To the Supreme, who is ever the source and seat of all the senses and their powers, who manifests as sound and the other objects of perception, to Kṛṣṇa, the creator of all, the sages offered their reverent salutations. They bowed to Hari, the root of all knowledge, the origin of the universe, who as both the imperishable and perishable, receives all sensory objects, and is the foundation of all experience. They honored him who bestows consciousness upon all that is grasped by the senses, who is the very form of the inner faculty, the soul pervading the universe. They bowed to that One in whom the entire universe abides, from whom it arises, and into whom it ultimately dissolves; he is the very abode of dissolution, his nature being Prakṛti itself. To the pure One, who is perceived through delusion as possessing qualities though he is truly beyond all qualities, to the divine Supreme Person, the very form of the Self, they offered their worship. They bowed to the highest Brahman—unchanging, unborn, pure, without qualities or blemish, the supreme abode of Viṣṇu. They praised him who is neither long nor short, neither gross nor subtle, neither dark nor red, without affection, shadow, or form, unattached and bodiless. He is without space, contact, scent, or taste, without eyes or ears, unmoving, without speech, hands, or pride. He has no name or measure, no pleasure or brilliance, no cause, fearless, free from delusion, sleep, decay, or death. He is without passion or sound, immortal, unshaken, uncovered—he is that which exists before and after, the supreme abode of Viṣṇu. Endowed with supreme lordship, pervading all beings without doubt, his essence is beyond the reach of tongue or eye; to that abode of Viṣṇu, they bowed. Thus, Parāśara recounted, the Pracetas, immersed in these meditations and praises, performed their austerities for ten thousand years within the vast ocean. At last, pleased by their devotion, the blessed Hari appeared before them in the waters, his form radiant with the deep blue hue of a freshly blossomed lotus. Seated upon Garuḍa, the king of birds, he shone resplendently. The Pracetas, overwhelmed with devotion, bowed low, their heads touching the ground. The Lord, smiling graciously, addressed them: “Choose the boon you desire; I am present before you, ready to grant your wish.” With humility, the Pracetas replied, “O bestower of boons, as instructed by our father, grant us that which will enable the growth and prosperity of living beings.” The Lord, granting their request, vanished from their sight, and the Pracetas emerged from the waters. Meanwhile, during their deep austerities, the trees upon the earth, left unrestrained, spread everywhere, covering the land and causing a decline in other living beings. The winds could not blow, and the sky itself was blocked by the dense growth; for ten thousand years, creatures were unable to move. Upon emerging, the Pracetas saw this situation and, filled with righteous anger, released wind and fire from their mouths. The wind uprooted the trees, and the fierce fire consumed them, bringing about their destruction. Witnessing the devastation, with only a few trees and branches left, King Soma, the lord of beings, approached the Pracetas and spoke to pacify them. “Restrain your anger, O noble ones, and hear my words. I shall bring peace between you and the trees. Here is a maiden, radiant and beautiful, a jewel among the daughters of the trees. I have raised her, knowing what was to come. She is called Māriṣā, born of the trees. Let this illustrious woman be your wife; through her, your lineage will flourish. By the union of your power and half of mine, a wise son named Dakṣa, lord of creatures, will be born of her. Endowed with a portion of me and composed of your energy, he will shine with the brilliance of fire and will nurture the world’s creatures.” King Soma then recounted a tale from the past: There was once a sage named Kaṇḍu, foremost among those learned in the Vedas, who performed intense austerity on the pleasant banks of the Gomati river. To disturb his penance, Indra sent the celestial nymph Pramlocā, whose smile was pure and enchanting. She began to agitate the sage’s mind, and, captivated by her, he spent more than a hundred years with her in the valley of Mandara, absorbed in sensual pleasures. At one point, Pramlocā said, “O blessed one, I wish to return to heaven. Kindly grant me leave.” The sage, deeply attached, replied, “Stay a few more days, gentle one.” Thus, she remained, and together they enjoyed each other’s company for another full hundred years. Again she asked for permission to depart, and he answered, “So be it—but stay a little longer.” When yet another hundred years had passed, the beautiful nymph smiled lovingly and repeated her request to return to the gods. The sage embraced her and pleaded, “Stay here a moment longer, lovely one, for you will be gone for a long time.” Heedful of his wishes, she remained by his side for nearly two hundred more years, playing and delighting with him. Each time she asked to leave, the sage would gently request her to stay. Out of kindness and out of fear of his possible curse, the gentle Pramlocā, knowing the pain of separation, did not leave his side. Thus, as the great sage enjoyed her day and night, his mind, seized by love, knew ever-new delight in her company.