Homage was offered to Shiva, the flawless one—Shiva, whose form is pure mind itself, ever adored by the gods, and always supremely compassionate toward his devotees. Praise was given to Bhava, the very source of existence, to him who destroyed the god of love, who keeps the great vow in secret, and who dwells amidst the thicket of illusion. Salutations followed for Sharva and Shiva, the accomplished and ancient one, Time itself, the essence of art, and the bestower of supreme knowledge. Shiva, who transcends time and all its divisions, was honored—he who is adorned with natural purity, who slew the immeasurable Andhaka, who is the ultimate refuge, and who is beyond all qualities. Reverence was paid to the leader of the terrible hosts, the creator of many worlds, the arranger of diverse universes, and the giver of varied fruits to all beings. At the end of all things, homage was given to the imperishable seer, enjoyer of wondrous sacrifices, fulfiller of devotees’ wishes, and the remover of worldly bondage. To Shiva of infinite forms, of unbearable wrath, marked by the moon, and of immeasurable greatness, ceaseless praise was offered. Homage was given to the bull-rider, the destroyer of cities, the renowned one, the great medicine, the fulfiller of wishes, and the remover of all suffering. He was recognized as the supreme teacher, discerning the ways of all moving and unmoving beings, perceiving the creation of all creatures. Seeking refuge, the devotee approached him—Shiva, the moon-crested, immeasurable beloved of the great. A plea was made: “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?” The Lord was praised as the origin of all beloveds, the cause of their birth, the arranger of all cycles and meanings, the master of the world, compassionate, and the uprooter of devotees’ fear. Thus praised by Rati, the beloved of Manmatha (Kāma), Shankara—the bull-bannered, the wielder of the crescent—was pleased. Gazing sweetly upon her, he spoke: “This Kāma will be reborn in due time and soon become handsome again. In the worlds, he will be renowned as Ananga, the bodiless one.” Hearing these words, Rati bowed her head to the Lord of the Mountain and went to a delightful grove. There, the wife of Kāma wept many times, miserable in that beautiful place. Yet, by the command of Hari, she withdrew from her resolve to die. Meanwhile, prompted by the words of Nārada, Himavat, the lord of the snowy mountains, adorned his daughter, Parvati, with festive rites and auspicious ceremonies. He placed a heavenly floral crown upon her head, dressed her in shining Chinese silk, and, together with arrows, took his daughter with him. With auspicious intent and a heart full of hope, he set out, traversing forests and groves. Upon the lovely slopes of the forest, he saw a woman weeping—a woman of unfathomable power and unmatched beauty in the world. Moved by curiosity, the mountain lord approached her. Seeing her tears, he drew near and asked, “Who are you, whose daughter are you, O blessed one? Why do you weep? I do not think this reason is small, O beauty of the world.” Hearing his words, the woman replied with tears, her sorrow deepening. “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,” she declared. Thus addressed by Rati, the mountain, anxious and fearful, took his daughter by the hand, wishing to return to his own city. But because destiny was certain, she who was to be—the future and the past—Parvati, bashful, spoke 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? What is desired is attained by austerity; nothing is unattainable for one who practices austerity. The world bears misfortune in vain when the means exist. For one without austerity, death is better than life; I will surely, without doubt, consume my body through discipline. With my doubts dispelled by austerity, I shall undertake ascetic practice with the desire to attain wealth; I will perform this austerity so that I may obtain what is difficult to achieve.” Hearing this, the king of the mountains, overwhelmed by affection for his daughter, spoke with emotion: “O capricious daughter, Uma, your gentle form cannot endure the hardships of ascetic practice, O one of pleasant appearance. Future outcomes must always be considered; destined things come to pass, even forcibly, whether one desires them or not. Therefore, child, there is no purpose for you in austerity; let us return home, and I will reflect upon this matter there.” But when she, addressed thus, did not return from the cave, the mountain-born girl, then he, absorbed in thought, praised his daughter. At that moment, a divine voice arose in the sky over the earth: “Uma, O capricious daughter, you have been called thus by your father. By this name, Uma, she will be known in the worlds; she will accomplish the desired goal in embodied form.