The knower of yoga, wise and perceptive, pondered deeply upon the troubling increase of the night-dweller’s power. All around, those devoted to the worship of gods and brahmins, steadfast in righteousness, continued their sacred duties. Yet the sun, radiant and mighty, turned his thoughts to how this growing darkness might be destroyed. He knew that straying from one’s own duty was the ruin of all righteousness. Guided by his rays, the sun revealed the city of the rakshasas, just as he desired. Suddenly, he was cast down from the sky, falling like a planet whose merit had run its course. As he descended, he cried out loudly, “Salutations to Bhava, to Sharva!” All who witnessed the fall exclaimed in distress, “Alas! The devotee of Hara is falling!” Hearing the cries, the sun began to wonder, “By whom am I being cast down to earth?” When the city of the rakshasas was cast down, the Three-eyed One—Shiva—became enraged. The moment the sun was seen by Shiva, he fell swiftly from the heavens, released from restraint like a stone. He plunged through the atmosphere, surrounded by kinnaras and charanas, resembling a half-ripened palm fruit encircled by monkeys. A voice called out, “Fall in the field of Hari, if you desire the highest good.” The sun asked eagerly, “What is that sacred field of Hari? Tell me quickly!” It was revealed that this destiny was for both Vāsudeva and Śaṅkara. The sacred field of Hari was none other than the city of Vārāṇasī, nestled between the Varuṇā and Asi rivers. Descending there, he entered the Varuṇā river and submerged himself as he wished. Afflicted by the fiery gaze of the Three-eyed One, the sun wandered like a blazing wheel. Witnessing these events, nāgas, vidyādharas, birds, and apsarases all hurried to the abode of Brahmā to inform him. The delightful Mandara, dwelling of Maheśvara, was brought forth because of the sun’s plight. After propitiating for the sun’s sake, Mandara was brought to Vārāṇasī. Named “Lola,” it was then placed upon the chariot once again. With his kin and his city, the sun was restored to the heavens. Having bowed to Keśava, the divine lord, Vairāja returned to his own home. Though cast down to earth by Bhava’s gaze, the sun was not burned up. By the grace of the self-born one, the lord of night-wanderers was set once more in the sky, with his city and kin. O sage, you now ask how the worship of the two great gods, Hari and Īśa, is performed. For the worship of Śarva and the wise Keśava, the lord of the gods—husband of Śrī—rests upon the coils of the serpent. The mothers of the gods, too, one after another, have fallen asleep. With all things in their proper order, one should first honor Janārdana. On the eleventh day, the Lord of the universe is to be laid to rest. Having donned the sacred thread and properly worshipped the twice-born, clad in yellow garments and having received blessings, he should be led to sleep. He is placed upon a bed adorned with fragrant kadamba flowers, with a golden lotus fashioned and a soft, well-spread cushion, completing the sacred ritual of worship and rest for the divine.