He spoke with deep concern about the dire predicament that had befallen the world—a supreme calamity that now threatened all existence. “O god,” he said, “do you not know the cause of our fear?” He explained that the Daityas, empowered by a boon once granted, had seized everything. “I have told you all, O Lord, including the wicked deeds of Bāṣkali. Now, act without delay, O Father, Grandfather of us all. Consider, O Lord of gods, what must be done here for the peace of the world.” As the gods looked on helplessly, the sacred rites—Vedic, Smārta, and others—were left unperformed, and with each passing day their losses only grew. “We speak to you openly, O Lord, not from self-interest but from the truth, just as any person would speak for his own sake, yet always free from hidden motives. If one receives a favor and does not repay it a thousandfold, his understanding is wasted. Worse yet, if someone, scorched by another’s kindness, acts shamelessly and wickedly in return, even the hells are too good for him. True goodness is not just reciprocation; those focused solely on gain do not act in this way.” He continued, “For one who finds no place in this suffering world, even if his heart is torn a hundred times, he finds no satisfaction. Wherever I am destined to go, lift us up from this submersion—tell us, O Lord, the means by which his energy may be set in motion. As I have seen and described, the world is now devoid of study and sacrificial utterance; festivals and auspicious rites have ceased. The pursuit of learning is abandoned, all dealings are given up, law is forsaken, and only the breath of life remains. The world has come to grief and now faces an even worse fate. We are exhausted.” Then Brahma spoke: “I know of Bāṣkali, who is now proud because of the boon he has received. I consider him invincible to you, but he may be attainable only by Viṣṇu.” With these words, Brahma restrained himself and entered into deep meditation. From his absorption, the four-armed Lord appeared. As Brahma contemplated him, Viṣṇu arrived in a moment, witnessed by all. Viṣṇu addressed Brahma, “O Brahma, cease your meditation, for it is your devotion that has drawn me here. I have come for the very purpose for which you called me.” Brahma replied with gratitude, “This is a great favor, O Lord, your appearance here. Who else but you would be so concerned for the world? My creation was for the world’s sake, but this world is truly yours, so it is no wonder you have come. You must protect the world, while only Rudra is to dissolve it. Now, O Viṣṇu, the kingdom of the three worlds—all that moves and is unmoving—has been seized by Bāṣkali. Help your servant, Keśava, by granting a mantra.” Vāsudeva responded, “By your boon, Bāṣkali is invulnerable, but he must be overcome by intelligence. This demon must be bound here.” Viṣṇu continued, “I shall become Vāmana, the destroyer of the Dānavas. Let this one go with me to Bāṣkala’s abode. Once there, let him ask on my behalf for three steps of land from Bāṣkali, the king, for Vāmana the Brāhmaṇa. Grant this, O most fortunate one. Indra has said the lord of the Dānavas would give even his own life. Once the gift is received, bind him and with effort, make him dwell in the netherworld. I shall also assume the form of a boar for the destruction of that wicked one—there is no doubt. Go now, O Indra, with haste.” Having spoken, Viṣṇu ceased and became invisible. After some time, he entered the womb of Aditi. At that moment, terrible omens appeared in many forms, for Viṣṇu, the support of the world, had entered her womb. Yet, alongside these, an auspicious and powerful omen occurred: a fragrant, delightful breeze of mālatī flowers began to blow. When the appointed time arrived, as ordained, the compassionate Lord, radiant as the rising moon and conch, with pure and sparse hair, took birth as the son of Aditi, for the welfare of all beings and the hosts of gods. As Viṣṇu descended, the faces of the perfected ones, gods, and asuras became radiant; the dust was subdued by the winds, and even the day shone brightly as Viṣṇu was born. Aditi, the queen, moved slowly, bearing the divine child in her womb—her gait gentle, her face weary and pale, weighed down by the burden of the deeply entered embryo. When Nārāyaṇa truly entered her womb, by the union of past and future, all beings at that time attained their unfulfilled desires without effort. The wind blew gently, the rains fell, the mountains arose, and everywhere truth prevailed. As dust was released into the sky, darkness gradually vanished. Yet, even as Viṣṇu was within the womb, the intention of enmity arose. “Observe, O king,” the narrator said, “the order of the goddess, the mother of the gods. Why recount it in sequence? I shall cross the three worlds. I shall make Bāṣkali, lord of the Dānavas, dwell in the netherworld and to Indra I have given wealth and beauty.” “For the destruction of the Dānavas, I alone am able. I shall hurl showers of arrows and many chariot-wheels, and various groups of maces, for their destruction. The gods will dwell in heaven, and the Dānavas in the lower worlds.