The thousand-eyed Indra, renowned among the gods, drew forth his mighty club to subdue the demons, asserting his power over the forces of chaos. Upon the earth, the lotus-like Lord Vishnu manifested, wielding his discus and standing firm upon the ground, his presence a source of protection and order. In the Mahar world, the sage Agastya is present, and among humankind, the wise Kapila abides, guiding people with his knowledge. Brahmā himself is established in Brahmaloka, the seventh celestial realm, which is described as inconceivable, unsupported, spaceless, and filled with the austerity of pure spirit. On Plaksha Island, O best of sages, is famed the one who rides Garuda, the great Vishnu, whose glory is sung far and wide. In Shāka, the thousand-rayed Sun stands, illuminating all, while in Pushkara, the king of Dharma is established, upholding righteousness. Across the moist earth and to the farthest lands, among all beings—both moving and unmoving—the bestowers of righteousness are to be praised. These are beings of great energy, destroyers of clouds, and eaters of oblations, who maintain the cosmic order. Gods, humans, and Sādhyas, through their efforts, attain righteousness, wealth, desire, and ultimately liberation. Arise, said the sage, for I go to the great asura Bali’s sacrifice, seeking the welfare of the gods, O brāhmaṇa. He departed playfully from the lord of mountains and journeyed to the region of Kurujāngala. At this time, the oceans were agitated; in the sky, the circle of stars shone brightly, their courses disturbed, O great sage. Bali wondered, “Just as I was burned by Maheśvara, why does Vāsudeva not burn me as well?” Even offerings made with devotion by the best of the twice-born were not accepted by the Lord, out of fear. Bali approached Śukra, son of Uśanas, bowed respectfully with joined palms, and questioned him: “Why do the fires here not accept the offerings, even when the Asuric shares are well offered? Why are the directions enveloped in darkness? Tell me today, O teacher, whose fault is this?” Śukra, understanding the reason, explained: “Where oblations are offered with mantras into the fire, there Vāsudeva himself comes together. When the ocean, abode of makaras, is agitated, the sons of Diti are born with swelling tides. Righteousness, truth, and what is proper—all are expressed with utmost effort.” Bali then said, “Let that which is true, proper, and dear to me be spoken, whether for Murāri’s benefit or my own; I will do that, and nothing else.” Having reflected, the sage Nārada, who knows the past, future, and all directions, spoke: “The authority of the scriptures lies outside the sacrificial enjoyers; for that purpose, Hari approaches. O Lord, nothing at all should be given in the sacrifice—not even a blade of grass or a speck of gold from the earth. In whose belly the earth, the guardians of the worlds, and the nether regions always dwell—even when Janārdana, lord of the world, comes in a humble form and asks for something insignificant, how can it be so?” Nārada continued, “Indeed, it is seen to be so, and this is true, O best of Brāhmaṇas. Here, even those actions that are hidden within speech, body, and mind—such conduct as formerly occurred on Malaya, concerning the son of the weaver—I have a great curiosity for this ancient, meritorious tale.” He affirmed, “Indeed, O best of Bhṛgu’s line, it is bound by previous practice and is true. There was a Brāhmaṇa known as the weaver, devoted to austerity. His wife, daughter of Vātsyāyana, was virtuous and devoted to her husband. He speaks like one mute and sees like one blind.” Thinking thus, on the sixth day, she abandoned him at the doorway of their house. Taking her own emaciated child, she, named Sūrpākṣī, departed. Having taken her child, she went to eat on the mountain called Śālodara. The one without sight spoke: “What have you brought, dear?