When the mighty ocean, home to makaras, is stirred and agitated, the sons of Diti emerge with the swelling tides. In such times, righteousness, truth, and proper conduct are expressed with utmost effort, as all strive to uphold what is right. Amidst this, a question arises about what should be spoken for the benefit of Murāri or his own kin. Only what is true, proper, and dear is to be spoken; nothing else will be done. Having reflected deeply, Nārada, the sage who knows past, future, and all directions, begins to speak. Nārada explains that the authority of the scriptures lies outside those who merely enjoy the fruits of sacrifice; for this reason, Hari himself approaches. "O Lord," he says, "nothing at all should be given in sacrifice—not even a blade of grass or a speck of gold from the earth. For 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 such a thing be so?" Yet, it is indeed seen to be so, and this is true, O best of Brāhmaṇas. Here, even actions hidden within speech, body, and mind are significant. Nārada then recalls a conduct that once occurred on Malaya, concerning the son of the weaver. He expresses his curiosity for this ancient, meritorious tale, acknowledging that it is bound by previous practice and is true. There was once a Brāhmaṇa known as the weaver, devoted to austerity. His wife, the virtuous daughter of Vātsyāyana, was devoted to her husband. Yet, he spoke like one mute and saw like one blind. Thinking thus, on the sixth day, she abandoned him at the doorway of their house. Taking her own emaciated child, named Sūrpākṣī, she went to eat on the mountain called Śālodara. The blind one asked, "What have you brought, dear?" She replied, "The son of the basket-maker brāhmaṇa has been brought, lord." He warned, "That foremost of brāhmaṇas is a great knower; angered, he will curse. Quickly bring the child of someone else, O beautiful one." She came swiftly, leaping into the sky, and cried out in a clear voice, placing her thumb on her face, "See for yourself, O best of sages: your son is making sound." The best of brāhmaṇas saw his child. Smiling, the basket-maker spoke to his beloved, "Someone handsome is present on earth to deceive us." He bound the child, marking the earth with sacred grass and his hand. When she became invisible, he threw the child far from the house onto the ground. But when the rākṣasī came to seize her own son, she was unable. She recounted what had happened—the taking of the brāhmaṇa’s son. That rākṣasa child, O brāhmaṇa, was reported to his wife. He was thoroughly mixed with curd, milk, and sugarcane juice. His father gave them names: Niśākara and Divākara. The Brahmin then performed the rite of initiation for both, in due order. Niśākara, due to dullness, did not recite, so it is heard. Yet, the people of Malaya did not reproach him. He placed a great stone as a cover above.