Having spoken in this way, overwhelmed by the agony of separation, the daughter of Citraratha was utterly distraught. Clinging to her beloved’s lifeless body, she stood there, unconscious, her heart broken by grief. As dawn arrived, she slowly regained her senses, only to be seized once more by sorrow; again and again, she wept bitterly, her tears unceasing. In her anguish, Mālāvatī cried out, “You alone are the protector of all worlds—how is it, Lord, that you do not protect me in my time of need? By your divine illusion, I see him as my husband and myself as his wife; I claim things as mine, but all of this is your play. By our actions, he has become a Gandharva and my beloved, and by my actions, I am his beloved. But, O Lord, who truly is the husband of whom? Who is the son of whom? Who is truly dear to whom? The Creator unites and separates beings according to their deeds. “In union, there is supreme joy; in separation, the torment of life itself. All objects of enjoyment, even our dearest relatives on earth, are perishable. Therefore, the wise, recognizing this truth, renounce even the highest prosperity by their own will. Yet, the wise are rare in this world, and what woman is truly endowed with such wisdom? “As for me, I have no desire for immortality, for the station of Indra, or even for the path of liberation. O Lord of the world, as many as are the kinds of women in the world, to them have been given all virtues and various forms. Yet, by beauty, by virtue, by brilliance, and by valor, my beloved excelled all. He was a devotee of Hari, equal to Hari in greatness, deep as the ocean, radiant as the moon, pleasing to behold, as beautiful as Kāma himself. In speech and in knowledge of all scriptures, in intelligence like Bṛgu, in righteousness equal to Dharma, and in truth surpassing even the most devoted to truth, in sovereignty like Indra, in forbearance like the earth—such was my beloved. “O gods, you who partake of the offerings in sacrifice, you are worthy to enjoy the clarified butter on earth. O Nārāyaṇa, beloved of the world, I am not other than the world itself. O Lord of creatures, because of the curse of your son, you shall be unworthy of worship on earth. O Śambhu, by my curse, I shall cause you to lose your knowledge. I will assign the jurisdiction of Yama far away, without doubt. Here and now, I curse all of them with old age and disease, without delay.” Having declared these words, Mālāvatī proceeded to the bank of the sacred Kausiki river, intent on pronouncing her curse upon the gods. Seeing her thus prepared, Brahma, accompanied by the other gods, quickly approached her. There, after bathing, Brahma praised the Supreme Self, the Lord, with reverence. Brahma spoke: “O Mādhava, for the sake of a beloved, do not let her curse the gods; protect them. The virtuous remember you, the saints recite your name, and the sages joyfully chant your praises. You are ever devoted to rescuing those who are distressed, helpless, and who have sought your refuge. O Lord, my worship has now been hindered by the curse upon my son. O Lord, all authority in the universe was formerly given by you.” Then Mahadeva spoke, saying: “Long ago, in Pushkara, through the merit of a hundred Manvantaras of austerity—whether it be lordship, or wealth, or knowledge, or even valor—all that is unknown, all that is hidden, the highest and most difficult to attain—such things have been bestowed. Yet, the power of a devoted wife surpasses the brilliance of all others.” Dharma then said, “Such is the dharma that you yourself, O Lord, established in ancient times. By the merit of austerity performed for seven Manvantaras, O Supreme Lord—” And thus, the assembly of gods and sages reflected upon the profound truths of dharma, the power of devotion, and the mysterious play of fate and divine will.