Life was left behind in emptiness, its departure marked by a cry on the lonely riverbank. This abandonment cast a shadow that afflicted the entire world, a darkness that would not set or fade away. Tormented by grief for her husband, a devoted woman undertook severe austerities, seeking solace and meaning amidst her sorrow. Because of her intense penance, the moon gained the power to overcome the sun—a sun which itself never truly set. In those times, people performed sacred rites even at night, O great sage. Some directed their worship to the Sun, others to the Moon, some to Brahma, and yet others to Hara, each seeking divine favor in their own way. If the night was made delightful, ever luminous with gentle moonlight, then the moon was worshipped with pure flowers and the finest, most genuine fragrances. There was a second vow, known as ‘Unempty Bed,’ which was said to grant all desires. This vow brought great enjoyments and undiminished glory, ensuring that fulfillment would never wane. Witnessing the fierce austerities performed out of a desire to worship Rudra, the compassionate Shambhu was satisfied and freely granted a boon to the devoted woman. Because of this vow, the moon remained unbroken in the sky, its form unblemished. Turning in devotion to Vishnu, of immeasurable splendor, worshippers honored his two lotus feet. Through this worship, the moon shone by day like the sun itself, bringing joy to all. The sun, defeated by the moon, no longer shone as before. Yet, as the lotuses opened, it was clear that sunrise had occurred—the world knew then that the radiant moon had risen. The sun, witnessing these events, wondered to himself, “What is this? The world indeed speaks of auspicious and inauspicious things.” All around, the three realms had been consumed by the night-wanderers—beings of darkness who thrived in the endless night. The knower of yoga reflected deeply on the growing power of these night-dwellers. Those devoted to worshipping the gods and brahmins, steadfast in righteousness, were troubled. The sun, with his great, radiant nails, pondered how to destroy this unnatural order. For deviation from one’s own duty is said to be the destroyer of all righteousness. By his rays, the sun revealed the city of the rakshasas, just as he wished. But then, his merit exhausted, he fell from the sky—cast down like a fading planet. As he fell, he cried out loudly, “Salutations to Bhava, to Sharva!” All who witnessed it lamented, “Alas! That devotee of Hara is 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—appeared. As soon as the sun was seen by the Three-eyed One, he fell from the sky, released from all restraint, like a stone dropped from above. He tumbled from the atmosphere, surrounded by the celestial kinnaras and charanas, and resembled a half-ripened palm fruit encircled by monkeys as he fell. Then a voice was heard: “Fall in the field of Hari, if you desire the highest good.” The sun asked, “What is that sacred field of Hari? Tell me quickly!” It was revealed that this destiny was meant for both Vāsudeva and Śaṅkara. The sacred field of Hari is the city called Vārāṇasī. Between the rivers Varuṇā and Asi, the city descended to earth. Entering the Varuṇā, the sun submerged there as he wished, finding his destined place in that most holy of fields.