You alone, O Lord, are the source of all beloveds, the cause of their birth, and the arranger of every cycle and meaning. You are the master of the world, compassionate and the remover of your devotees’ fears. Thus praised by Manmatha’s beloved, Shankara—the praiseworthy Lord, bull-bannered, and crescent-wielder—was pleased. With a sweet gaze, he spoke to her: “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, Kāma’s beloved bowed her head to the Lord of the Mountain and departed to a delightful grove. Rati, wife of Himavat, wept many times in misery in that beautiful place. Yet, by Hari’s command, she withdrew from her resolve to die. Then, prompted by Nārada’s words, the lord of the snowy mountains adorned his daughter, performed festive rites, and auspicious ceremonies. He placed a heavenly floral crown upon her, dressed her in shining Chinese silk, and, together with arrows, led his daughter forth. With auspicious intent and a full heart, he set out, traversing forests and groves. On the lovely slopes of the forest, he saw a woman weeping—a being of unfathomable power and unmatched beauty. Moved by curiosity, the mountain approached her. Seeing her sorrow, he drew near and gently questioned her: “Who are you? Whose daughter are you, O blessed one? Why do you weep? I do not think your reason is small, O beauty of the world.” Hearing his words, she replied through her tears, breathing in sorrow that only deepened her misery: “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 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 and takes 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.” Thus addressed by Rati, the mountain, anxious and fearful, took his daughter by the hand, wishing to return to his own city. But, because of the certainty of destiny, she who was to be—the future and the past—bashful, spoke to her father, the mountain, 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 her resolve, the king of the mountains, overwhelmed by affection for his daughter, spoke with words faltering from 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, he, absorbed in thought, praised his daughter. Then, in the sky, a divine voice arose 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. Hearing this utterance from the sky, the mountain lord, pale as the sky, permitted his daughter and quickly returned to his mansion. The mountain-born girl went to the mountain, inaccessible even to the gods, accompanied by her friends, steadfast daughter of the king of the city. She reached the sacred peak of Himavat, adorned with various minerals, strewn with divine flowering vines, attended by perfected beings and gandharvas. The mountain was filled with groups of various animals; its trees resounded with bees, endowed with divine springs and decorated with pools. Flocks of birds and chakravaka ducks beautified the land, and blooming flowers from water and earth adorned it. Picturesque caves, delightful as dwellings, were crowded with flocks of birds and dense with wish-fulfilling trees. There, she saw a great tree with vast branches, covered in green leaves, adorned with flowers of all seasons, shining with hundreds of dreams. Its leaves, bowed and mixed, gathered by the rays of the sun, were covered with various flowers and bore many kinds of fruits. There, the mountain-born girl set aside her garments and ornaments, clothed herself in divine bark garments, and fastened a belt made of sacred grass. Having bathed three times, subsisting on pale food, she lived for a hundred autumns, sustaining herself with a single fallen leaf each time.