The sages gathered and asked: “How did Shambhu’s dance begin, and for what reason? We have heard of Skanda’s elder brother’s origin; now tell us truly of this wondrous event.” In ancient times, Daruka, born among the Asuras, gained immense strength through severe austerities. Like the fire of destruction, he began to slay the gods and foremost brahmins, spreading terror across the worlds. Struck and greatly tormented by Daruka’s power, the gods—Brahma, Ishana, Kumara, and even Vishnu—found themselves helpless before him. Daruka, having reached Yama and Indra, was called ‘woman-slayer,’ and, assuming a female form, he was praised by Brahma and others, all preparing for battle. All those afflicted by Daruka’s wrath went to Brahma, accompanied by the Lord of Uma, and reported everything to him. Led by the Grandsire, they offered praise to Brahma, who then approached the Lord of the gods and bowed repeatedly, seeking help. They pleaded, “O blessed one, the fierce Daruka has defeated us. Slay the Daitya Daruka, the woman-slayer, and protect us!” Hearing Brahma’s request, Shiva—the destroyer of Bhaga’s eye—turned to the goddess Girija, his consort, and spoke as if smiling: “O auspicious one, today I request you for the welfare of the worlds. O beautiful-faced one, slay this Daruka, the woman-slayer.” Upon hearing his words, the Lady of the gods, the world’s refuge, entered the body of Shiva, intent on a divine birth. With one portion, she merged with the Lord of gods, yet neither Brahma nor the gods led by Indra perceived this mystery. Seeing Girija, auspicious and standing at Shambhu’s side as before, even the all-knowing four-faced Brahma was deluded by her maya. Then, Parvati entered Shiva’s body, and with the poison lodged in his throat, she made that body her own. Perceiving her transformation with his third eye, Shiva—the enemy of Kama—created Kali, the dark-throated, matted-haired goddess. When Kali arose, great glory and victory came to the gods, defeat befell the non-gods, and satisfaction filled Bhavani and the Supreme Lord. Seeing her born, blazing like fire, with a dark throat adorned with poison, the hosts of gods and siddhas—including Upendra, Padma-born, and Indra—fled in fear. An eye appeared on her forehead, a crescent moon shone brightly on her head, a fierce trident was at her throat, a sharp trident in her hand, and dreadful ornaments adorned her form. Together with the goddess, adorned in divine garments and ornaments, the leaders of siddhas and other siddhas, as well as pisachas, were born again. By the command of Parvati, the Supreme Lady, Daruka the demon, who was destroying the lords of the gods, was slain. Yet, because of her intense wrath and agitation, the entire world became afflicted by the fire of her anger. Shiva, taking the form of a child, wept in the cremation ground crowded with spirits, using his maya to drink the fire of her anger. Seeing that child Ishana, deluded by his maya, Kali lifted him up, smelled his chest, and gave him her breast. Along with her milk, Shiva drank her anger; by this, the child became the protector of the sacred fields. Eight forms of the wise Kshetrapala also arose; thus, by that child, Kali’s wrath was pacified. For her appeasement, the God of gods performed the Tandava dance at twilight, together with all the lords of beings, spirits, and the pleased wielder of the trident. Having drunk the nectar of Shambhu’s dance to the full, the Supreme Lady danced, and the yoginis, in the place of spirits, danced as they pleased. There, the gods with Brahma, Indra, and Upendra all around, bowed and praised Kali and again the goddess Parvati. Thus, in brief, the Tandava of the trident-bearing Lord has been told, and also the Tandava of the mighty one, filled with yogic bliss, as others call it. Then the sages asked Suta: “Tell us now how Upamanyu obtained the Ganapatya teaching from Maheshvara, and how the ocean of milk was gained.” After propitiating Kali, and when the three-eyed god had departed, Upamanyu, having worshipped with austerity, obtained the fruit. There was a sage named Upamanyu, radiant like a youth, who played as he pleased. Once, in his uncle’s hermitage, he drank a little milk; out of jealousy, his cousin drank the finest milk. Having drunk as much as he wished, Upamanyu asked his mother: “Mother, O greatly fortunate one, O ascetic, give me some.” He praised her, “Cow’s milk is very sweet, not at all hot; I bow to you.” Cherished by her son, she embraced him affectionately. Distressed, she lamented in anguish, recalling her own poverty. Again and again remembering, Upamanyu too cried out to her, “Give, give,” weeping, radiant as he was. Then she herself ground seeds obtained by gleaning, and mixing them with water, she spoke gently: “Come here, my son,” she said soothingly, embracing her sorrowful child and giving him the artificial milk. Having drunk the artificial milk given by his mother, Upamanyu, deeply troubled, said, “This is not milk,” to his mother. Seeing him, she sorrowfully spoke, smelling his head and gently wiping his lotus-like eyes with her hands. She explained, “There are rivers filled with jewels, accessible in heaven and the netherworlds; those without fortune, and those without devotion to Shiva, do not see them.” Thus, the story unfolds, linking the divine dance of Shiva and Kali’s wrath with the tender tale of Upamanyu, whose devotion and yearning would lead him to the true nectar of wisdom and fulfillment.