With deep reverence, the sage began his hymn, bowing to Madhusūdana, the primeval God, the great Lord who is master of the Vedas and all their branches, profound and the sovereign of all the gods. He honored the lotus-eyed One, the universal and mighty form, the very embodiment of knowledge, who appears in threefold forms and ever protects the divine hosts. His salutations continued to the Supreme Lord, the thousand-headed, thousand-eyed, and mighty-armed God who pervades and sustains the entire universe. He bowed to Viṣṇu, the eternal and victorious refuge, whose dark form shone like a rain-laden cloud and who bore the radiant discus. He offered his respects to Hari, pure and all-pervading, ancient and eternal, whose very nature is space itself, transcending both being and non-being. Addressing Acyuta, he confessed, “I see nothing apart from you; all that moves and does not move is pervaded by you alone.” As these words were spoken, a wondrous and fearsome figure emerged from the sage’s own body—a being dark as a thundercloud, with red eyes, a short stature, and a luster like a burnt pillar. This being, terrifying in aspect, stood with palms joined and asked, “O king, what shall I do?” The king, astonished, inquired, “Who are you? What is your purpose here? Why have you come, O hunter? Tell me, for I wish to know.” The hunter replied, “O king, in a previous age, during the Kali Yuga, you were a righteous king in the southern lands, renowned for your wisdom and virtue, dwelling in Janasthāna. Once, surrounded by your horses, you entered the forest for hunting. There, overcome by another desire, you struck down a sage disguised as a deer with your staff from afar, causing him to fall dead. Mistaking the sage for a deer, you rejoiced, thinking, ‘Hari has slain this deer,’ and recounted the event upon your return, though your mind was troubled. Days later, gripped by fear of the sin of Brahmin-killing, you pondered at night, ‘What must I do to atone and free myself from this sin?’ Thereafter, you meditated upon Lord Nārāyaṇa and observed a fast on the pure day of Dvādaśī. On an auspicious day, confident that Nārāyaṇa was pleased, you gave a cow in charity according to the rite. Yet, the slain sage immediately suffered a pain in his belly. The reason your Dvādaśī vow was incomplete was due to your virtuous wife, Nārāyaṇī, who, with a choked breath, affected your fate—so that for one kalpa you were born in Viṣṇu’s city. I, dwelling within your body, knew all that transpired, tormented by the terrible affliction of Brahminicide. Eventually, Viṣṇu’s attendants struck me down with clubs, but from your hair follicles, by my own power, I remained, even as you ascended to heaven. When Brahmā’s day ended and night began, at the dawn of this new creation, you were reborn in the house of King Sumanas, and I, too, was born from your hair as the ruler of Kāśmīra. Though you performed many sacrifices with abundant gifts, I was not subdued, as those rituals lacked remembrance of Viṣṇu. Now, by the power of your hymn to the lotus-eyed Lord, I abandoned my hairs, became one again, and was reborn in the form of a hunter. Having heard your hymn to the Blessed Lord, I, once embodied as sin, am now freed; a mind intent on righteousness now abides in me, O Lord.” Hearing this, the king was filled with wonder and, moved by compassion, granted the hunter a boon, saying, “Hunter, just as you have reminded me of my past birth, so, by my grace, you shall become a righteous hunter.” He further proclaimed, “Whoever hears this account of the lotus-eyed Lord shall, during pilgrimage to Puṣkara, gain the merit of a sacred bath performed by the prescribed rite.” Having spoken thus, the king ascended a splendid celestial chariot and, by supreme power, attained union with the bearer of all. At this point, the Earth addressed the sage, saying, “O tiger among sages, having heard that Raibhya attained such wealth, what did the sage himself do then? This is a great doubt of mine.” The blessed Varāha replied, “That eminent sage Raibhya, having heard of the wealth attained, journeyed to holy Gayā, the sacred place of ancestors. There, he performed offerings of rice balls with devotion to satisfy his forebears. Then, engaged in severe and difficult austerities, Raibhya’s penance became intense. At that time, a radiant great yogi, seated in a celestial chariot, appeared before him. The chariot was pure, as fine as dust and shining like the sun, and from it emerged a luminous being of atomic size. The being addressed Raibhya, ‘O steadfast one, what goal do you pursue with such austerity?’ Having spoken, the radiant man measured the earth from the sky. There, he beheld a chariot resembling five chariots, shining like the sun, pervading even the world of Brahmā. Raibhya, filled with wonder, bowed and asked, ‘Who are you? Please tell me.’ The radiant man replied, ‘I am the younger brother of Rudra, the mind-born son of Brahmā. I am known as Sanatkumāra and dwell in the world of Janas. I have come to you out of affection, O ascetic. You are truly blessed, O child, enhancer of Brahmā’s lineage.’ Raibhya, with humility, offered salutations and implored, ‘O best among yogis, show me your grace and compassion, O universal form. What is to be done here? Tell me, lion among yogis. How am I truly blessed, as you have said?