Thus it was that Rama, beloved by all the people, granted a boon to Sita, his cherished consort. From that day, among mortals, the site became renowned as Sita’s pool—a place of wondrous power and beauty. There, those who bathe, offer gifts, and most especially those who practice austerities in honor of Rama and Sita, are assured of liberation; there is no doubt of this blessing. In the proper season and along the sacred path, one should bathe at this pool; it is said that women who do so will be free from the burden of unwanted pregnancy. O Brahmin, listen: on the beautiful western shore, which belongs to Lord Vishnu—Hari—there are mysteries and greatness beyond mortal comprehension. The glory of Hari’s discus, for instance, cannot be measured by human minds. To the west lies a sacred place called Hari’s Remembrance. Simply by beholding it, one is freed from all sins. Indeed, by seeing these holy sites, the sins of embodied beings are washed away. Long ago, a fierce battle erupted between the gods and the demons. The gods, overpowered, fled the field, their leader being Hari himself. Vishnu, reclining serenely on the ocean of milk, rested upon the great serpent Shesha. Around him, Narada and other eminent sages sang his praises, their voices lifting in adoration. Vishnu’s garment was marked by drops from the surging waves of the milk ocean; he was clad in radiant yellow, his face joyful, his form shining with divine splendor. He appeared like a luminous string of jewels, clear and resplendent, dwelling in the White Island. His presence was as marvelous as the sun’s return after an eclipse by Rahu, or like the supreme creation of the Four-Faced Brahma, as if he were contemplating its wonder. At that moment, Śaṃbhu—Shiva himself—arrived with all the hosts of gods to honor Hari, the remover of intense delusion, whose cool radiance is like the moon. To this moon-like Hari, I bow. To the radiant jewel-flame of consciousness, the moonlight that unites the mind, I offer my salutations. To the exuberant, playful power that pervades all three worlds, to those who dwell at the tips of lotus petals swayed by the wind, I bow in reverence. Salutations to you, whose essence is the sun, adorned with rays of consciousness; to the restrainer, the eternal refuge of yogis; to the sacrifice who has consumed the offerings, embodied as the Ṛg, Yajur, and Sāma Vedas. To the peaceful one, repository of dharma, knower of the field, whose essence is immortality; to the fierce master of māyā, the thousand-headed Lord, I bow. To the one whose essence is yogic sleep, creator of the world arisen from the lotus of his navel; to the one who is both the object and measure of action, mighty and supreme; to the proud, lion-bodied destroyer of demons; to the one who cuts through the great darkness of ignorance, the cause of worldly existence; to the peaceful giver of the tranquil, wave-less state of liberation—I offer my salutations. Vishnu appeared dark as the petal of a blue lotus, with shimmering filaments in motion. With eyes full of compassion, he showered the gods with nectar from his gaze, renewing their strength and hope. But the place had been seized by the valor of the daityas—demons intoxicated by battle. The strong had subdued the weak, only to be overcome by others in turn. Then Hari declared, “I will go to the city of Ayodhya and undertake the highest austerity. You all, too, should perform intense austerities with pure minds.” Agastya said: Having spoken thus, the god who rides Garuda vanished from the sight of the gods. When he became concealed, O wise one, it was for the increase of divine power among the gods. And there, before the arrival of Hari, something had fallen from the palm of his hand—a mystery soon to be revealed.