In the realm where all the celestial nymphs possess radiant, divine forms, an eminent Brāhmaṇa, having listened intently to my words, approached me with humility. He spoke, “O god, if you are not angered by my request, may I ask for a boon?” His desires were not for gold, nor cows, nor women, nor even the sovereignty of a kingdom. Indeed, he declared, “Even among thousands of heavens, not one brings me delight.” Hearing these words, an agreement was reached between us. It was acknowledged that even the gods themselves, caught in the powerful web of Viṣṇu’s Māyā, do not know its true nature. Moved by this divine illusion, the Brāhmaṇa spoke with gentle, sweet words, saying, “By your grace, O god, may this boon be granted to me.” I instructed him, “Go to Kubjāmra, bathe in the sacred Gaṅgā, and you shall attain knowledge of Māyā. O goddess, at Kubjāmra, this Brāhmaṇa desires to know my Māyā.” There, at that holy place, he established the proper rituals and worshipped as was fitting. Immersing himself fully in the waters of the Gaṅgā, his body was soaked through and through. But then, as he entered the cycle of birth, he found himself afflicted by the pain of being in the womb. Reflecting deeply in his heart, he thought, “Now I dwell in this Niṣāda womb, enduring these hellish states. I suffer in this mass of filth, mixed with excrement and urine, in the mire of flesh and blood. Surrounded by many diseases and overwhelmed by manifold sufferings, I wonder—where is Viṣṇu? Where am I? Where are the pure waters of the Gaṅgā?” Contemplating thus, he quickly emerged from the womb. At that very moment, a daughter was born in the house of the Niṣāda. Yet, bewildered by Viṣṇu’s powerful illusion, she was unaware of anything. Through that same illusion, she went on to bear sons and daughters, and all around, living beings were constantly killed here and there. Ensnared in the net of Māyā, the Brāhmaṇa did not know what should or should not be done. One day, taking a pot to wash soiled clothes, she stood in the waters of the Gaṅgā to bathe, entering the sacred river Jahnavi. There, a sage devoted to austerity was born again, holding staff and water-pot. The cloth and other items that had been placed there before were found, as if awaiting him, by a Brāhmaṇa still seeking to understand Viṣṇu’s Māyā as before. With a sense of shame, he donned his garment, reflecting on the practice of yoga. Through the austerities he had performed earlier, he came to realize his true self. He reproached himself, lamenting his own faults as one who had corrupted virtue: “Born in the family of a Niṣāda, I have eaten what is fit and unfit to eat, drunk what is fit and unfit to drink, and traded in things that should never be bought or sold. In the house, I have consumed both permitted and forbidden foods—of this there is no doubt. What other offense, or by whom, might have been committed?” Meanwhile, on earth, the Niṣāda, overwhelmed with anger, searched for his devoted and auspicious wife. “Where have you gone, dear one, leaving our children and me behind at home?” he cried. He asked those nearby, “Have you seen my wife, who came to the bank of the Ganges?” Indeed, all the people had gathered at the sacred Māyā-tīrtha, drawn to the holy place where the mysteries of Māyā unfold.