Listen to this tale, O gentle one. In the beginning, I—whose form is woven from illusion—alternately remained awake or slept, enveloped in the mysterious sleep of Māyā. Ages upon ages, thousands of cycles, passed by and continue to pass in the endless rhythm of creation and dissolution. O fair-hipped Earth, know that for five hundred days I upheld you, sustaining your very being. You seek knowledge of yourself and of what you have asked me—O illustrious one, listen. Out of wrath, I created the Lord, the mighty destroyer of demons, to restore balance. Thus, we three gods united our powers, transforming the earth into a single vast ocean. All was filled with water; nothing else could be perceived, only the endless expanse. Beneath the banyan tree, I took the form of a child through illusion and remained there, hidden and mysterious. O beautiful Earth, I restrain you; you know this well, O auspicious one. Then, by my illusion, water emerged anew, enveloping all. Entering meditation for a brief moment, I spoke words of creation and instruction. Thus addressed, the goddess took up the water-pot, preparing for the sacred tasks. From my arms arose the kṣatriyas, the warrior class; from my thighs, the vaiśyas, the merchant class, emerged. The Ādityas, Vasus, Rudras, the two Aśvins, and the hosts of Maruts—these divine beings came forth as well. O goddess, from Brahmā were born both deities and asuras, the forces of light and darkness. Sons were born to Diti, the asuras—enemies of the gods. All those twice-born, radiant like the sun, are learned in the scriptures, shining with wisdom. From the noble lineage, Nimi was born, renowned as Ātreya. There were those who subsisted on dried leaves and water, and those who dwelled in water during the harsh winter, performing severe austerities for thousands of years, O Earth. Nimi, seeing his lost son, was overcome with sorrow. After experiencing grief, he performed sacred rites there, O Mādhavi. Purified in every way, on the twelfth day of the month of Māgha, Nimi with concentrated mind contemplated the proper rites for the śrāddha. He gathered all foods and the nine kinds derived from juice, preparing offerings with reverence. After respectfully addressing the Brahmin, Nimi became pure and focused. Seven times in succession, he sat there, performing the rituals simultaneously. Seven times, he worshipped the Brahmins, O beautiful one. He offered the sacred rice ball to Śrī, reciting the name and lineage with devotion. As the day passed and the sun set, Nimi remained alone, his mind and self restrained, without hope or possessions. His seat was not too high nor too low, covered with cloth, deer skin, and kusa grass. Seated thus, he practiced yoga for purification of the self, gazing at the tip of his own nose, not glancing in any direction. Restraining his mind in me, he sat united and devoted, seeking union with the divine. When twilight ended, night arrived. Having made the offering with resolve, Nimi felt remorse afterward. The ritual, impure and performed for the sake of a son, weighed upon him. How, he wondered, could the sages, because of the curse, not burn me? Such is the tale, O gentle one, of creation, devotion, and the trials endured by Nimi in his quest for purification and fulfillment.