As the tale unfolds, the four-faced Brahma turned to me and asked, “Who is this eternal Brahma?” To his question, I could only reply, “I do not know the lord and master of creation.” Confused, Brahma wondered aloud, “Who am I? Who is he? Why is this confusion mine, O lords?” No sooner had he spoken than our aerial chariot, swift as the mind itself, began to tremble. In an instant, we arrived at the summit of Mount Kailasa—a place of wondrous beauty, attended by hosts of yakshas, nestled within a delightful grove of mandara trees. Peacocks and cuckoos called melodiously, while the pleasing sounds of veenas and drums resounded through the air, bringing joy and auspiciousness. As soon as our chariot arrived, it halted at that blessed abode. There, the blessed Shambhu appeared, riding his bull, three-eyed, five-faced, and ten-armed, adorned with the crescent moon upon his head. He was clad in a tiger skin, with an elephant hide as his upper garment. At his heels stood his two heroic sons—one with the face of an elephant, the other with six faces. Together with Shiva, his sons advanced, shining brilliantly. All the attendants, led by Nandi and accompanied by the great hosts of ganas, followed them, uttering cries of victory. Behind Shiva, they proceeded, and upon seeing this other Shankara, O Narada, we were all astonished. Filled with doubt by the Mothers, I remained there, O sage. Then, in a moment, the chariot sped away from that mountain peak, swift as the wind. Soon, we reached the abode of Vaikuntha, the dwelling of the beloved of Rama. There, my son, I beheld an unimaginable splendor. Vishnu himself was amazed upon seeing that supreme city. Hari, lotus-eyed, went to the front of the mansion, his form resembling the color of the flax flower. Clad in yellow garments, four-armed, seated upon Garuda—the king of birds—he was adorned with divine ornaments. At that time, Lakshmi, the lovely one, fanned him with auspicious fans. Seeing that eternal Vishnu, we were all amazed. Gazing at one another, we stood there upon that excellent seat. Then, suddenly, the chariot sped away again, swift as the wind. We arrived at the ocean of nectar, filled with sweet water and great waves, teeming with hosts of aquatic beings and adorned with moving waves. The place was exceedingly beautiful, with mandara, parijata, and other trees, furnished with various seats and adorned with many wondrous decorations. Garlands of pearls and other flowers hung everywhere, and the area was graced by aśoka, bakula, kurubaka, and other trees. Gentle ketakī and campaka trees surrounded us on all sides, their fragrance filling the air, while cuckoos called and divine scents wafted through the breeze. Bees hummed, enlivening the wondrous scene. In that island stood a charming couch shaped like Śiva, exquisitely inlaid with jewels and adorned with precious stones. We saw it from afar, splendid among the celestial palaces, covered with fine coverings and adorned with the radiance of a rainbow. Upon that excellent couch sat a most beautiful lady, wearing red garlands and garments, anointed with red fragrances. Her eyes were deeply red, lovely and radiant as a flash of lightning. Her face shone with red lips and teeth, surpassing millions of Lakṣmīs in splendor; her whole form was like the orb of the sun. She held the noose, goad, and desired boons; she was Śrī Bhuvaneśvarī, never before seen, adorned with a gentle smile and supremely lovely. Attended by flocks of birds devoted to reciting the hrīṃ mantra, she was reddish in hue, the embodiment of compassion, a maiden in the bloom of youth. Rich in all ornaments of beauty, her lotus face adorned with a gentle smile, her full, uplifted breasts surpassing the buds of lotuses. She was adorned with ornaments set with many kinds of gems, splendid with golden armlets, bracelets, and a crown. Her lotus face was adorned with golden earrings shaped like the Śrīcakra. She was called Hṛllekhā Bhuvaneśī, devoted to the recitation of her names, ever praised by her circle of companions. Bhuvaneśī, the great goddess, was surrounded by celestial maidens such as Hṛllekhā and others, and encircled by goddesses like Anaṅgakusumā. The goddess was seated at the center of a hexagon, upon the king of yantras. Seeing her, we all stood there astonished, wondering, “Who is this lovely lady? What is her name? We do not know, standing here.” With a thousand eyes, radiant, endowed with a thousand hands and a thousand beautiful faces, she shone from afar, without doubt. “She is not an apsaras, nor a gandharvī, nor is she a divine maiden,”—thus, O Nārada, we stood there, filled with doubt. Then, Lord Viṣṇu, seeing her gentle smile, resolved in his mind and spoke to the Mother from his own understanding. He declared, “This blessed Goddess is indeed the cause of all for us; she is the great wisdom, the great illusion, the complete and imperishable primal nature. The Goddess is difficult to comprehend for those of little intellect, attainable through yoga, yet elusive; she is the supreme will of the Highest Self, embodying both the eternal and the transient. The Goddess, ruler of the universe, auspicious, is hard to propitiate for those of little fortune; she holds the Vedas within, has wide eyes, and is the original sovereign of all. She withdraws the entire universe and plays at its dissolution, placing the marks of all living beings within her own body. She, composed of all seeds, now shines forth, O gods; countless powers stand at her side, visible in succession. Adorned with divine ornaments and anointed with celestial fragrances, all are devoted to her service, as Brahma and Shiva look on.” Thus, we beheld the supreme Goddess, the source of all creation, surrounded by her attendants and powers, radiant and beyond compare.