Because of a fault in his past actions, this being chose no other way of living; he did not seek a different livelihood. Instead, he survived only by devouring, with fierce and violent deeds, whatever unfortunate creature happened to come within the reach of his powerful arms. In this manner, a great expanse of time passed, and with it, age gradually advanced upon him. Yet, despite his dreadful way of life, he was noble by nature. With his arms raised upward in discipline, he kept his senses always under control. He became a master of yoga—pure in mind, skillful in practice, and wholly devoted to Vāsudeva. In his spiritual vision, he saw Viṣṇu, the bearer of the bow Śārṅga, standing armed with a sword at his north, and in the west. On the earth, Hari appeared in the form of a boar, while in the sky, for his protection, stood Nṛsiṃha, the Man-Lion. A radiant garland of rays, difficult to behold, surrounded him—meant for the destruction of ghosts and spirits that wander by night. This divine light was the destroyer of demons, spirits, fiends, and ḍākinīs. He prayed that it might utterly destroy all harmful beings—beasts, men, kūṣmāṇḍas, ghosts, and the rest—so that they might become gentle at once, subdued as serpents are by Garuḍa. He invoked protection from ghosts, Vināyakas, cruel men, yawning spirits, and birds, that all these might become gentle before him, struck by the sound of Viṣṇu’s discus. He prayed that those who steal strength and energy, and those who destroy shadows, would perish, struck by the same divine sound. “May it be so for me,” he prayed, “by the praise of Vāsudeva, the god of gods. He who bows to that praiseworthy Lord, the infinite and unchanging Janārdana, does not fall. By this truth, by the praise of Acyuta’s name, may my threefold misfortune be destroyed.” Even so, a mighty Rākṣasa appeared, approaching despite being stationed elsewhere. Yet, the force of this Rākṣasa was suddenly driven away, and he stood there, unmoving, for four months. When the recitation of sacred words was completed, he saw the night-dweller before him. Upon seeing him, he was filled with compassion and offered comfort to the night-dweller. Desiring to understand his own nature, he protected the earth with his energy. He turned to the Brahmin and, distressed by his own actions, pleaded, “Be gracious. The destruction of innocent and small beings has been done by me. For the removal of this sin, please instruct me in righteousness.” Hearing these words of the Rākṣasa, the foremost Brahmin listened intently. Suddenly, a desire arose within the Brahmin to inquire about the path of righteousness. The Rākṣasa continued, “Through your association, O Brahmin, supreme dispassion has arisen in me. By whose company such dispassion is attained, let the removal of sin occur for me as well, noble one.” The great-souled sage, after reflecting for a long time, replied, “Indeed, this is right; the cessation of sins is truly beneficial. Ask those Brahmins, gentle one, who delight in teaching, how the removal of sin may be achieved.” The Rākṣasa, troubled in his senses by these thoughts, continued his old habit: at every sixth interval, he devoured a single creature. Then, he saw a student—a young seeker who lived only on fruits—who had arrived. The student, hopeless about his own life, spoke gently to the night-dweller, saying, “Tell me, may blessings be upon you; here I am, instruct me. What is to be done for one who is destitute, exceedingly sinful, merciless, and hostile to Brahmins?