Listen, O wise one, to the wondrous tale as it unfolded. It was decreed that all—be they old men, children, youths, or women—would be seized by a certain madness, a divine frenzy that none could escape. Those who delighted in laughter and idle talk would become devoted, and even those steadfast in yoga would fall under this influence; all would be drawn in, none left untouched. By the grace of the Lord, a boon was granted: one would become the most worshipped among men, the bestower of blessings. To the north of Kālanjara, in a most holy land nestled south of the Himalayas, events of great significance were set in motion. When the time arrived, the three-eyed Lord, Hara himself, journeyed toward Mount Vindhya. As he prepared to act, the great Lord paused, and spoke. He entered a place where revered sages were gathered with their wives, and, standing before them, the Blessed Lord addressed them, humbly requesting alms. At that very moment, the sage Nārada wandered through all the hermitages, spreading ripples of unrest. All those of weak spirit everywhere became agitated, but the minds of the women remained fixed on honoring their husbands and such thoughts. Yet, in that place, those tormented by desire and bewildered by passion were drawn irresistibly. They followed after the Lord as female elephants follow a maddened tusker, unable to resist the pull. Filled with anger, the sages and others exclaimed, “May his emblem fall to the ground!” In that instant, the three-pronged, blue-red Lord vanished from their sight. Swiftly, he entered the netherworld and pierced the cosmic egg from above, his presence filling all the realms of Pātāla with moving and unmoving beings. From there, he journeyed to the ocean called Kṣīroda to see Mādhava, the Lord Viṣṇu. Addressing him, he asked, “O Lord of the worlds, for what reason are the worlds disturbed, O Mighty One?” For when the emblem fell, the earth, burdened by its weight, trembled. The assembled gods spoke, “Let us go there, O Lord of gods,” urging one another again and again. Thus, they arrived at the place where the liṅga of Bhava was manifest. Filled with wonder, the Lord entered Pātāla in search of its end, but, O Brahman, he could not find it and, astonished, returned. Even the wielder of the discus, Viṣṇu himself, went forth, but, O great sage, he too could not discover the end. Humbled, with hands joined in reverence, they began to praise the god: “O bearer of the clouds, O poet, O Śarva, O three-eyed one, O Śaṅkara, O destroyer of Dakṣa’s sacrifice, O embodiment of time, we bow to you. You are the infinite, the blessed Lord, the all-pervading one; we bow to you again and again.” Then the Lord, present in his own form, spoke kindly: “Those who praise me, even though afflicted by desire and suffering, become truly at peace.” They accepted his words, and again offered their praises to the god, finding favor in his acceptance. Brahmā himself then took up the golden, tawny liṅga. Among those who followed, the third was Kālavadana, and the fourth was Kapālin. Kapālin’s disciple became known as Gopāyana. Gopāyana’s disciple was the king Ṛṣabha, called Somakeśvara. His disciple, a Vaiśya named Krātheśvara, was followed by Karṇodara, who, though a Śūdra by birth, became a great ascetic. Having fulfilled the four stages of life, Karṇodara finally attained his own abode, completing the sacred lineage and journey. Thus, O sage, unfolded the divine play of the Lord, worshipped and praised by gods and men alike, bestower of boons, and guide of all beings on the path to peace.