By the grace of Śrī Nṛsiṃha, the wish of the devoted is always fulfilled. Śrī Nṛsiṃha, whose form is immense and awe-inspiring, remains unapproachable even by Death itself. As the Lord of Bhairavas, the one who destroys all the afflictions of Hari, he manifests in the gentle and wondrous form of a child. To this childlike Śrī Nṛsiṃha, whose appearance radiates innocence and divine power, I bow in reverence. Salutations to the all-pervading and blissful Lord, who reveals his own true form to the world. He is the self of all beings, the master of the universe, and the very essence from which all sound arises. Homage is offered to him who dwells within the orb of the sun, an ocean of compassion, who takes the shape of the twenty-four principles, and who appears as Time, as Rudra, and as Fire itself. To you, O Nṛsiṃha, who are the singular form of the universe—the mighty Man-Lion—conqueror of Vīrabhadra, who once bore that victory upon his forehead, I offer my salutations. There are twelve blazing discs of the sun, each measured precisely; and there, especially, flows the sacred river Sindhu, beautiful and supremely holy. Near this river, O beautiful one, stands a city famed as Maulistāna, said always to have been built by the gods themselves. There reside the great-souled Hārīta and the virtuous Līlāvatī, their presence beyond any doubt. In that place, near the Sindhu, an echo arises, and yet, when the age of Kali arrives, foreigners and doers of evil will come to dwell there. Many will indeed inhabit that city, just as, at the birth of Nṛsiṃha, a wondrous and extraordinary sound once arose. Whoever calls out loudly “Nṛsiṃha! Nṛsiṃha!” will find such an echo is produced, O delight of the mountain. Whether a slayer of a Brahmin, a thief of gold, a drinker of liquor, or one who approaches his teacher’s wife—any who bathe especially in the Sindhu river are freed from their sins, by the grace of Śrī Nṛsiṃha. Those who dwell there for ten nights should be known as doers of virtuous deeds—my words are true and not to be doubted. Yet, in the age of Kali, those who live there, descended from twice-born ancestors, are to be regarded as outcastes, excluded from the Veda by the best of gods, even though they may appear as foreigners; for there, they eat meat and always drink wine. Thus, they are of unrighteous nature, most sinful—just as Brahmins who neglect the twilight rites are outside the Veda, so too are these people. Within that city, O queen of the gods, in the west, there is but one supreme and vast holy place, called Nṛsiṃha. Simply by hearing of this place, a person is instantly freed from sin—this is certain. Thus, in the glorious Padma Mahāpurāṇa, in the Uttarakhaṇḍa, in the section of fifty-five thousand verses, this is the one hundred and seventy-fourth chapter, named “The Origin of Nṛsiṃha.” Then, the Blessed Lord spoke: “Thus, O Indirā, the excellent story of the beginning has been told. Now listen as I recount the greatness of other chapters as well. To the south there was once a city called Purandara, known among those who uphold the tradition. There lived a man named Devaśarman, renowned for his virtue. He honored guests according to ancient custom, was skilled in the Vedic scriptures, arranged many sacrificial rites, and was always dear to ascetics. For a long time, Devaśarman satisfied the gods with offerings in the sacred fire, but even so, that righteous soul did not attain perfect peace. Seeking the highest good, he served the ascetics day after day, those steadfast in truth, performing many proper observances. As he continued thus for much time, a certain person appeared on earth, one who was freed from all actions. This sage, free from desire for worldly experience, sat with his gaze fixed at the tip of his nose, his mind tranquil and absorbed in meditation upon the supreme, blissful Brahman. Devaśarman approached this sage, took hold of his feet with reverent heart, and performed the proper rites of hospitality, as was fitting for a learned man. With pure intent, Devaśarman then bowed and questioned the contented ascetic about the path to liberation for himself. The sage told him of a certain Mitravan, a knower of the Self and teacher of Ajapala, who dwelt in an ancient city. Having paid his respects, Devaśarman entered that splendid city and, in its northern region, came upon a vast forest. The forest was beautiful, filled with many flowers swaying in the wind, fragrant, and alive with the humming of intoxicated bees. There, on the bank of the river, seated upon a stone, he saw Mitravan, joyful and content. In that peaceful garden, even natural enmity was forgotten; opposing creatures coexisted gently, the sun shone softly, and herds of deer grazed at ease. Compassion seemed to flow over the earth like nectar. With humility and joy in his heart, Devaśarman approached, bowed his head, and was honored in return by Mitravan. Then, single-minded and attentive, Devaśarman waited until Mitravan’s meditation was complete and questioned him: “I wish to know the Self. Please instruct me in the means to attain success in this quest.” The Blessed Lord continued: “After reflecting for a moment, Mitravan spoke: ‘Wise one, I will tell you what happened long ago. On the bank of the Godāvarī, there is a city called Pratiṣṭhāna, where lived a wise man named Durdama. There is also a king named Vikrama, who, being served, lives only for his own pleasure, accepting gifts every day. Bound by the noose of time, he is led to the abode of Yama, and after death, he experiences all the torments of hell.