Shrouded by a dazzling brilliance, he could not recognize the Supreme God before him. In the presence of all the assembled gods, and as they listened intently, he spoke aloud. His form was like a mass of radiant light, resembling the moon itself, and his eyes shone with the luster of the moon, the sun, and fire combined. With the effortless strength of a man splitting a banana stalk with his fingernails, he demonstrated his power. Yet, struck by the overwhelming radiance of Rudra, he became bewildered and, in his confusion, did not bow in reverence. Together with the gods, he beheld Rudra’s fierce, blazing form and was seized by great fear. There he stood, in the very center of the planetary sphere, shining like a second moon among the celestial bodies. With the sun at its zenith, and Rudra towering like Mount Kailāsa among mountains, the gods joined together to praise the Lord of gods—the bearer of the skull—offering him many hymns. They extolled him, saying, “To you, endowed with supreme power and knowledge, bestower of all enjoyments, we offer our praise. You are the very agent of time’s destruction; thus, you are the Great Time itself. Swiftly you bring happiness to your devotees, and for this reason you are remembered as Śaṃkara. Therefore, O god Kapālī, you are ever praised; be gracious to us.” Then, that blessed one—a treasury of boundless compassion—vanished there itself. The one garlanded and bearing the white skull, ever at Rudra’s side, triumphed, having conquered the mighty and radiant creator. From the sweat that arose on his own forehead, he struck the earth, and from that divine sweat was born Kuṇḍalī, armed with a bow and great arrows. Brahmā spoke to him, revealing the energy of Rudra. Upon hearing Brahmā’s words, Kuṇḍalī raised his bow and stood behind him, ever ready. Beholding that fierce being, Bhava was filled with astonishment. He realized, “This one is not to be slain by me; he will become the powerful friend of Viṣṇu.” Thinking thus, the Lord departed for the hermitage of Viṣṇu. Arriving there, delighted, he played upon the earth. Invisible to all beings, he was the very soul of the universe, the creator and sovereign of all. Standing upon the earth on a single toe, he performed the most extreme austerities, undisturbed and unwavering. He was the ancient, supreme person, endowed with a stream of merit. Before them, he displayed a skull, fierce and blazing with fire. “Who else,” it was wondered, “would be fit now to receive alms as a mendicant?” Knowing what lay within him, the moon-crested one pierced him with his trident. He shone clear as molten gold, pure as a tongue of fire. The Śiprā river flowed forth, straight and swift, like a ray of the sun in the sky. For a divine thousand years, she bore it from the arm of Hari. Then Nārāyaṇa bestowed it upon the best of worthy recipients. “Your vessel is now full,” he declared. The Supreme Lord—whose eyes are the moon, sun, and fire, and who is adorned with the crescent moon—tapped the skull with his finger and said, “The vessel is overfilled.” At that moment, the Lord of Hari, with his own finger, drew blood from his side. As the blood was churned, gradually scum and bubbles formed. From this, a thousand-armed one, red-eyed, repeatedly touched his bowstring. Then, a man resembling Arjuna manifested within the skull. There, in that sacred vessel, this blessed man appeared. He is known as Nara, foremost among masters of the supreme weapons.