As the power of the gods waned under the overwhelming energy of Brahmā, they gathered together in concern and humility. “Let us seek refuge in the Great God,” they resolved, “for our strength has been diminished by Brahmā’s might.” Realizing that only devotion could move the heart of the terrible Lord, they agreed, “We will propitiate that formidable one here with all our devotion—there is no other way.” With supreme melodic skill, the gods composed a hymn in praise of Maheśa. They began their prayer, voices united: “Salutations to you again and again, O Lord of gods, O Great Lord. Though we are deluded, we do not know your supreme, incomparable greatness. You are the very foundation of all beings, the cause behind all creation. By the mere recitation of your names, all creatures are freed from misfortune. Your forms, O Great God, have pervaded everything completely. O Lord of all, none can truly comprehend you, bearer of all forms, for you perform the most difficult acts at the turning of the ages and in the appointed times.” Maheśa, the cheerful-faced Lord, was honored by the assembled gods. Together with them, he began to play the enchanting melody called Mohana, captivating all present. Thus, the gods, sages, ancestors, and humans joined in his praise. With voices full of devotion, they pleaded, “Out of compassion, grant us a boon as well. Whatever strength, brilliance, and valor we possess—all these were subdued, O Lord, but by your favor they have returned to us again.” Then the Lord went to the place where the embodiment of rajas and ego, Brahmā, was present. But Brahmā, covered by the darkness of delusion, did not recognize the god who had arrived. In that moment, the Soul of the Universe, the very Creator and Essence of all, appeared before them. Rudra, shining with a radiance that overpowered all, stood before Brahmā—his brilliance like the moon shining at night or the first rays of sunrise. Brahmā, bewildered by this dazzling light, bowed with his hand and spoke with a gentle smile. Yet, enveloped by that brilliance, he did not recognize the Supreme God standing before him. In the sight and hearing of all the gods, Brahmā spoke, gazing upon this mass of light—whose form resembled the moon, whose eyes shone like the moon, sun, and fire. With a gesture as effortless as splitting a banana stalk with his fingernails, Rudra demonstrated his power. Struck by Rudra’s radiance, Brahmā was left bewildered and could not bring himself to bow. Together with the other gods, Brahmā beheld the fierce, blazing form of Rudra and was filled with great fear. Standing in the very center of the planetary sphere, like a second moon, Rudra shone brilliantly. With the sun at its zenith—like Mount Kailāsa towering among mountains—the gods praised the Lord of gods, the skull-bearer, with various hymns: “To you, endowed with lordly power and knowledge, bestower of all enjoyments! You are the agent of time’s destruction; therefore, you are the Great Time itself. You swiftly bring happiness to your devotees; for this reason, you are remembered as Śaṃkara. Thus, O god Kapālī, you are praised—be gracious to us.” Hearing these praises, the blessed Lord—treasury of compassion—vanished from their sight. The one holding the white skull, garlanded, at Rudra’s side, triumphed—having conquered the mighty and radiant creator. Then, from the sweat that arose on his own forehead, Rudra struck the earth. From that sweat was born Kuṇḍalī, armed with a great bow and powerful arrows. Brahmā, perceiving Rudra’s energy in this new being, spoke to Kuṇḍalī. Upon hearing Brahmā’s words, Kuṇḍalī raised his bow and stood behind him, ready and vigilant. When Bhava saw this fierce man, he was astonished. “He is not to be slain by me,” thought the Lord. “He will become the powerful friend of Viṣṇu.” With this realization, the Lord departed and went to Viṣṇu’s hermitage.