O delight of the mountain, it is said that when one loudly calls out the name “Nṛsiṃha! Nṛsiṃha!” the very echo resounds powerfully. Even those burdened by the gravest sins—whether a slayer of a Brahmin, a thief of gold, a drinker of liquor, or one who violates his teacher’s wife—if they bathe in the sacred Sindhu river, they are freed by the grace of Śrī Nṛsiṃha, without doubt. Furthermore, those who dwell there for ten nights are known as doers of virtuous deeds; these words are true. Yet, in the Kali age, those who reside there, descended from twice-born ancestors, are regarded as outcastes, excluded from the Veda by the best of gods, even if they appear as foreigners. They eat meat and always drink wine, and thus their nature is unrighteous and most sinful, just as Brahmins who neglect their twilight rites are outside the Veda. In that city, O queen of the gods, in the west, there is only one supreme and vast holy place, called Nṛsiṃha. Merely hearing of it frees a person from sin, without doubt. Thus ends the one hundred and seventy-fourth chapter of the glorious Padma Mahāpurāṇa, Uttarakhaṇḍa, in the section of fifty-five thousand verses, named “The Origin of Nṛsiṃha.” Then, Śrī Bhagavān spoke: “Thus, the excellent story of the beginning has been told. Now, O Indirā, listen to the greatness of other chapters as well.” In the southern direction, there was a city called Purandara, known among those who uphold tradition. There lived a man named Devaśarman, renowned for honoring guests according to custom, skilled in Vedic scriptures, arranging many sacrificial rites, and beloved by ascetics. He satisfied the gods for a long time with offerings in the fire, yet, despite his righteousness, he did not attain absolute peace. Desiring the highest good, Devaśarman served ascetics day after day, those steadfast in truth, with many proper observances. As he acted thus, with much time passing, a person freed from actions appeared on earth long ago. This sage, free from desire for experience, his gaze fixed at the tip of his nose and mind tranquil, meditated on the supreme, blissful Brahman. Devaśarman approached this ascetic, took hold of his feet with a reverent heart, and performed the proper guest-honoring rites for him, as a learned man should. With pure intent, he questioned the satisfied ascetic, bowing, about the state of nirvana for himself. The ascetic told him, in that ancient city, about Mitravan, the knower of self, the teacher of Ajapala. Having bowed and touched his feet, Devaśarman entered that splendid city, and in its northern region he saw a vast forest, beautiful with many flowers swayed by the wind, fragrant, its directions filled with the sound of intoxicated bees singing. In that forest, on the riverbank, seated on a stone, he saw Mitravan, joyful, his gaze full of contentment. Even natural enmity was set aside by opposing creatures; in the garden, surrounded by gentle animals, with the sun shining mildly. Among peaceful herds of deer, in a delightful and blissful state, compassion seemed to pour onto the earth like nectar. Approaching with humility, his mind uplifted and joyful, Devaśarman bowed his head slightly and was honored by Mitravan in return. Then, the learned Devaśarman, single-minded, approached Mitravan, and when his meditation was complete, questioned him attentively: “I wish to know the self; in this desire of mine, please instruct me in the means to attain success.” The Blessed Lord said: 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. There, among the wise, was one named Durdama. There is a king named Vikrama there, who, being served, lives only to fill his belly, accepting gifts every day. Bound by the noose of time, he is led to the abode of Yama, and, having experienced all the torments in hell, he is born in some family of ill-behaved twice-born, honored by knowledge that followed him from a previous birth. He married a difficult-to-approach maiden from a lowly family; in time, she left childhood behind and reached youth. Full-breasted, beautiful-hipped, her eyes intoxicated with passion, she could not endure her wicked husband and desired other men. Seeking her livelihood, she left the house and, for a long time, lived with a lover born in a low caste. She conceived from him, and a daughter was born; that very daughter became his wife, due to the influence of previous sin. In time, she grew old and became a ḍākinī; from bad company, a wicked mind arose from association with an evil woman. Craving the taste of blood, she devoured the sick and hunters, wandering in the dreadful forest, cast out by people who saw her. Reaching the world of the dead, she was reborn as a tiger among hunters; because of the effect of violence toward living beings, she endured terrible hells. In time, that wicked soul, seized by the force of death, came from hell and was born in my house, hard to subdue. O wise one, while I was caring for her in the forest, I saw a fierce leopard, as if intent on killing everything.