To destroy the demons led by Somaka, I act according to my own will. Yet, know this: those whose vision is clouded by passion perceive nothing of reality. Is not my inseparable power, the very one who dwells in the lotus, ever present? All these beings, the flow of time, and even my own self—indeed, I am all of these. The Ādityas, Vasus, Rudras, the guardians of the directions, and the Manus—I am truly all of them. By my command, the power of creation is firmly established. Through her, even a fleeting moment can stretch into an epoch. Sunrise and sunset may occur, but at such times, even the sun and moon are unaffected. The Maruts did not blow, nor did the sacred fires blaze. All the oceans surged restlessly, and the mountains themselves trembled. The orderly regulation of time—by fortnight, month, season, and year—ceased entirely. Indra and the other guardians of the worlds, along with great sages like Marīci, were present. When this great turmoil arose, prompted by the cries of all beings, the Soul of the Universe, intent on protecting the world, reflected deeply. He considered me, the master and bestower of all prosperity, even in my state of pride. Ah, the greatness of delusion! Let us speak of it, O Brahma and Achyuta. Born from the darkness of ignorance, their minds and vision were corrupted. Though they had committed no offense, those two were submerged in the ocean of delusion. Thus, deciding in his mind about the bewilderment caused by Maya in those two, one must marvel at the compassion of the young moon-crested One, whose mercy pervades all three worlds. At this point, Markandeya spoke: "Command me, O Lord, as to how the eternal Shambhu acted." Whatever the god did, he did out of compassion, ever devoted to his devotees. Then, as the two continued to argue, a great manifestation appeared, splitting the cosmic egg itself. By the radiance of that Jyotirlinga, all things everywhere lost their color. Its intense and mighty flames seemed to dry up the oceans. It shone in the sky as before, accompanied by countless stars. By its red brilliance, everything appeared as if painted with ochre. The oceans, filled with its reflection, were embraced by aquatic creatures. The trees seemed adorned with fresh clusters of coral. The earth looked as if smeared with saffron, and the directions were tinged with vermilion. The radiance filled the entire interior of the cosmic egg, as if it were its very shell. As that pillar of brilliance continued to grow, those who witnessed it abandoned their mutual anger, awestruck by the wondrous linga of light. They wondered: "Is this, having pierced the earth, from the hoods of Śeṣa and the other serpents? Or is it the sun, manifesting as at the end of a kalpa, so easily seen then? Or perhaps, from the friction of clouds, has it spread through the middle of the sky? Is it, with its rays, constantly repelling the power of your eyes? Even though it blazes, it causes no burning. By the transmission of its radiance, not only the world..." And thus, in this way, the story of the great manifestation of light—born of compassion, breaking the bonds of delusion, and filling the cosmos with its wondrous presence—unfolded before all beings.