O noble sage, my heart is now filled with days of joy, no longer entangled in the analysis of duties or the pursuit of becoming master of words; instead, my thoughts dwell on the contemplation of your virtues. For those such as yourself, O venerable sage, vision is ever clear and unfailing, and your affection for us shines forth without doubt. It is by your guidance alone that I am to be engaged in preparing a dwelling for those whose nature is the self—sages and deities alike. Though I am the self-born creator, even I am not untouched by impurity. Yet, filled with happiness, I ask you to grant me a particular command. Thus, Nārada replied, “All has been accomplished, O Lord. In matters concerning the gods, whatever purpose you hold is indeed even greater.” Having spoken thus, Nārada swiftly departed for the heavens and, arriving at the abode of Śakra, beheld the lord of immortals. There, seated upon a magnificent throne, the handsome sage was questioned by Śakra, and he recounted the tale of the daughter of the mountain. “Whatever was to be done in concert, I have already accomplished; but now, the time has come for the five-arrowed one.” Hearing this, the lord of gods, Pākaśāsana, who understood the task at hand, remembered the weapon of the mango sprout. At that very moment, upon being remembered by the wise thousand-eyed one, the fish-bannered god—Kāma—appeared swiftly, accompanied by Rati and displaying playful charm. Seeing him, Śakra addressed him with respect. “There is little need to instruct you, O Manmatha. You know well what has transpired and what is yet to come. Therefore, do what is fitting—bring joy to the dwellers of heaven. Quickly unite Śaṃkara with the mountain’s daughter, O Manmatha, with sweetness and the unconquerable lord of the seasons.” Thus urged by Śakra to fulfill his own purpose, the five-arrowed Kāma, somewhat fearful, spoke to Śatakratu: “With this assembly of gods, and the formidable presence of sages and demons, Śaṃkara is not easily subdued, O lord of the world—surely you know this. You understand the cause of that god’s unwavering nature; in the great, both favor and anger are immense. All pleasures dwell in the heavenly-born women, but the happiness you once enjoyed has been lost. If, through carelessness, you falter with the Lord, consider this well; already the signs of the beings’ purposes are manifest. For those who seek distinction, falling from the common path leads only to loss.” Hearing these words, Śakra, surrounded by the immortals, replied, “We are your authorities here, O beloved of Rati, without doubt. Without a message, the power to harm is not exercised, and ability is seen in some cases, not everywhere.” Thus addressed, Kāma departed, accompanied by his friend Madhu and by Rati, swiftly making his way to the abode of the mountain. There, he carefully considered his plan of action, for those whose minds are unwavering in great undertakings are truly difficult to overcome. By first agitating the mind, one surely attains victory; and after purifying the mind, one achieves success. He pondered: How does anger, born from cruel association, arise without hatred, and bring forth that dreadful companion, envy? I shall direct the supreme distortion of the mind, born of darkness, against her whose foundation of courage is shattered at the height of recklessness, though she is mighty. By closing the doors of fortitude and removing contentment, no one, however learned, could perceive me there. When the mind is fixed only in uncertainty, it becomes deformed; and once the root of action is begun, it is swept away into a deep, impassable whirlpool. I will steal away the austerity of Hara, whose self is steadfast, by enveloping his senses with delightful means and arrangements. Thus resolved, Madana set out for the hermitage of the Lord of beings, that essence of the world, with its grove of straight trees. The hermitage was filled with tranquil beings, crowded with immovable creatures, adorned with garlands of flowers and creepers, and presided over by the hosts of heaven. On a blue, lush slope, grazed by undisturbed bulls, he saw there another delightful abode of the three-eyed one. There, he beheld a heroic figure, lord of the world’s heroes, radiant like Īśāna, with tawny matted locks dusted with the pollen of yakṣa saffron. He held a staff in his hand, undisturbed, adorned with the ornaments of a fierce serpent king, his eyes closed like lotus petals in sleep. His gaze was steady at the tip of his nose, his beautiful eyes serene, and he was draped in an upper garment made from the skins of lions and elephants from the forests of Śrāvastī. His ears were adorned by the hoods of serpents, his breath glowed like fire, and his swinging matted locks were hung with skulls at their ends. He reclined with Vāsuki as his couch, his navel at the center, adorned with a serpent whose tail-tip was held in Brahmā’s joined palms. Kāma drew near and beheld Śaṅkara; amid the humming of bees, he approached the wooded slope. Madana entered the mind of Bhava through the opening of his ear, and Śaṅkara, hearing that sweet, love-laden sound, remembered Dakṣa’s daughter, his beloved, and his heart was inflamed with passion. Then she, pure and radiant, gradually disappeared from his sight. She remained absorbed in meditation, appearing as the very object of concentration; but then, her mind, obstructed by hindrances, became wholly identified with that focus. By mastery, the Lord perceived the distortion born of desire. Slightly filled with anger, the steadfast Dhūrjaṭi composed himself.