama and Kala and Pura, to the destroyer of the great bonds, to the ender of Vishnu’s illusion. To Tryambaka, to the three-lettered, to the all-pervading, to the gracious, to the conqueror of death, to Sharva, to the all-knowing, to the destroyer of sacrifices. To the lord of sacrifices, to the most excellent, salutations to you, of fire-form; to the great nose, to the tongue, to the mover of breath and expiration. Salutations to the one of three qualities, bearer of the trident, transcender of qualities, the yogi, the flow of worldly existence, the great mover of the cosmic mechanism. Homage to the one who is the moon, fire, and sun, the cause of the diversity of liberation, the giver of boons, the one who descends, the cause of all causes. To the skull-bearer, the fierce one, the lord, famed for virtue, the unfailing one, the fire-eyed, the lord with the club, the auspicious one—salutations. Salutations to the supreme physician, the skull-bearer, the staff-holder, the embodiment of yoga, the cloud-rider, the god, the lord of Parvati. To the unmanifest, the sorrowless, the steadfast, the firm-bowed, the immovable, the one clothed in hides, the cause of the five meanings—salutations. Salutations to the boon-giver, the one-footed, the wearer of the crescent moon, the lord of sacrifices, the master of ages. Salutations to the lord of yogis, the eternal, the true, the supreme, the soul of all; salutations to you, the lord of all. Let there be salutations to you once, twice, thrice, four, five, and ten times; let there be salutations to you a thousand times. Having offered countless salutations, infinite times, again and again, and yet again, salutations to you.” Thus, having praised the Supreme Lord with eight hundred immortal names, Narasimha once more offered his prayers to Śarabheśvara, seeking his grace and favor.