From the very dawn of creation, in every cycle that has unfolded, the gods have always sung a particular praise. They have spoken reverently of a sacred place, calling it, across the ages, the “Great Time Forest.” This name, O wide-eyed one, has always belonged to it. In this forest, the divine voice proclaims: “I am the greater, I am the greater, for at the beginning of creation, I am the cause of all manifestation.” It is here, in the Great Time Forest, that the liṅga is known as the “Lord of the Kalpa”—a truth that is beyond all doubt or dispute. At one time, O goddess, Brahmā himself journeyed to the endless upper worlds, seeking to comprehend this mystery. Yet neither Brahmā nor Keśava (Viṣṇu) could find its beginning or its end. Standing before this ineffable presence, they offered hymns of praise, reciting those sacred verses prescribed in the Vedas, honoring the one who stood before them. Thus, from that moment onward, this is known as the beginningless kalpa on earth—a cycle without an origin, sanctified by the gods’ adoration. Now, any mortal, even one burdened with the five great sins and a wicked mind, may yet find auspiciousness if granted the vision of this divine presence. The merit that men obtain by bathing at every holy place—though great—does not free them from the endless cycle of pleasure and pain in this world. Again and again, they fall, bound by the fruits of their actions. But when a person’s sins are destroyed, then the vision of the divine occurs. Even a killer of a Brahmin, a drinker of liquor, a thief, or one who violates the teacher’s bed—such a person, too, may attain the supreme state, free from return, if blessed with that vision. The fruit gained from performing great sacrifices like the Aśvamedha or the Rājasūya cannot compare to this blessing. Without this vision, men are like animals in the world; their birth is in vain. Having spoken thus, the god Keśava and Brahmā, O beautiful-faced one, completed their homage. Thus, O goddess, I have told you of this glory, which destroys all sin. Simply by beholding him, wealth and prosperity arise in this world. Once, O Goddess, as you played with me in my palace, a remarkable event occurred. At that moment, all the gods sent Agni, the fire god, into my presence. As I was engaged in play, my seed was cast into the mouth of Agni. Unable to bear it, Agni carried that exceedingly potent seed away and deposited it elsewhere. From what remained of that divine seed, beautiful gold was born. Seeing this first offspring of Agni, O Pārvatī, hosts of beings—Yakṣas, Sādhyas, Piśācas, humans, Rākṣasas, and even birds—were drawn to it. For the sake of gold, a great tumult arose, each one clamoring, “This is mine!” Weapons and various arms appeared. Asuras fought with Asuras, humans with humans, beings with beings, and Rākṣasas with Rākṣasas. The bonds of kinship dissolved: a son hated his father, and a father his son; a son killed his mother, and a mother destroyed her son. Among gods and demons, everything became exceedingly terrible. Spears with sharp points and all manner of weapons filled the field. For the sake of gold, O great goddess, much blood was shed. Swords, spears, maces, and arrows fell upon the earth. Their bodies smeared with blood, they slew one another in a frenzy. A great and terrifying clamor arose by the thousands. With iron clubs, nooses, and fists hard as thunderbolts, they shouted, “Cut! Break! Run forward! Strike down! Attack!” Thus, as this tumultuous and dreadful battle raged on, the world was engulfed in chaos, all for the sake of gold.