Immersing himself fully in the sacred waters of the Ganga, his entire body drenched, the soul found himself suddenly bound within the confines of a Niṣāda womb. There, tormented by the excruciating pain of gestation, he began to reflect deeply within his heart. He thought, “Here I am, dwelling in this Niṣāda womb, plunged into these hellish states of existence. I suffer in this mass of filth, confined to this body, mixed with excrement and urine, enmeshed in the mire of flesh and blood. Surrounded by countless diseases and overwhelmed by manifold sufferings, I am lost. Where is Viṣṇu now? Where am I? Where are the pure, liberating waters of the Ganga?” As these thoughts churned in his mind, he swiftly emerged from the womb. At that very moment, a daughter was born into the house of the Niṣāda. But, bewildered by the power of Viṣṇu’s illusion, she remained unaware of her true self or surroundings. Under this enchantment, she gave birth to sons and daughters, and in that place, living beings were constantly killed here and there. Entangled in the net of illusion, neither she nor those around her knew what should or should not be done. One day, she took a pot with the intention of washing soiled clothes. She stood at the waters of the Ganga to bathe, entering the sacred river Jahnavi. There, in that very spot, a sage devoted to austerity was born again, holding his staff and water-pot. The cloth and other items that had been shown and placed there before were found once more by a brāhmaṇa, eager to understand Viṣṇu’s illusion as before. With a sense of shame, the ascetic donned his garment, pondering deeply upon the practice of yoga. Through the power of the austerities he had performed, realization dawned within him. He began to reproach himself, condemning his own faults as one who had corrupted his virtue. “Born in the family of a Niṣāda, I have eaten both what is fit and unfit to eat. I have drunk what is fit and unfit to drink, and have traded in things that should not be bought or sold. In my house, I have consumed both permitted and forbidden foods—of this there is no doubt. Now I wonder what other offense, or by whom, might have been committed.” Meanwhile, on earth, the Niṣāda, overcome with anger and worry, began searching for his wife, who was devoted to him and of auspicious appearance. “Where have you gone, dear one, leaving behind our children and me at home?” he cried. “Have you seen my wife, who came to the bank of the Ganges?” he asked those he met, for all the people had assembled at the sacred Māyā-tīrtha. There, on the riverbank, her garment and water pot still remained. It was then revealed that as she was bathing, the ascetic woman had been seized by a crocodile. “Never have I spoken a harsh or unpleasant word to her,” the Niṣāda lamented. “Or perhaps she was devoured by a piśāca or by evil spirits. What sinful deed did I commit in the past, what terrible act? Come to me, O fortunate and beloved one, you who always follow my heart. Look upon me, O fair-hipped one, and upon these three sons of mine, still but young children. My sons are weeping here, these children who are so dear to you. Surely, you will know my hunger and thirst.” Thus, the Niṣāda wandered here and there, lamenting in grief, his heart heavy with longing and sorrow.