As the compassionate sage came upon the weeping maiden, he paused, struck by her sorrowful beauty. “Who are you, blessed one?” he asked gently. “Whose daughter are you, and why do you weep? Surely, your grief is no small matter, O beauty of the world.” Hearing these kind words, the maiden replied through her tears, her voice trembling with sorrow that seemed only to deepen her pain. “Know me, O noble one, as Rati, the beloved wife of Kāma. The lord of the mountains is engaged in deep austerity. By his wrath—when his eyes blazed with fury—my beloved, the fish-bannered god, was burned. He was most dear to me.” Overcome by fear, she continued, “I sought refuge in that god, praised him, and in 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 the 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.” As Rati finished her tale, the mountain, anxious and fearful, took his daughter by the hand, wishing to return to his own city. Yet, the maiden—she who was to be, whose destiny spanned future and past—spoke to her father, the mountain, through her companions, her voice tinged with bashfulness. “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 shall 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 his daughter’s firm resolve, the king of the mountains, overwhelmed by affection, 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, thus addressed, did not return from the cave, the mountain-born girl remained steadfast. The mountain, absorbed in thought, praised his daughter. Then, a divine voice arose in the sky, echoing 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 celestial utterance, the mountain lord, pale as the sky, permitted his daughter to pursue her path and quickly returned to his mansion. The mountain-born girl, steadfast daughter of the king of the city, went to a mountain so inaccessible that even the gods found it difficult to reach, accompanied by her friends. She arrived at the sacred peak of Himavat, adorned with various minerals, draped in divine flowering vines, and attended by perfected beings and gandharvas. The mountain teemed with diverse animals, its trees alive with the hum of bees, its slopes blessed with divine springs and beautiful pools. Flocks of birds, including chakravaka ducks, filled the air, and blooming flowers of water and land adorned the landscape. Picturesque caves, delightful as dwellings, crowded with birds and dense with wish-fulfilling trees, completed the wondrous scene. Amidst this splendor, she saw a great tree with vast branches, covered in green leaves and flowers of all seasons, shining with hundreds of dreams. Its boughs, heavy with various fruits, bowed low, their leaves gathered and mingled by the rays of the sun. There, the mountain-born girl set aside her garments and ornaments, clothing herself in divine bark and fastening a belt made of sacred grass. She bathed three times daily, subsisted on pale food, and lived for a hundred autumns, sustaining herself with a single fallen leaf each time. For another hundred years she remained without food, a repository of equal austerities, until the fire of her asceticism disturbed all living beings. Witnessing this, the blessed Indra, lord of a hundred sacrifices, recalled the seven sages. Filled with joy, they gathered together, honored by Mahendra, who explained, “Listen, O revered ones, to the purpose. On the Himalaya, the daughter of the mountain is performing fierce austerity. You should fulfill her desired wish.” For the sake of the world, the sages swiftly approached the goddess, saying, “So be it,” and went to the lord of mountains, attended by hosts of siddhas. The sages arrived and spoke sweet words: “Daughter, what is your resolved wish, O lotus-eyed one?” The goddess, modest and respectful, replied, “O blessed ones, engaged in austerity, having attained silence and the presence of those like you—my mind, engaged in reverence, purifies without wavering. Because of readiness for questioning, your honored seats have been accepted first. Seated, freed from fatigue, you will then question me.” Having said this, she arranged seats for the sages. Duly honoring those worthy of worship, she performed the rites of hospitality, and then, radiant as the sun, slowly spoke to the seven sages.