O best of twice-born, it is told that, long ago, a dialogue took place between two men at odds—a Brahmin named Atreya, a sage steadfast in Vedic study. Atreya lived in constant observance of dawn baths and the three daily rituals. On one occasion, a man named Samyamana journeyed to the blessed and auspicious Bhagirathi river, deep in the forest of Dharma, to bathe. There, a keen-sighted hunter named Nishthuraka appeared, fierce as death, bow in hand. He found a great herd of deer resting by the river and, intent on the hunt, fitted an arrow to his bow to kill them. Witnessing this, the Brahmin Samyamana tried to restrain him, saying, "Do not, good man, commit this act of taking life." Nishthuraka, hearing these words, smiled slightly and replied, "I do not harm a separate soul, O best of twice-born. The Supreme Self, the Blessed Lord, Himself plays with all beings. Oxen and clay are made by Him—so it is said, and there is no doubt. O Brahmin, this notion always arises—ignorance belongs to those seeking liberation. This world, engaged in the journey of life-breath, is set in motion. The word 'I' in this context does not attain goodness." Samyamana, amazed by the hunter's words, questioned him further: "What is this that you say, O blessed one? Your words are direct and reasoned." The hunter, who understood righteousness, then asked the Brahmin, "Why did you place an iron net and fire beneath it?" He had kindled a fire and invited the Brahmin to set the pile of wood ablaze. Samyamana, using his mouth, ignited the fire and then ceased. When the fire was blazing, the Brahmin separated thousands of iron nets, each with its own mesh, though the fire remained in one place. The hunter then said, "O great sage, take one flame, by which I will destroy the rest here." He quickly threw a pot filled with water onto the sacrificial fire, extinguishing it entirely. Turning to the Brahmin, the hunter said, "O revered one, give me that flame which you took from the fire, so that I may cook the meat I have brought." The Brahmin looked at the iron net, but found no fire—it had perished at the root and was gone. Embarrassed and silent, the Brahmin stood as the hunter spoke: "In this fire, O noble one, many branches blaze forth; when the root is destroyed, the fire is extinguished. Tell me, O Brahmin, if this is so." The hunter continued, "The Self, abiding in its own nature, is the refuge of all beings. This creation of the world arises from that Self, and in that, the world exists. By the rule of accepting alms, whatever vow is prescribed, if one unites it with the Self and performs it, one does not fall." As the hunter spoke these words, O best of kings, a shower of flowers fell from the sky upon him. Splendid, divine aerial chariots appeared, adorned with many jewels and able to go anywhere at will. Among them, the Brahmin saw the harsh and greedy one standing among all, and there he beheld the supreme being of manifold forms. Perfected in non-duality, possessing many bodies through yoga, the Brahmin, filled with joy at the sight, returned to his hermitage. Thus, O Raibhya, even while performing actions proper to one’s own kind, liberation is attained by the wise. Raibhya and Vasu, having resolved their doubts, departed from the abode of Brihaspati and returned to their own hermitages. Therefore, O king of kings, you too should worship Lord Narayana, seeing Him as non-different and abiding within your own body. Hearing the words of Kapila, mighty king Aśvaśiras summoned his eldest son, the blessed Sthūlaśiras, installed him in his kingdom, and then departed for the forest. There, at the holy place called Naimisha, he worshipped the divine form of sacrifice—his guru—through austerity and hymns addressed to the embodiment of sacrifice. The Earth then asked, "How did the king compose a hymn of praise to Nārāyaṇa, the embodiment of sacrifice? O greatly fortunate one, tell me again about this praise." Śrī Varāha replied: "I bow to the one worshipped in sacrifice, the lord of the gods, of Bhava, of the Sun, Fire, Soma, the king, and the Maruts—to Hari, the embodiment of sacrifice, of many forms, I bow. I bow to the eternal sacrificial man, with splendid tusks, with the Moon and Sun as eyes, whose belly is the two solstices of the year, whose body hair is darbha grass, whose power is fuel. The space between heaven and earth is pervaded by his body, and all directions as well; to that praiseworthy Lord, the source of the worlds, to Janārdana, I bow always. For the victory or defeat of gods and demons, in every age, he, the beginningless Supreme Lord, creates his own primordial body—to that Lord, the embodiment of sacrifice, I bow. You, of fierce energy formed of illusion, bear the discus shining with spotless rays for victory; this four-armed one holds the mace, sword, and bow Śārṅga—to that embodiment of sacrifice I bow always. At times he bears a thousand heads, at times his body is as great as a mighty mountain, at times as minute as a speck of dust—to that eternal sacrificial man I always bow. He who, four-faced, creates all, who holds the wheel for protection, who for destruction is like the fire at the end of time—to that embodiment of sacrifice I bow always. He who is worshipped for the movement of the wheel of worldly existence, who is all-pervading and ancient, who is meditated upon by yogis and is immeasurable—to that embodiment of sacrifice I bow always. I have truly offered my mind to you; when your true nature is clearly seen in your own form, my mind remains steady, knowing nothing else exists—may you preserve my pure devotion." Thus addressed, a radiance like the flame of fire appeared before the king. He entered into that radiance, having fixed his mind, and attained dissolution in the embodiment of sacrifice. Then the Earth asked, "After Vasu and the excellent Raibhya attained the removal of doubt, O god, what did the two do, having heard the words of Āṅgirasa?