When the lord of the gods had spoken, a deep anxiety swept through the assembled deities. They felt as though struck by arrows, troubled and uncertain, and began to murmur among themselves, “How can this task be accomplished?” They wondered aloud, “Who among us could possibly be equal to Mahadeva? Even if we set aside the wielder of the discus, that god too has sought refuge in him.” The gods, burdened as if yoked to a mountain, sighed and questioned again and again, “How shall we do this?” Amidst their distress, the lord of the gods addressed the anxious assembly, troubled by the weight of the world’s lord. He declared, “I shall be the charioteer.” Then, the eldest among them—Brahma, the grandsire—stepped forward and took up the horses. At this, a great lion’s roar arose from the gods and Gandharvas as they beheld Brahma, whip in hand, assuming the charioteer’s role. The blessed lord of all, seeing Brahma upon the chariot, proclaimed him a worthy charioteer and ascended the chariot himself—he who is Hara. But as Hara mounted the chariot, the horses, overwhelmed by his divine weight, collapsed to their knees, pressing into the dust. The Vedas themselves, trembling with fear and distress, seemed to falter. Yet the god, compassionate and powerful, rescued the suffering ancestors as a sorrowful son would rescue his parents. Again, a terrible lion’s roar echoed from the chariot, and the gods cried out in victory, their voices resounding like the ocean stirred by thunder. Brahma, the self-born and boon-giving lord, took up a whip fashioned from the sacred syllable Om and urged the steeds onward, guiding them according to their strength and speed. The serpents that drew the chariot exhaled forcefully, as if devouring the very sky and plundering the earth. Driven by the will of the Self-born and Kapardin, the swift horses surged forward like the winds at the time of cosmic dissolution. With the construction of a lofty and splendid banner, Nandi the bull, by Shiva’s will, took his place upon the excellent banner-staff. The radiant Bhargava and Angiras, shining like the sun and holding staffs, guarded the chariot’s wheels, seeking Rudra’s favor. The blessed serpent Shesha, endless and the destroyer of enemies, stood guard with a dart, protecting both the chariot and Brahma’s couch. Yama swiftly mounted his fierce buffalo; Kubera, the lord of wealth, mounted his serpent; and Indra, the lord of the gods, mounted his mighty elephant. Guha, bestower of boons, ascended his peacock, which shone like a hundred moons and sang like a celestial kinnara, and took his place upon his father’s chariot, yoked as an equal. The blessed Nandishvara, radiant and bearing a trident, stood behind and at the sides, like the very destroyer of worlds. The Pramathas, glowing with the color of fire and unmoving like blazing flames, followed Sharva’s chariot as crocodiles follow the currents of the great ocean. Great sages were present: Bhrigu, Bharadvaja, Vasishta, Gautama, Kratu, Pulastya, Pulaha, Tapodhana, Marichi, Atri, the blessed Angiras, Parashara, Agastya, and many others. They praised Hara, the unconquered and unborn, with wondrous words and ornaments. The chariot at Tripura, adorned with gold and shining like a mountain, moved through the sky like a winged peak. Surrounded by makaras, whales, and great fish, the splendid chariot advanced, shining brilliantly—like the ocean rising at dissolution, with the roar of thunderclouds split by lightning. As the worlds worshipped that chariot, with the god standing upon it, the Pramathas roared fiercely and the people cried, “Well done!” The lord’s voice thundered, the great bull bellowed, the brahmins proclaimed victory, and the horses neighed, filling the air with a mighty sound. At that moment, rising from the battlefield, the divine sage Narada—radiant as the moon—swiftly reached the city of Tripura. There, among the Daityas, ominous signs began to appear. The blessed and ascetic Narada manifested in their midst. All the Danavas, assembled and cloud-like in appearance, rose to greet Narada as he arrived, honoring him with respectful words. Their leaders offered him arghya, water for his feet, and a honey-mixture, as Indra would honor Brahma. Narada, worthy of worship, accepted their homage and, ascetic as he was, seated himself comfortably upon a splendid golden seat. As Narada sat, Maya—the lord of the Danavas—sat with his people as was fitting. Seeing Narada settled, Maya, the great asura, spoke with pleasure, his hair standing on end, gazing intently at the sage. “O Narada,” Maya asked, “tell us why these omens have appeared in our city, when they do not occur elsewhere at any time. You alone know what is happening. Fearful dreams are seen, banners are broken, and without any wind, the pennant falls to the ground. Towers, flags, and gateways dance, and voices utter ‘violence, violence’—such fearful sounds are heard in the city. “O Narada, I do not fear even the gods with Indra, except for the one boon-giver, Sthāṇu, Hara, who grants safety to his devotees. Blessed one, nothing is unknown to you regarding omens; you know the past and the future in truth. Therefore, tell us, O foremost sage, the cause of this fear arising from omens, for I have taken refuge in you, Narada.” Thus addressed by Maya, Narada—free from deceit—replied, “Listen, O Danava, to the truth of how omens arise. The root ‘dhṛ’ means ‘to hold,’ and in greatness, it is called ‘dharma’; from its greatness, dharma is thus defined. That dharma which brings desired results is taught by teachers; the other, which brings undesired results, is not taught by teachers.