The gods, troubled and anxious, gathered and spoke to Mādhava, saying, “O Mādhava, now, by the curse of a woman, all that we cherished is lost.” Having uttered these words, they stood together, subdued and fearful, not knowing what to do next. Then, a voice of guidance arose among them: “You must go to the source of this trouble. Janārdana himself has assumed the form of a Brāhmaṇa.” Upon hearing this, the gods’ spirits were lifted; their hearts filled with eagerness and hope as they set forth on their quest. Journeying onward, the gods came upon the goddess Mālāvatī herself, steadfast in her virtue. She was a vision of purity—her garments had been sanctified by fire, and her forehead bore the auspicious red dot of vermilion. The radiance she displayed was the fruit of countless years of devoted service to her husband, a glow earned through her unwavering fidelity. Mālāvatī was seated in a yogic posture, remarkably poised upon the chest of a corpse. Between the tips of her index finger and thumb, she gently held a pure crystal rosary. Her beauty shone like the golden champaka flower, her lips as red as the bimba fruit, her form adorned with jewels. Her broad hips carried a noble weight, while her thighs and breasts were full, reflecting her grace and strength. The gods beheld her in this wondrous form and were filled with awe. Sauti, the storyteller, continues: The gods entered the abode of Mālāvatī, the bestower of supreme auspiciousness. Upon seeing them, Mālāvatī, ever steadfast in her vows, bowed down in reverence. At that very moment, a Brāhmaṇa boy appeared before them. He carried a staff and an umbrella, was dressed in spotless white garments, and his forehead bore a shining tilaka. His entire body was anointed with sandalwood paste, and he radiated the effulgence of Brahman itself. He took his seat in their midst, resembling the moon surrounded by stars. The Brāhmaṇa spoke: “By what act does the Creator, the maker of all worlds, exist? Here, the all-powerful Śambhu himself is the destroyer of all universes. How, then, are the sun, the moon, and the fire present here? O Mālāvatī, sinless one, why does a corpse, so emaciated, lie upon your lap?” Having asked these profound questions, the sage fell silent in the assembly. Mālāvatī replied: “The gods are pleased, and Hari himself is pleased, by one who offers flowers and water with devotion. O Lord, please heed the plea of one afflicted by deep sorrow. I am the wife of Upabarhaṇa and the daughter of Citraratha. For a divine hundred thousand years, in delightful and auspicious places, I have dwelt. O beloved, the affection of virtuous women for their husbands is as great as that of all women, O best of sages. Yet, suddenly, by the curse of Brahmā, my husband lost his life. All beings are engaged in fulfilling their own tasks upon the earth. Happiness and sorrow, fear, grief, and distress—these are all the results of one’s actions. O gods, you are the givers of the fruits of actions. There is no friend greater than the gods, nor is there anyone mightier. Therefore, I beseech you all for the gift I desire most—restore my husband to me. If the gods grant me my beloved as I wish, all will be well. But if not, I will utter a dreadful and irresistible curse upon all of you.” Having spoken thus, Mālāvatī, virtuous yet stricken with grief, stood before the assembly of gods. The Brāhmaṇa responded: “Just as grain does not ripen immediately for men, but only after a long time, so too is the fulfillment of desires. The householder, through the farmer, sows seed in the field of the kṣatriya. In due time, the grain ripens fully; in due time, the householder receives his harvest.” Thus, the gods, Mālāvatī, and the mysterious Brāhmaṇa stood together, the air thick with hope, sorrow, and the subtle workings of fate.