Endowed with the quality of supreme lordship, Vishnu pervades all beings, beyond the reach of tongue or eye. To that abode of Vishnu, the Pracetas offered their reverent salutations. Śrī Parāśara continued: With these meditations and praises, the Pracetas undertook austerities for ten thousand years, immersing themselves in the vast ocean. At last, their devotion pleased the blessed Hari, who appeared before them in the waters, his complexion radiant like the petals of a newly blossomed blue lotus. Seated upon Garuda, the king of birds, Vishnu revealed himself, and the Pracetas bowed low, their heads heavy with the intensity of their devotion. The Lord spoke kindly: “Choose the boon you desire; I am here, gracious and ready to grant blessings.” The Pracetas, honoring the bestower of boons, replied, “As instructed by our father, grant us that which causes the growth of beings.” Vishnu granted their wish and, having bestowed the boon, vanished from their sight. The Pracetas then emerged from the waters. While the Pracetas were absorbed in their austerities, the trees on earth, left unprotected, spread unchecked, leading to a decline in living beings. For ten thousand years, the winds could not blow, and the sky was blocked by the thick growth; creatures were unable to move. Seeing this upon their emergence, the Pracetas were angered, and from their mouths released fierce winds and fire. The wind uprooted the trees, and the fire consumed them, bringing destruction to the forests. Witnessing the devastation, with only a few branches remaining, King Soma, lord of beings, approached the Pracetas and spoke: “Restrain your anger, O kings, and listen to my words. I will make peace between you and the trees. This maiden, radiant and beautiful, is a jewel among the daughters of the trees; I raised her together with the cows, foreseeing what would come. She is called Māriṣā, created from the trees. Let this illustrious woman be your wife; surely, she will increase your lineage. By the union of your power and half of mine, a wise son named Dakṣa, lord of creatures, will be born from her. Endowed with a portion of me and composed of your energy, he will possess brilliance equal to fire and will nurture the creatures.” Soma then recounted a tale: There was once a sage named Kaṇḍu, foremost among Vedic scholars, who performed supreme austerity on the pleasant bank of the Gomati river. To disturb him, Indra sent the celestial nymph Pramlocā, whose smile was pure. She began to agitate the sage, and he, distracted by her, spent more than a hundred years with her in the valley of Mandara, absorbed in sensual pleasures. After some time, Pramlocā said, “O blessed one, I wish to go to heaven; O gracious sage, grant me permission.” The sage, deeply attached, replied, “Stay for a few more days, O gentle one.” Thus, she remained with him, enjoying sensual pleasures for another full hundred years. Again, she asked, “Grant me permission, O revered one, I wish to go to the abode of the gods.” He responded, “So be it,” but once more requested, “Stay a little longer.” When another hundred years had passed, the beautiful Pramlocā said with a loving smile, “O sage, I wish to go to heaven.” The sage embraced her and said, “Stay here for a moment, O lovely one; you will be gone for a long time.” She continued to remain with him, playing and delighting, for nearly two hundred more years. Whenever she asked to depart for the abode of the gods, the sage, addressed by the slender woman, replied, “Stay a little longer.” Out of fear of his curse and kindness, Pramlocā, knowing the pain of separation, did not leave him. The great sage, enjoying her day and night, found ever-new delight as his mind was seized by love. One day, compelled by urgency, the sage left his hermitage, and Pramlocā asked, “Where are you going?” He replied, “The day has turned, O auspicious one; I must perform the evening worship, else my rites would be neglected.” Smiling sweetly, she said, “O knower of all dharma, has your day truly turned already today? For many years, O best of Brahmins, your day has turned; this is not surprising—let it be told whose wonder it is.” The sage said, “You came here in the morning, O slender-waisted one, to this auspicious riverbank; I saw you, and you entered my hermitage. And now the evening twilight has come, the day has passed. Tell me, what is the reason for this jest, if your intention is sincere?” Pramlocā replied, “O Brahmin, I came at dawn—this is true, not false; but for you, many hundreds of years have passed.” Soma continued: Filled with fear, the sage asked Pramlocā, whose eyes were like lotus petals, “Tell me, timid one, how much time has passed while I was with you?” Pramlocā answered, “Seven hundred and nine years have passed for you, and six months, and three more days have also elapsed.” The sage, bewildered, asked, “Speak the truth, timid one—is this a jest, or is it so, O auspicious lady? I thought I had spent only one day here with you.