Nandī, the devoted attendant of Shiva, gathered the herds of cows and led them onward, making his way to the sacred field of Hari. As Nandī advanced, trident in hand, the cows moved before him, guiding the path. Because the gods themselves wandered in this place, it came to be known as Devāṭa, the divine field. There, the Lord of the gods—Mahādeva, bearing his trident—bestows fearlessness upon his devotees. In this very place, Mahādeva is honored as belonging to the illustrious Sālaṅkāyana lineage, and he, the great yogi, grants to seekers the supreme attainment of yoga. From the Trijaṭās, three wondrous streams sprang forth, creating a sacred site renowned for its triple flow. This holy place of the three streams emerged from the Trijaṭās, and in the field called Śālagrāma, those who worship Hari with devotion—having bathed at the site of the three streams and satisfied both their ancestors and the gods—receive great merit. On the eastern side of this field lies the revered Haṃsa-tīrtha, the ‘sanctuary of the swans.’ In times past, on the night sacred to Shiva, during the grand festival when devotees gathered for worship, a curious event occurred. Crows, drawn by hunger, swooped down toward an offering set out for the gods. In their struggle over the food, two of them, locked in combat, fell into a pit. Miraculously, from that pit, they emerged transformed—no longer crows, but two radiant swans, shining with the luster of the moon. From that time forth, O noble one, the site has been called Haṃsa-tīrtha, the holy place of the swans. Before this wondrous transformation, the place had been created by a Yaksha and was known as Yaksha-tirtha. There, a devotee wholly dedicated to Shiva once relinquished his life, and the sanctity of the place was magnified by the greatness of the great yogi. Such is the power of this sacred field, whose secrets I have now revealed to you, O Earth. Of all mysteries, this is the highest—what more would you wish to hear? Now, let me recount the glory of the Śālagrāma field and the sage Sālaṅkāyana, O Lord of gods. The sage Sālaṅkāyana, performing rigorous austerities as prescribed by tradition, came upon an excellent sala tree—unbroken, vast, and of incomparable beauty, its blossoms radiant. Weary from his quest for knowledge, the great sage was struck by the wonder of this tree and paused beneath its shade. To the east of the sala tree, Sālaṅkāyana stood facing west, steadfast in his discipline. There, on the eastern side of the tree, the sage caught sight of me—Sri Varaha—in all my radiance. Awestruck, he slowly opened his eyes, unable to turn away from my brilliance. I moved then to the southern side of the tree, and the sage, standing before me, began to praise me with words dear to my heart. Receiving his worshipful hymns, I moved to the west, where the sage honored me with mantras from the Yajur Veda. There too, he praised me with verses from the Sama Veda. Filled with supreme joy at his devotion, I addressed the sage, pleased with his austerity and the sincerity of his praise. Thus spoken to, the steadfast Sālaṅkāyana replied to me, saying, “I wander over the whole earth, with its mountains, forests, and groves…” and so began a new chapter of divine dialogue.