O beautiful one, at the turning point between the Dvāpara and Kali yugas, a grave fault arose, and because of this, Indra—the thousand-eyed lord—refused to send the rains. His actions turned contrary to the needs of the world. As a result, the rivers dwindled; some even vanished completely, and the land became parched. With the life-giving waters gone, agriculture withered, cattle-keeping perished, and the bustling markets fell silent. Cities emptied out, their people gone, and villages were reduced to ashes by fire. Even the hermits, abandoning their peaceful forest dwellings, wandered in desperation, seeking relief. All creation, both moving and unmoving, was shaken from its roots. In their distress, the beings of the worlds—gods, sages, and all creatures—sought refuge in Janārdana, the Lord of all, the supreme shelter. From Brahmā’s world and every other realm, they approached him, whose virtues are without compare and ever auspicious. By his own will, Janārdana manifested a splendid palace, with a bed and seat fit for the divine. In that place, free from old age, death, fear, and disease, the gods prostrated themselves before him and spoke words of praise: “You are Brahmā, you are Rudra, you are the great Indra, O best of gods.” As they extolled him, declaring that truth and austerity are supreme, the God of gods, pleased by their devotion, turned to them and spoke: “What shall I do for you today, O gods? Tell me by what means satisfaction or dissatisfaction may arise, and I shall act.” The gods beseeched him for guidance. In response, Janārdana instructed, “All of you, go to the auspicious and great Kālavan forest. There, within the liṅga, all the clouds that bring rain are indeed present. At that place, the god Pratīhāreśvara abides, and Īśāna himself is present. When you arrive at the great Kālavan, where the supreme liṅga dwells, offer your obeisance.” He taught them the words of worship: “Obeisance to Maheśa, obeisance to the endless one, the garlanded; obeisance to the yogi, to the Veda, to you of tawny matted locks; obeisance to the one whose laughter rings pure and resounding, to you, the crested one; obeisance to the ender, to the auspicious one, to you, the three-eyed; obeisance to the one whose very body is yoga, to you who are always the all. O lord of gods, grant us good rain and protect us who have taken refuge in you.” Following his guidance, the gods went to the liṅga at Kālavan. As they worshipped, from the midst of the liṅga, a great sound arose, echoing into the sky. Darkness spread, and all brightness vanished—nothing could be seen. Then, by the majesty of that God of gods, the gods were satisfied. The darkness was dispelled, and the clouds that had gathered vanished. Radiant lights circled Soma—the moon—moving to the right in auspicious fashion. The great sages, now free from sorrow, and the Gandharvas, sang melodious songs of praise. With deep devotion, the gods worshipped the supreme being and bestowed upon him a name that reflected his true nature: “He shall everywhere be known as Meghanādēśvara, the Lord of the Clouds.” By his power, people on earth would attain fulfillment. For thousands of millions of aeons, and hundreds of millions more, O Pārvatī, the greatness of Meghanāda is celebrated there. From Brahmā down to the smallest blade of grass, the three worlds—earth, atmosphere, and heaven, with all their moving and unmoving beings—have been produced, sustained, and pervaded by you, O Lord, as I have heard. All the sages, filled with joy, silent and imperishable, acknowledge that you alone have created this entire universe, the three worlds, and all that exists within them.