Long ago, in the sacred Daru forest, a remarkable event unfolded—one that would become a lesson for all who seek the truth. It is said that just as the sages of old once reviled Rudra in that very forest, so too should the knowers of Brahman always be honored and served, regardless of whether they are bound by caste and stage of life or have transcended such distinctions. Desiring to learn more, a devotee asked the Lord to recount what happened in those ancient times—how the ascetics of the Daru forest, their souls purified by austerity, encountered Lord Nīlalohita. He wished to know how Rudra, in a strange and wondrous form, with his seed held upward and clad in nothing but the directions, came to dwell among those forest sages. What transpired there, concerning Rudra, the Supreme Self? What did the God of gods do in that sacred place? Hearing this request, the blessed son of Śilāda, wise in the essence of scripture, smiled gently before speaking. He recalled how the sages of the Daru forest, together with their wives, sons, and sacred fires, performed severe austerities to please the God of gods. Their devotion and discipline were unwavering. Rudra, the Lord of the universe, the bull-bannered, matted-haired and supreme, was pleased by their efforts. Yet, desiring to test the knowledge rooted in action among these forest-dwellers, the Lord decided—playfully and with faith—to examine them. For the establishment of knowledge characterized by renunciation, among those whose minds were fixed on ritual action, Śaṅkara assumed a strange form: naked, with uneven eyes, a bewildered appearance, two arms, and a dark body. Thus transformed, he entered the divine Daru forest. The blessed Lord, exceedingly beautiful and smiling gently, played with his eyebrows and sang, stirring the god of love in the hearts of the women. Again and again, he sprinkled the group of women, destroying desire even as he increased their passion with his charming form. When the women saw this unusual figure—strange, blue and red—they were drawn to him, even those devoted to their husbands. They followed him with respect. Standing at the entrances of their forest huts, their garments and ornaments loosened, the women moved restlessly, enchanted by the smile of his lotus-like face. Those dwelling among the trees followed him as well. Some women, their eyes rolling with intoxication, lost all outward modesty at the sight of Bhava and made suggestive gestures with their eyebrows. Others smiled shyly, their faces radiant, some with slipping garments and loosened girdles, breaking into song. Some brahmin women, at that moment in the forest, let their new silk garments slip, threw off their bangles in excitement, and ran to their relatives. One woman, so overcome that she did not even recognize him, let her garment and cloth fall, and in her intoxication wandered to the famous branches and boughs, as did other relatives. Some women sang to him, some danced, some fell to the ground, others sat like elephants, and some spoke to the best of brahmins. They smiled at one another, embraced, blocked Rudra’s path, and displayed their various skills. Some asked him, “Who are you?” while others invited him to sit, their hearts joyful. They inquired, “Where are you from? Please be gracious.” Still others, their hair and garments loosened, fell down in confusion—even the most devoted wives, in the presence of their husbands, were overcome by the illusion of Bhava. Witnessing and hearing all this, the imperishable Lord, whether the scene was auspicious or not, remained silent. The brahmins, seeing their women and Shankara in such a state, spoke harsh words—these great sages, their austerities undone by Shankara, just as the stars are dispelled by the rising sun. The sages recalled how, by the curse of a sage, even Brahma lost his prosperity and sacrifices were destroyed. By Bhrigu’s curse, Vishnu was made to take ten births and suffer sorrow. Even Indra, the knower of dharma, once had his testicles cut off by the enraged sage Gautama. The Vasus were forced by a curse to dwell in the womb, and Nahusha became a serpent by the sages’ wrath. The ocean of milk, always the abode of Hari, became forbidden to Brahmins, while Janardana, having reached Avimukteshvara in Varanasi, anointed Tryambaka, the god of gods, with milk. With utmost faith, Madhusudana himself anointed the Lord with the nectar of bodily union. Then, together with Brahma and the sages, he poured milk and reclaimed the ocean of milk as his own dwelling. Dharma himself was cursed by the great Mandavya, and the Vrishnis by Krishna and other great sages like Durvasa. Even Raghava and his brothers were cursed by Durvasa, and Shrivatsa for falling at the feet of a wise sage. Many have come under the control of the Brahmins—except for Virupaksha, the god of gods, consort of Uma. Thus, deluded by Rudra’s illusion, the sages did not recognize Shankara. They spoke harsh words, and he, though fierce, vanished from their sight. Troubled in mind, the sages left the Daru forest at dawn and approached the great-souled Pitamaha, Brahma, seated upon the supreme seat. There, weary and bewildered, they reported everything that had happened in the auspicious Daru forest to the Lord, seeking understanding of the wondrous events they had witnessed.