Upon hearing the voice from the sky, the great mountain lord—his complexion pale as the heavens—granted permission for his daughter’s undertaking and swiftly returned to his own abode. The mountain-born maiden, steadfast daughter of the king of the city, set out with her companions for the lofty heights of the Himalaya, a place so remote and sacred that even the gods found it difficult to reach. Arriving at the holy summit of Himavat, she beheld a wondrous landscape: the mountain glistened with many-colored minerals, divine flowering vines twined along its slopes, and the air was alive with the music of perfected beings and gandharvas. Herds of animals roamed its expanse, its trees hummed with the sound of bees, and its surface was adorned with sacred springs and crystal-clear pools. Flocks of birds of every kind filled the skies, their calls mingling with the soft quacking of chakravaka ducks. Blossoms from both water and land added vibrant color, while the mountain’s caves, picturesque and inviting, were crowded with birds and shaded by dense groves of wish-fulfilling trees. In this enchanted realm, the maiden discovered a great tree, its vast branches spread wide, lush with green leaves and adorned with blooms of every season. The tree seemed to shimmer with hundreds of dreams, its boughs heavy with flowers and many kinds of fruit, its bowed leaves catching and gathering the rays of the sun. There, the mountain-born girl set aside her fine garments and ornaments. She clothed herself in divine bark cloth and girded her waist with a belt of sacred grass. After bathing three times, she adopted a life of severe austerity, subsisting for a hundred autumns on the simplest of fare—sometimes only a single fallen leaf. Her discipline grew so intense that for a hundred years she took no food at all, becoming a living embodiment of unwavering ascetic practice. The fire of her penance grew so fierce that all living beings felt its unsettling heat. Seeing this, the blessed Indra, lord of a hundred sacrifices, remembered the seven great sages and summoned them. Filled with joy, the sages gathered together, honored by Mahendra’s call. They asked him, “O best of gods, for what reason have you summoned us?” Śakra replied, “Hear my purpose, revered ones. Upon the Himalaya, the mountain’s daughter is engaged in fierce austerity. You should fulfill her heart’s desire.” For the sake of the world, the sages swiftly approached the goddess, saying “So be it,” and made their way to the lord of mountains, accompanied by hosts of siddhas. Upon arrival, they spoke gentle words to the maiden: “O lotus-eyed daughter, what is your resolved wish?” The goddess, modest and respectful, answered, “Blessed ones, through my austerity and the silence I have kept, I am honored by your presence. My mind, filled with reverence, is unwavering and pure; your honored seats I have prepared first, for such is the custom when esteemed guests arrive. Be seated and rest; when you are refreshed, you may question me.” She made arrangements for their seats and, after duly honoring and worshipping them according to the sacred rites, she addressed the seven radiant sages. Having set aside her vow of silence, she now spoke with gentle modesty, her words measured and full of respect. When the sages, in turn, questioned her again, she replied with a beautiful smile and a mind filled with deference. Seeing them engaged in peaceful conversation, she said, “You, revered ones, know what is truly beneficial for the minds of living beings. Some people, through the wanderings of their minds, distort things greatly, while others, skillful and diligent, strive with divine effort. Through such diligence, rare states are attained, though others, more limited, try various approaches. Many act for the sake of a new body and its benefits, but I—adorned with a garland of flowers that have descended from the sky—am like a barren woman yearning for a son. My heart is set on one thing: to win the blessed god as my husband. Shiva, by nature unconquerable, is now deep in austerity. His ultimate actions are beyond the decision of gods and demons alike. Now, scorched by love yet free from passion, how could someone like me ever hope to win the favor of such a Shiva?” Hearing her words, the steady-minded sages replied, seeking to discern her true intent: “Daughter, there are two kinds of happiness in this world: one is the enjoyment of the body, the other is the contentment of the mind. Shiva, by his very nature, is clothed only in the directions, fearsome, lord of the cremation ground, skull-bearer, mendicant, naked, with deformed eyes, steadfast in his actions. He appears intoxicated and mad, collects dreadful things, and lives as an ascetic—why would you desire such a one, who is sought in such a form of misfortune? If you now desire bodily enjoyment, why long for the great god, who is so fearsome and repulsive to the senses? His ornaments are smeared with blood and fat, and he is terrifying with the fierce serpent coiled around his arms. He dwells in cremation grounds, is followed by fierce spirits, and though the crowns of the lords of gods touch his feet, he is the slayer of enemies. Consider instead: there is Hari, the sustainer of the world, beloved of Shri, of infinite form; there is the lord of sacrifices, and Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt. There is Agni, the gods’ own treasure, who fulfills all desires; there is Vayu, the breath of all beings. There is also King Vaishravana, all-knowing and supreme in every way—why do you not wish to attain one of these? Or, by obtaining another body, you could have the happiness your heart desires. In this way, your birth would bring you the highest blessings of heaven and all auspicious attainments would be yours.