When the king of mountains approached me, O twice-born sages, and spoke his heartfelt wish, I, moved by his devotion, granted him the boon he silently desired. I assured him, “O lord of mountains, through your great austerity, a daughter will be born to you. By her power, your fame will shine everywhere, celebrated throughout the worlds. She will be honored by all the gods, surrounded by countless holy places, purified by merit, and revered by the gods in every realm. She will be your eldest child, and after her, others will follow, O auspicious one.” In the course of time, the lord of mountains, through his wife Menā, begot three daughters: Aparnā, Ekaparṇā, and Ekapāṭalā. Among them were Nyagrodhā, Ekaparṇā, and Pāṭalā; similarly, Ekapāṭalā was born. These maidens undertook extraordinary austerities. Ekaparṇā, for a hundred thousand years—a feat difficult even for gods and demons—lived on a single leaf, practicing severe penance. Ekapāṭalā, too, subsisted only on a single pāṭala leaf, and after a thousand years, all the sisters maintained such discipline. Yet Aparnā, steadfast in her resolve, took no food at all. Her mother, distressed by affection, pleaded with her: “Child, eat something.” But Aparnā, resolute in her practice, refused. Because she would not eat even a leaf, she became renowned in all the worlds as Aparnā—one who does not take even a leaf—and was worshipped by the gods. Thus is the account of the three maidens, whose austerities will endure as long as the earth supports all that moves and is still. Their bodies, shaped by penance, shone with youth and fortune, and they embraced the path of yoga. They are the mothers of the worlds, perpetual celibates, sustaining all creation by the power of their austerity. Of these, Umā—eldest, radiant, and endowed with great yogic might—was the most distinguished. She approached Mahādeva himself. Ekaparṇā bore a son named Devala, while Ekapāṭalā bore the sage Jaigīṣavya of Alarka. To Ekapāṭalā, two sons, Śaṅkha and Likhita, were born—not from the womb. And splendid Umā, whom I have praised, was born as well. By her rigorous austerity, Umā’s power blazed forth, threatening to consume the three worlds. Seeing this, I addressed her: “O radiant goddess, why do you torment the worlds with such penance? All this creation arose through you; do not destroy it with your power. You sustain all these worlds with your own splendor. Tell me, O Mother of the Universe, what do you desire now?” Umā replied, “O Grandfather, you already know the purpose of my austerity. Why then do you ask me again?” I said to her, “O auspicious one, for the very purpose you perform this penance, he himself will come to you and choose you. Śarva alone is the supreme lord, the lord of all lords; we are always under his command, O gracious one, his servants indeed. That god of gods, the supreme lord, self-born, will come to you, O goddess of noble form, whose appearance is unique and manifold. Maheśvara, dweller of the mountain realm, lord of all that moves and is still, the first and immeasurable, shining like the moon and Indra, assuming a fearsome form, will come to you.” Then the gods themselves spoke to her, saying, “O beautiful goddess, soon Dhūrjaṭi—blue and red in hue—will come to you. He, the lord of the gods, will become your husband; do not continue your austerity.” With these words, the gods and sages, after circumambulating the daughter of the mountain, departed and became invisible. Umā ceased her recitation of hymns and remained in her auspicious hermitage. One day, as she stood near an aśoka tree at her hermitage’s entrance, Hara—the remover of the gods’ distress, adorned with the crescent moon—arrived. He had assumed a deformed guise: short, with small arms, a broken nose, hunchbacked, and with tawny hair at the ends. With a distorted face, he spoke, “O goddess, I choose you as my bride.” But Umā, accomplished in yoga, recognized Śaṅkara beneath the disguise. With a pure heart and compassion, she welcomed him, offering water for washing his feet, for hospitality, and a honeyed beverage. She worshipped him with fragrant flowers, for she was devoted to brahmins and beloved by them. She said, “O lord, I am not independent; my father is the head of our household. He alone has authority to give me away. I am a maiden, O best of brahmins. Go and ask my father, the imperishable lord of mountains. If he gives me to you, O Brahmin, then that is proper for me.” Then that blessed god, still in his altered form, approached the king of mountains and said, “O king of mountains, give me your daughter.” Recognizing, even in this strange form, the imperishable Rudra, the king, fearful and troubled by the threat of a curse, replied, “O Lord, I do not disregard brahmins or gods on earth. But listen, O wise one, to what was decided before: a svayaṃvara will be held for my daughter, with brahmins honored. Whomever she chooses herself there, he will be her husband.” Hearing the words of the mountain king, the Lord, bull-bannered and of great mind, went to the goddess and spoke to her.