As Mārkaṇḍeya wandered, he came upon a remarkable sight: a vast figure, as immense as a mountain, lay sleeping, half-submerged in the waters, resembling a dark raincloud resting in the ocean’s depths. This being radiated a dazzling brilliance, shining like the sun harnessed to cows, illuminating the night with its own splendor, as if awake even in sleep. Amazed, Mārkaṇḍeya wondered aloud, “Who are you, who has come here to behold the god?” But even as he pondered, the sage was drawn once more into the belly of the great being. Entering again, Mārkaṇḍeya was filled with wonder, recognizing, as before, that what he witnessed was a vision, perhaps seen in a dream. He wandered the earth within, as in ancient times, finding it filled with sacred waters and countless hermitages. There, he beheld hundreds of priests dwelling within the divine womb, who had completed their sacrifices and received their gifts, along with the sacrificers and their rituals. All the classes, led by the Brāhmaṇas, were established in good conduct, and the four stages of life were properly followed, just as had been described. For more than a hundred years, the wise Mārkaṇḍeya traveled across the earth within the belly, yet saw nothing else. Then, at some point, he emerged again from the mouth of the being and saw a single child, sleeping upon a branch of a banyan tree. In the midst of the one ocean of water, with the sky shrouded in mist, this child played untroubled, in a world devoid of all other beings. Filled with wonder and curiosity, Mārkaṇḍeya could not bring himself to gaze directly at the child, whose radiance was like the sun. Standing apart, reflecting by the water, he thought, “This is what I saw before,” and, suspicious, considered it the work of divine illusion. In those deep waters, Mārkaṇḍeya, astonished and overcome by distress, began to float, his eyes wide with fear. Then, the Blessed Lord, the supreme person, addressed him in a voice like thunderclouds, saying, “Welcome, child, endowed with yoga.” “Do not fear, my child, there is nothing to be afraid of. Come here to me,” spoke the Lord. Weary and afflicted, Mārkaṇḍeya replied to the child: “Who calls me by name, as if scorning my asceticism, as if challenging my divine thousand-year penance and my age? Such conduct is not fitting, not even among the gods, nor is it proper for me. Even Brahmā, the lord of the gods, though long-lived, does not speak to me in this way. Who, having encountered such terror, would abandon his life for my sake? Who, after calling me Mārkaṇḍeya, would wish to look upon Death?” Having spoken thus in anger, the sage was again addressed by the blessed Madhusūdana: “I am your father, dear child, Hṛṣīkeśa, your teacher, the ancient giver of life; why do you not approach me? Desiring a son, your father, the sage Aṅgiras, worshipped me in former times, undertaking severe austerity. By his fierce penance, he obtained you, endowed with immeasurable energy; I declared you to be a great sage, abiding in the Self, of boundless might. Who else, not born of the Lord of beings, could behold me sporting in the midst of the single ocean, by the path of yoga?” Hearing this, Mārkaṇḍeya, the great ascetic, his face radiant with joy and his eyes wide with wonder, joined his hands in reverence upon his head. He spoke his name and lineage, honored and long-lived, and made a reverent salutation to the Blessed Lord with devotion. “O faultless one, I wish to know truly this Māyā of yours—how you, in the midst of the single ocean, remain in the form of a child. By what name are you known in the world, O Lord? I ponder upon you, the great soul—who else is worthy to stand firm?” The Lord replied, “I am Nārāyaṇa, O brāhmaṇa, the destroyer of all beings; I am he who is called the Thousand-headed, known by those very names. I am the Person of the color of the sun, the sacrifice filled with Brahman; I am Agni, the bearer of offerings, and the imperishable lord of the waters. In the station of Indra, I am Śakra; of the rains, I am the year; I am the yogin of the age called Yuga, and the very revolution at the end of the age. I am all beings, indeed all the gods; among serpents, I am Śeṣa, and among all birds, I am Tārkṣya. I am Death, called Time, of all beings and of all the worlds; I am Dharma and I am austerity, for all who dwell in every order of life. I am all the divine rivers, the ocean of milk, and the great sea; that which is the supreme truth—I alone am the Lord of creatures. I am Sāṃkhya, I am Yoga, and I am that supreme state; I am worship and ritual, and I am known as the Lord of knowledge. I am the light, I am the wind, I am the earth, I am the sky; I am the waters and the oceans, the stars and the ten directions. I am the rain, I am the moon, I am the raincloud, I am the sun; in the ocean of milk I am present, and in the sea I am the submarine fire. Becoming the consuming fire, I drink the watery oblation; I am the ancient one, the supreme, and likewise I am the ultimate goal. I am the origin of what has been, what will be, and what is; whatever you see, O sage, and whatever you hear—of that too. Whatever you experience in this world, remember all that as me; the universe was created by me before, and even now is to be created—behold me. In every age, O Mārkaṇḍeya, I will create the entire world; understand, Mārkaṇḍeya, that all this, everything, is truly so.” Thus, the Lord revealed his cosmic nature and the mystery of his Māyā to the astonished sage, and Mārkaṇḍeya beheld the truth of the universe, filled with reverence and awe.