Once upon a time, the goddess was told by her father that a svayaṃvara would be held—a ceremony where she could choose her own husband from among those assembled. Whoever she selected would become her spouse. Hearing this, a handsome suitor, eager and confident, took leave of her, saying, “O beautiful-faced one, how could you abandon one so handsome and choose someone unworthy?” The goddess pondered his words, reflecting deeply on the feelings that Rudra had placed in her heart. Then, understanding the truth of her own devotion, she replied to the lord of the gods, “Let your mind not waver. I will choose you; there is nothing surprising in this.” And, to dispel any doubt he might have, she added, “If you have any uncertainty about me, O Brahmin, right here and now, O greatly fortunate one, I choose you in my heart.” Taking a garland in her hands, she stood before Śambhu, placed it upon his shoulder, and declared, “You are chosen by me.” Blessed by this act, the god, now chosen by the goddess, spoke to the ashoka tree nearby, as though reviving it with his words: “Because I have been chosen by you with this most auspicious garland, you will be freed from old age and become immortal. You will take any form you wish, bear flowers at will, grant desires, be dear to me, adorned with all ornaments and flowers, and bear all flowers and fruits. You will be able to consume all foods, taste like nectar, possess all fragrances, and be firmly beloved among the gods. You will be fearless and content in all worlds. Your hermitage, renowned as Citrakūṭa, will be greatly revered. Whoever comes here seeking merit will obtain the fruit of an aśvamedha sacrifice, and whoever dies here will go to the world of Brahma. And whoever here, endowed with discipline, properly relinquishes the life-breaths, he, united with the austerity of the Goddess, becomes the great Lord of Hosts.” Having spoken thus, the Lord, creator of the worlds and master of all beings, took leave of the daughter of Himavat and vanished. The Goddess, now alone after the departure of that divine, immeasurable-souled one, became intent from that very place and manifested herself upon a rock. Her mind remained fixed upon the great ruler of the worlds, yet she shone not, like a moonless night, dispirited at that time. Then, the daughter of the mountain heard the cry of a distressed child near the hermitage, by a lake filled with water. There, Śiva himself, the god of gods, had assumed the form of a child for the sake of play and was seized by a crocodile in the middle of the lake. Resorting to yogic illusion, the cause of the world’s manifestation, he took that form in the midst of the lake and cried out, “Save me, someone! Alas, what misery! I am but a child, my hopes and desires unfulfilled. I am going to my end in the jaws of this wicked crocodile. I do not grieve for my own body, though seized by the crocodile and greatly afflicted. But I grieve for my ascetic mother and father, who, hearing that I have been seized by the crocodile and have met my end, will be overcome with longing. Their beloved only son, their sole child, will surely give up their lives. Alas, what terrible suffering! I, a child, not yet initiated, will perish, seized by the crocodile from within.” Hearing the sound of the distressed and excellent child, the Goddess arose and went to where the brahmin boy was. She saw, with a face like the moon, the beautiful boy caught in the mouth of the crocodile, trembling and helpless. The illustrious king of crocodiles, seeing the Goddess approach, seized the boy and swiftly moved to the middle of the lake. As he was being dragged away, the radiant boy uttered a cry of distress. The Goddess, seeing the boy seized by the crocodile, spoke in anguish: “O king of crocodiles, mighty one, release this only child! O great-fanged, swift and terrible one, let him go at once!” The crocodile replied, “O Goddess, whoever first approaches me on the sixth day is my food, as ordained long ago by the creators of the worlds. This one, O highly fortunate daughter of the mountain, on the sixth day, has surely been sent to me by Brahmā. I will not release him by any means.” The Goddess invoked her supreme austerity, performed on the peak of the Himalayas, saying, “Release this child, O king of the Grahas; salutations to you.” But the crocodile cautioned her, “Do not waste your austerity, O goddess, O auspicious-faced maiden; do as I say to the best, and thus you will attain liberation.” She pleaded, “O lord of the Grahas, quickly speak what is blameless among the virtuous; let that be done without doubt, for Brahmins are dear to me.” The crocodile demanded, “Whatever austerity you have performed, whether little or supreme, grant it all to me at once; then you will attain liberation.” The Goddess replied, “All the merit I have accumulated since birth, O great Graha, I give to you; release the child, O mighty Graha.” Then the Graha blazed forth, adorned by the goddess’s austerity, and became as difficult to look upon as the midday sun. With a satisfied heart, he spoke to the goddess, sustainer of the world: “O goddess, what is this act of yours, so firmly resolved, O great-vowed one? Even the acquisition of austerity is difficult; its renunciation is not praised. You yourself should take back your austerity, O slender-waisted one, and this child as well; I am pleased by your devotion to Brahmins, so I grant you a boon.” Thus addressed by the Graha, the great-vowed goddess replied, “Even with my body, O Graha, I must protect the Brahmin with utmost care; I must regain my austerity, but the Brahmin cannot be taken again.” With firm resolve, the liberation of the child was accomplished. The highest austerity, she declared, is not to be withheld from Brahmins, who are esteemed by her as the best.