Upon receiving a solemn command, everyone was instructed to carry out the task without exception. Obediently, they established the thirteenfold dharma, their hearts brimming with joy. The people lived blessed lives, surrounded by sons, grandsons, and always in the company of their wives. Yet, an unusual phenomenon unfolded: the Sun could not rise, nor could the stars or the Moon move forth. By day, the Sun’s brilliance was dimmed, resembling the Moon; at night, the Moon shone with the radiance of the Sun. The people began to believe that the Moon’s light was the foremost brilliance. O Brāhmaṇa, during the night, those desiring to share their glory blossomed forth, their minds fixed on the Moon. The crows, aware of this, would kill the Kauśikas by day. At night, believing it was day, the Kauśikas would remain submerged up to their necks, their minds absorbed in devotion, loudly proclaiming their faith throughout the daylight hours. Life was abandoned in emptiness, with a mournful cry, on the riverbank. This strange affliction gripped the whole world—the Sun never set at all, causing distress everywhere. Tormented by grief for her husband, a devoted woman performed severe austerities. Because of her intense penance, the Moon began to overcome the Sun, which now certainly did not set. Even at night, rites and rituals were performed, O great sage: some for the Sun, others for the Moon, some for Brahma, and others for Hara. If the night was delightful, made luminous by the Moon’s light, worship was offered with pure flowers and genuine fragrances. The second vow, known as ‘Unempty Bed,’ granted all desires. It was filled with great enjoyments and an undiminished crest. When Shambhu saw the fierce austerity performed to worship Rudra, he was pleased and freely granted her a boon. By this vow, the Moon’s form remained unbroken in the sky. Having worshipped the two feet of Vishnu, whose splendor is immeasurable, the Moon shone by day, like the Sun, bringing joy to all. The Sun, defeated by the Moon, no longer shone as before. Lotuses opened, signaling that sunrise had occurred, and thus it was known that the Moon had risen and was radiant. Yet, the Sun pondered, “What is this? The world speaks of auspicious and inauspicious things.” All around, the world—indeed, the three realms—had been consumed by night-wanderers. The knower of yoga reflected upon the growth of these night-dwellers. Those devoted to worshipping the gods and brahmins, engaged in righteousness, witnessed the Sun, with his great radiant nails, contemplate how to destroy this imbalance. For deviation from one’s own duty is said to destroy all righteousness. By his rays, the Sun revealed the city of the rakshasas, just as he wished. Suddenly, he fell from the sky, cast down like a planet whose merit is exhausted. As he descended, he loudly proclaimed, “Salutations to Bhava, to Sharva!” All cried out in distress, “Alas!”—for this devotee of Hara was falling. Hearing these cries, the Sun began to ponder, “By whom am I being cast down to earth?” When the city of the rakshasas had been cast down, the enraged Three-eyed One—Shiva—prepared to act.