Kāma, the god of love and subduer of lovers’ pride, was instantly reduced to ashes by the fierce fire that sprang forth from the third eye of Hara, Lord Shiva. Having incinerated Kāma, the fire, born from Shiva’s wrath, grew in intensity, eager to consume the entire world. Its flames roared and threatened destruction, but out of compassion for creation, Bhava—another name for Shiva—restrained that devastating fire. Yet, the force of love did not disappear from the world. Instead, it lingered in subtler forms: in the blossoming mango trees of spring, in the gentle light of the moon, in the fragrance of flowers, in the humming of bees, and in the sweet voices of cuckoos. In all these, the fire of love remained, its arrow—once wielded by Kāma—now piercing hearts within and without, kindled by longing and affection, burning fiercely within all beings. This uncontainable fire of love surged and agitated the world, reaching deep into the hearts of lovers and saturating them with yearning. Day and night, it burned—a dreadful, incurable flame, especially after the sight of love’s very embodiment, Kāma, being reduced to ashes by Shiva’s power. Rati, Kāma’s devoted wife, wailed in her grief, joined by her cruel companion Madhu. After much lamentation, Madhu tried to console her. Seeking solace and hope, Rati gathered a blossoming mango creeper—followed by bees drawn to its flowers—and went to seek refuge with the great god Shiva, the one adorned with the crescent moon and three eyes. With a flowering creeper as her sacred offering, Rati bound the bird-charming vine to her own matted locks, which were adorned with curling tresses. She sprinkled her body with the pure, fragrant ashes left from her beloved’s destruction, and, falling to her knees, she poured out her heart in devotion before Shiva. She offered repeated homage to Shiva—the flawless one, the mind-born, ever worshipped by the gods, supremely compassionate to his devotees. She praised Bhava, the source of all existence and the destroyer of Kāma, the keeper of great vows, and the one who dwells within the mysteries of illusion. Her praises continued: homage to Sharva, to Shiva the ancient, the accomplished, to Time itself and to the bestower of supreme knowledge. She honored him who transcends time, is adorned with natural purity, the slayer of the mighty Andhaka, the ultimate refuge, the one beyond all qualities. Rati extolled Shiva as the leader of formidable hosts, creator of many worlds, arranger of the diverse universes, giver of varied fruits. She offered homage to the imperishable seer at the end of all things, the enjoyer of wondrous sacrifices, the fulfiller of devotees’ wishes, the remover of worldly bondage. She bowed to him of infinite forms and unbearable wrath, marked by the moon, of immeasurable measure, the one praised by all. She honored the bull-rider, destroyer of cities, the renowned, the great medicine, the giver of devotees’ wishes, the remover of all suffering. With humility, Rati acknowledged Shiva as the supreme teacher, discerning the ways of all beings, perceiving their creation. Seeking refuge, she approached him—the moon-crested, the beloved of the great, the immeasurable one. With a heart full of longing, she pleaded, “Grant me again the fulfillment of love and fame, O Lord. Let Kāma live again. Without you, beloved of life, who else exists in the worlds? You alone are the origin of all beloveds, the cause of their birth, the arranger of all cycles and meanings. You alone are the master of the world, compassionate, the uprooter of devotees’ fear.” Pleased by the heartfelt praises of Manmatha’s beloved, Shiva—the praiseworthy, bull-bannered, crescent-wearing Lord—looked upon her sweetly and spoke: “This Kāma will be reborn in due time, and soon become handsome again. In the worlds, he will be known as Ananga, the bodiless one.” Hearing these words, Rati bowed her head in gratitude to the Lord of the Mountain and withdrew to a delightful grove. Yet, in that beautiful place, she wept many times, overwhelmed by misery. Still, by the command of Hari (Vishnu), she abandoned her resolve to die, holding on to hope. Meanwhile, prompted by the sage Nārada’s words, Himavat, lord of the snowy mountains, adorned his daughter with care and performed festive rites and auspicious ceremonies. He placed a heavenly floral crown upon her head, dressed her in shining silks from distant lands, and, together with the symbolic arrows, set out with his daughter, his heart full of auspicious intent. As they traversed forests and groves, Himavat saw a woman of unfathomable power and incomparable beauty weeping upon the lovely slopes of the forest. Drawn by curiosity, he approached her and, seeing her sorrow, gently asked, “Who are you, whose daughter are you, O blessed one? Why do you weep? Surely, your reason is not a small one, O beauty of the world.” Through her tears and deep sighs, she replied, “Know me, O noble one, as Rati, the beloved wife of Kāma. The lord of the mountains is engaged in austerity. By his wrath, with his eyes blazing, my beloved—the fish-bannered god—was burned. He was most dear to me. Stricken with fear, I sought refuge in that god, praised him, and after my supplication, the lord of the mountains spoke to me: ‘I am pleased, O beloved of Kāma; Kāma will return to you. Whoever recites your praise with devotion, taking refuge in me, will obtain their desired object, turning away from death and its causes.’ Awaiting those words, filled with hope and longing, I will preserve my body for some time, O illustrious one.” Hearing her sorrowful tale, the mountain lord, anxious and fearful, took his daughter by the hand, wishing to return home. But the maiden, aware of the certainty of destiny—of what must be, of the future and the past—spoke bashfully to her father through her companions: “With this unfortunate body, what is the cause for me? How did I attain such happiness, that my husband would be?” Thus, the story unfolds: of love’s destruction and its lingering fire, of Rati’s devotion and hope, of Shiva’s compassion, and the promise of love’s return to the world.