Dhruva, steadfast in his austerities, was approached by his mother, who pleaded with him in tears. “If you abandon this path of penance, my dear child,” she cried, “then I will not give up my life here before your eyes.” Her words were incoherent, her eyes swollen with sorrow, but Dhruva’s mind was unwavering, fixed upon Lord Viṣṇu; even as he saw her, he did not look at her, remaining absorbed in his meditation. Sensing danger, she warned him, “My child, my child, these terrible and fearsome demons, armed with weapons, are approaching in the forest. Go away from here.” With these words, she departed, leaving Dhruva alone. Soon, the night-wandering demons appeared, brandishing fierce weapons, their faces wreathed in blazing flames. Right before the prince, those demons whirled their flaming weapons and released them with a dreadful roar. Hundreds of jackals howled, their mouths aflame, seeking to terrify the boy who was ever absorbed in yoga. The demons cried out, “Let him be struck, let him be struck down! Cut him, cut him! Eat him, eat him!” Their faces twisted into the shapes of lions, camels, and crocodiles, they made terrifying noises to frighten the prince. But neither the howls of the demons, nor the jackals, nor their weapons entered the awareness of Dhruva, whose mind was absorbed in Govinda. With his mind one-pointed, seeing Viṣṇu alone as his refuge, Dhruva saw nothing else at all. When all these illusions vanished, the gods grew greatly disturbed, fearing defeat by the power of Dhruva’s penance. They gathered together and approached Hari, the source of the universe, without beginning or end, the refuge of all, distressed by Dhruva’s austerities. “O God of gods, Lord of the universe, Supreme Lord, Best of Men,” the gods prayed, “afflicted by Dhruva’s austerities, we have come to you for refuge. Just as the moon is filled day by day with portions of its digits, so too, O God, does he grow in power day and night through his austerities. O Janārdana, through the austerities of the son of Uttānapāda, we have become fearful and have come to you for refuge; please make him turn back from his austerities. We do not know whether he desires the position of Indra, or of the Sun, or wishes for the realms of the gods of wealth, water, or the moon. O Lord, be gracious to us; remove the thorn from our hearts, and turn the son of Uttānapāda away from his austerities.” The Blessed Lord replied, “He does not seek the position of Indra, nor that of Sūrya, nor lordship over the waters; whatever desire he has, O gods, I shall fulfill it entirely. Go, O gods, as you wish, to your own abodes, free from distress; I myself shall turn the boy, whose mind is absorbed in austerity, away from his penance.” Thus addressed, the gods, led by Śatakratu, bowed to Hari and departed to their own realms. The Lord, the soul of all, pleased by Dhruva’s devotion, went to him. Hari, in his four-armed form, appeared and spoke these words: “O son of Uttānapāda, blessings upon you; you have pleased me with your austerity. I have come as the giver of boons; choose a boon, O steadfast one. Because your mind is fixed in me, indifferent to worldly aims, I am pleased with you; therefore, ask for the highest boon.” Hearing these words from the Lord of gods, Dhruva opened his eyes and saw Hari, whom he had beheld in meditation, standing before him, adorned with conch, discus, mace, bow, and sword, crowned and resplendent. Dhruva bowed his head to the earth. His body thrilled, seized by awe, and he composed a hymn in his mind to the Lord of gods. But Dhruva wondered, “What shall I say in praise? By what words can I offer a hymn to him?” Confused, he sought refuge in the very Lord. Dhruva spoke: “O Lord, if you are truly pleased with my austerity, grant me this boon: let me have the ability to praise you. O Lord, you are known by the Vedas to Brahmā and others, yet your path is unknown; how can I, a mere boy, praise you? My mind is devoted to you, O Supreme Lord, and wishes to praise your feet; grant me wisdom for this purpose.” Govinda, compassionate, touched the son of Uttānapāda, who had joined his palms, with the tip of his conch. Then, with a joyful face, the prince, having bowed, praised Acyuta, the sustainer of beings. Dhruva said: “Earth, water, fire, air, ether, mind, and intellect, as well as the primordial elements and nature itself—whose form they are—I bow to him. Pure, subtle, all-pervading, transcending the primordial matter, the Supreme Person—whose form this is—I bow to him, the embodiment of qualities. He is eternal among all the elements and their attributes, among intellect and the primordial matter, and is beyond the Supreme Person. I take refuge in you, O Supreme Lord, whose form is pure, who is the soul of Brahman, the master of all worlds. Homage to that form, called Brahman, which is vast and expansive, the inner self of all, conceivable by yogis, unchanging. The Purusha has a thousand heads, a thousand eyes, a thousand feet; pervading everything, he extends beyond the earth by ten fingers’ breadth. O Supreme Purusha, you are what has been and what will be; from you arise the Virat, Svarat, Samrat, and the supreme ruler. You surpassed and supported the earth in all directions—across, above, and below; from you this universe was born, and from you it will come to be. This entire world, all beings within, dwell inside you who bear all forms; from you arise the sacrifice, the offerings, the clarified butter, and the twofold sacrificial animal. From you were born the Rig and Sama hymns, from you the meters arose; from you the Yajur verses were generated, and from you, horses were given in a single act.” Thus Dhruva, blessed by the Lord, praised the Supreme Being with heartfelt devotion, his mind illumined by divine touch.