The Supreme Lord, overflowing with creative power, filled the realms with life. Upon the earth, beings of four kinds took form; the atmosphere was populated with creatures moving through the sky, while the heaven-world became home to celestial beings. The Lord extended his creation further, filling Maharloka with these beings and with the sages Sanaka and his brothers. Janaloka was graced with the Vairājas, radiant denizens of that lofty plane. Tapoloka, the realm of austerity, was filled with those devoted to penance, and Satyaloka, the highest world, shone with gods free from death. Having thus fashioned the worlds, the blessed originator of all beings, the Supreme Lord, remained awake within his own vast cycle of time, known as a kalpa. During this period, the earth-world, atmosphere-world, and heaven-world came into existence—there could be no doubt about their birth. Yet, when the Lord entered his cosmic sleep at the end of the kalpa, this was his night; the three worlds withdrew, becoming dormant, as if submerged in dissolution. When that night had passed, the lotus-eyed Lord awakened. He sought out the Vedas and their mothers in all four directions, pondering deeply, yet could not find them. Desiring to reestablish the order and path of the worlds, but confused by the lingering sleep of ignorance, he reflected, “Here, the Vedas are not present.” Observing that they had merged into his own form as water, the Lord resolved to recover them. He thought to become a fish and entered the waters. As he meditated, a great fish appeared instantly. The Lord entered the water, stirring it all around. As he did so, the waters became radiant, illuminated by the form of the great earth-bearer. The best of gods, now in the form of a fish, entered the vast ocean, and the gods praised Hari, the earth-holder, with hymns. They offered their homage: “O you who are beyond the reach of Vedas and reasoning, we bow to Nārāyaṇa in the form of a fish; to you, melodious one, universal form; to you, bearer of knowledge and fearlessness. Homage to you, whose forms are the moon, sun, and winds, who dwell within all waters, with beautiful eyes. O Viṣṇu, we seek your refuge—protect us, leaving aside your fish form. By you, O infinite one, the universe is pervaded; what else exists here apart from you? You are not different from this; from you we seek refuge. The sky, the moon, the fire, and the mind are forms of your ancient body, O lotus-eyed one. Forgive us, O auspicious one, even if we lack devotion—for by you, O god of gods, the world shines. This divine form of yours appears contradictory—most fearsome, yet with a sweet voice, like a mountain. O ancient Lord of gods, abode of the world, grant us peace, O unfailing one, O intensely radiant one. We have all sought your refuge; out of fear, we behold this form of yours. In the world, apart from you, nothing ancient embodied exists.” Praised thus, the Lord abiding in the waters assumed his form and recovered the Vedas, along with the Upaniṣads and scriptures. So long as the Blessed Lord remains in his own form, the world exists; when he is immutable, all dissolves into him, but when he is mutable, the world grows. Śrī Varāha continued: “Thus, having created all the worlds, the Lord, sustainer of beings, ceased, and creation flourished upon the earth. When creation had grown, all the ancient gods worshipped the Person called Nārāyaṇa with various sacrifices. Across all islands and regions, the gods, full of faith, performed great sacrificial rites to Hari, wishing to please him and make him their object of worship. For many thousands of years, they sought to please him. At last, the god, satisfied, appeared before them. He stood before them with many arms, bellies, mouths, and eyes, towering like the peak of a great mountain. The Lord of gods spoke: ‘Tell me, what is to be done? Speak your wish, best of gods, your boon.’ The gods replied: ‘Conquer, O Govinda of great power! By your boon, O Lord, we gods exist. Even in the world of men, apart from you, no one else exists. The Rudras, Ādityas, Vasus, Sādhyas, Viśvedevas, Aśvins, Maruts, and the ancestors—all have sought refuge in you, O universal form; make us worthy of worship here.’ Thus addressed, Hari, the great lord of yoga, replied, ‘I will make you all worthy of worship,’ and then vanished. The gods returned to their own eternal abodes, and the Supreme Lord, praised by them, assumed a threefold nature. He became the threefold sustainer of the world. Maheśvara worshipped the sattvic, rajasic, and tamasic forms, each established in three ways. With the sattvic aspect, one should recite the Vedas and worship the gods with sacrifice; Keśava, having become a part of himself, also acts through the rajasic aspect. He, fierce in the form of time and bearing a trident, worshipped his own rajasic form with devotion; and with the tamasic disposition, he abided among the asuras. Thus, Maheśvara, sustaining the world in threefold manner, worshipped the gods, and the world itself became threefold. He was established as Brahmā, Viṣṇu, and Maheśa, and that god Nārāyaṇa, the Lord, was supreme in the Kṛta Yuga. In the Tretā Yuga, he appeared as Rudra; in the Dvāpara, as the embodiment of sacrifice; in the Kali Yuga, Nārāyaṇa manifested in many forms. “O beautiful-hipped lady,” Varāha continued, “listen as I recount in full the deeds of Viṣṇu, the one of great splendor, as they were first performed—hear them all as I narrate, O fair one. In the Kṛta Yuga, there was a mighty king named Supratīka. He had two wives, both equally charming and delightful: Vidyutprabhā and Kāntimatī. Despite his earnest efforts, the king did not obtain a son from either of them. At that time, he pleased the foremost sage, Ātreya, pure of sin, by proper rites on the excellent mountain Citrakūṭa. The sage, gratified by the king’s devoted service and longing for a boon, was moved to grant it, and so the sage, son of Atri, spoke. Meanwhile, mighty Indra arrived there as well, riding his elephant and surrounded by the armies of the gods, remaining silent.