Śakra, his broad lotus-like face shining with sweat from his exertions, eagerly wrapped himself in the elephant hide, its edges gleaming with the sheen of anointed fat. Vāyu, mighty among the gods, adorned himself with the sharp-horned bull—radiant as a Himalayan peak—the powerful mount of Hara. The sun, fire, and moon, dwelling within the eyes of Śambhu, spread their own dazzling radiance, illuminating the Lord of the worlds, the eternal witness of all deeds. With solemn care, the Lord applied funeral ash—shining like pure silver—to his skull, and with his own hand fastened a garland fashioned from human bones. At the entrance stood the Lord of the Dead, bearing a heavy mace, adorned with wondrous forms and jewels brought forth by the Lord of Wealth. Casting aside his splendid serpent bracelet, the Lord himself made Vasuki and Takṣaka into his ear ornaments. Then, the leaders of the divine hosts, full of reverence, brought forth the steadfast Vīraka, who was adorned with fresh flowers gathered from the ocean lords. All were busily engaged, and they said, “Announce to the earth, O wielder of the trident, that the Lord, now adorned and decorated, is ready.” The seven oceans themselves became mirrors, and in their vast, still waters, the Lord beheld his own reflection. Embracing the earth with his knees, Keśava spoke to Sthāṇu, saying, “O God, you shine in a form that brings joy to the world.” Then, the mothers sent forth the goddess of love, Rati, now marked by the signs of widowhood, signaling by gesture that the time had come. Prompted thus, the goddesses, their faces radiant with smiles, said to the Lord, “Rati has come before you, though deprived of Madana.” But with a gentle gesture of his left hand, the Lord dismissed her, his mind intent upon beholding the face of Girijā as she set forth. Hara then urged his great bull onward—the bull white as a Himalayan cave—gently guiding it with his whip. Its fierce gaze scattered the assembled hosts, and its thunderous movement shook the mountains like a bolt of lightning. Hari, swift-footed and adorned with the dust of the earth, spoke before those sheltering among the foremost trees: “Go forth; do not obstruct this path.” The son, though frowning, emboldened by the Lord’s command, declared, “What thorn is there in the sky for those who move through it? Go forth, do not linger far from the mountain.” Let the great ocean harden its waters to stone, for the coming of the enemies of the gods is a vast mire. “O leaders of the hosts, proceed without fickleness; the steadfast lords of the gods are watching.” “The bee does not lead its own form, nor does the broad-faced Pināka-holder go ahead. In vain, Yama bears his weapon, his teeth bared, abandoning haste. The city-destroyer’s chariot horses are not freed from the crowd of mothers. These gods, surrounded by their followers, are but foot-soldiers; Harapriyā’s followers take double paths.” The gods advanced on their own vehicles, fans fluttering in the wind, banners streaming, delighting in their sport. “Why do they consider only their own, full of passion, following the three prescribed abodes? The sound from heaps of ornaments cannot be matched by the Kinnaras. Why do those not born in the clan refrain from uttering the ṣaḍja or madhyama notes? Here, a greater number will speak with less distinct tones.” “Having passed through varied and measured rhythms, those wary of your excessive divisiveness, these Gauḍakas depart swiftly. Why are the ṣāḍga instruments not played together with their own songs and graceful steps? Before the Lord, whose meaning emerges unbroken, it is understood thus. These, delighting, perform beautiful dances, full of many modulations, spreading the fame of the mountain-lord, scattered among numerous elephant clans. How do these tales resound in every direction, mixed with various brides? The clans do not sound the drum’s resonance; nor do they modulate—why is there no modulation?” Thus, the gods and demons, their attention fixed upon the mountain, were immediately directed by the hero’s command. Joyful, they departed, filling the entire world—both moving and unmoving beings—with their presence. The roaring ocean, its echoing caves split open, was tumultuous, as if agitated by the swift-moving Pināka-holder, with the sound resounding in all directions. In some places, there blazed a thousand golden gateways; elsewhere, emerald mansion platforms were closed; in other places, pure and distant terraces stood; and in yet others, charming waterfalls flowed amidst drifting clouds. The city was adorned with thousands of moving banners, clusters of divine trees, painted in white, black, and red, splendid with prosperity, and with extended path-towers. As the Lord entered, the city of the mountain-lord was stirred into excitement: the tiger-like women, filled with the spirit of victory, crowded the streets, rushing along the pathways. At a palace window, a goddess stood, her eyes like blue lotuses, the rays of her ornaments shining unobscured. Another, adorned in all her finery, having left her companions, gazed at Hara; another, softly speaking, hurried away, anxious: “Friend, do not be foolish.” Though scorched by longing, Pināki himself wished to delight alone; one woman, falling of her own accord, spoke to another whose limbs were weakened by separation. “Do not, O restless one, attribute the union with Madana to Shankara; speak, if any fault was committed, but do not ignore proper restraint, for Girisha spoke thus, guided by reason.” “This is he, before whom Indra and the other lords of heaven, each with their own names, bow to the moon-crested one, seeking the fruits of their service. This is not that one; this is he, whose body is wrapped in skin, crowned with the moon, and Vajradhara, king of the immortals, runs ahead to clear his path.” “This is he, the lotus-born, who approached, concealed by tall matted hair and deer skin, affectionately touching his face with his hand, and spoke a little, measuredly, at the root of the Vedas.” Thus, among the ranks of divine women, a confusion of minds arose; seeking refuge in Shankara, they said, “The supreme fruit of Girija’s birth is this.” Then, at the abode of the snowy mountain, prepared by Vishvakarman, there stood a great pillar of blue stone and a shining golden floor, adorned with nets of pearls, illuminated by radiant herbs, endowed with a thousand pleasure gardens, and with a golden lotus pond.