For a hundred years, she—steadfast and unwavering—remained without food, immersed in the most severe austerities. Her penance became so intense that all living beings felt disturbed by the fiery energy radiating from her asceticism. Witnessing this, the blessed Indra, lord of a hundred sacrifices, remembered the seven great sages. He summoned them, and they gathered together, their hearts filled with joy at the call of the king of the gods. Honored by mighty Mahendra, the sages inquired respectfully, “O best of gods, for what purpose have you summoned us?” Śakra, the king of heaven, addressed them: “Listen, O revered ones. Upon the Himalaya, the mountain’s own daughter is engaged in fierce austerity. You must go and fulfill her heart’s desire.” Understanding the importance of this mission for the welfare of the world, the sages set out swiftly. Affirming their purpose, “So be it,” they departed for the lord of mountains, accompanied by hosts of siddhas. Arriving at the mountain, the sages approached the goddess and addressed her with gentle words: “Daughter, O lotus-eyed one, what is the wish you have resolved upon through your penance?” With modesty and deep respect, the goddess replied, “O blessed sages, engaged in austerity, now that I have attained the silence of contemplation and the presence of revered ones like you—my mind, fixed in reverence, is purified and unwavering. Because I am ready to receive your questions, I have first offered you seats of honor.” She invited the sages to rest, so that, freed from fatigue, they might question her at ease. Arranging seats for them with care, she honored those worthy of worship, performing the rites of hospitality as tradition demanded. Then, radiant as the sun, she addressed the seven sages. Breaking her vow of silence, she adopted a new silence—one filled with modesty and humility. The sages observed the end of her ascetic quietude and, seeing her respectful disposition, questioned her again. With a mind filled with reverence, beautiful and smiling, she responded to their inquiry. Seeing the sages engaged in gentle conversation, she spoke with controlled speech: “You, revered ones, know what is truly beneficial for the minds of all beings. Some distort things with restless minds, but others, skilled and diligent, strive with divine effort. Through various means, the diligent attain rare states, while others, limited, pursue different paths. Many act for the sake of another body, seeking benefit, but I—adorned with a garland of flowers born from the sky—am like a barren woman longing for a son, my heart yearning again and again. I strive to obtain the blessed god as my husband. “By his very nature, he is unconquerable, now engaged in his own fierce austerity. Even gods and demons cannot predict his ultimate actions. Now, scorched by love yet free from passion, how could someone like me ever win the favor of such a Shiva?” Hearing her words, the sages—steady and composed—spoke in turn to discern her intent, addressing her with words true to the situation: “Daughter, in this world, there are two kinds of happiness: one is the enjoyment of the body, the other the contentment of the mind. As for him, by his very nature, he 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—what purpose would you have with one who is sought in such a form of misfortune? “If you desire enjoyment with this body, why do you long for the great god, who is so fearsome and repulsive? He is adorned with ornaments smeared with blood and fat, terrifying with fierce serpents coiled around his arms. He dwells in cremation grounds, followed by fierce spirits, and though his feet are honored by the crowns of the lords of gods, he is the slayer of enemies. “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 treasure of the gods, who fulfills all desires; there is Vayu, sustainer of the world, breath of all beings. Likewise, there is King Vaishravana, all-knowing and supreme—why do you not seek any one of these? “Or, by obtaining another body, you could have the happiness your mind desires; in that way, your birth would bring you the highest blessings of heaven and all auspicious attainments. All that is not found among the gods belongs to your father alone. Therefore, striving for this is difficult, and even so, it may be fruitless. O blessed one, even when earnestly sought, this union is very rare and difficult to obtain; only the creator is the arranger and accomplisher of such a union for you.” Hearing these words, the daughter of the mountain became angered at the eminent sages. Her eyes reddened with wrath, her teeth clenched tightly, she replied: “What joy is there in false attachment? Where is restraint in misfortune? Who has set those who misunderstand the true meaning on the path of righteousness? You see me as foolish, fond of unworthy and false attachments; I have no concern for myself, since I am devoted to such attachments. “All of you are like Prajapatis, all-seeing; yet surely you do not know that eternal god, the lord of the world—unborn, lord of all, unmanifest, whose greatness and arising cannot be measured. Let that wondrous realization of the true nature of dharma remain, for even the foremost of gods, beginning with Hari and Brahma, do not know it. Whatever has arisen in the worlds from his own power and is manifest among all beings—even that, do you not know here? “Whose is this vast sky? Whose is fire? Whose is wind? Whose is earth? Whose is Varuna? Who has the moon and sun as eyes?” Thus, with passion and wisdom, she spoke, revealing her unwavering devotion and the depth of her understanding.