Within the palace of the snowy mountain, a goddess appeared at the window, her eyes shimmering like blue lotuses, the brilliance of her ornaments undimmed by any veil. Among the divine women, one, adorned with every ornament, left behind the warmth of her companions and gazed upon Hara. Another, softly cautioning her friend not to act foolishly, departed anxiously. Though Pinaki, scorched by desire, sought only solitary delight, a woman, weakened by the pangs of separation, spoke to another who had fallen in longing. “Do not, restless one,” she said, “attribute union with Madana to Shankara. If any fault was committed, speak, but do not disregard restraint, for Girisha acts guided by reason.” “This is he,” they said, “before whom Indra and all the lords of heaven bow, seeking the fruit of their service—the moon-crested one.” “This is not that one; this is he wrapped in skin, crowned with the moon, with Vajradhara, king of the immortals, running ahead to clear his path.” “This is he, the lotus-born, approaching, his tall matted hair and deer skin concealing him, affectionately touching his face, speaking measured words at the root of the Vedas.” Among the divine women, confusion arose in their minds. Seeking refuge in Shankara, they declared, “The supreme fruit of Girija’s birth is this.” At the abode of the snowy mountain, crafted by Vishvakarman, a wondrous pillar of blue stone stood, its golden floor gleaming. Pearl nets adorned the halls, radiant herbs illuminated the space, and a thousand pleasure gardens surrounded a golden lotus pond. The gods, led by Mahendra, beheld this marvel and rejoiced, saying, “Today our eyes are fulfilled by what our minds desired.” Their armlets loosened by the throng, blocked at the door by the sacred deer, the foremost among the dwellers of heaven managed to enter. Worshipped by the lord of the mountain, the four-faced god performed every rite with mantras guiding the way. The hand-taking of Sharva, witnessed by Agni and unbroken, was given by the lord of the earth, officiated by the four-faced god. The groom was Pashupati himself; the bride, Vishvarani. All beings, moving and unmoving, the best of gods and demons, gathered for the occasion. According to rule, they became busy in form, releasing new grains, rice, and medicinal herbs. The goddess Earth, eager and delightful, gathered all gems and ornaments, as did Varuna. The pure and holy ornaments, crafted from various gems, adorned the god, bringing joy to all embodied beings. Kubera, too, brought divine golden ornaments, fashioned with devotion, and presented them. A mighty, sweet wind blew, pleasant to the touch. Indra, shining like the moon, held a pure white umbrella. Joyful and adorned with garlands, he grasped the umbrella with arms decorated by many ornaments, while the chief Gandharvas sang and the groups of Apsarases danced. The Gandharvas and Kinnaras played exceedingly sweet music; the seasons themselves, manifest in form, sang and danced. The restless hosts shook Mount Himāchala as the sun-eyed Lord advanced step by step. He performed the wedding rites with his wife as prescribed; the mountain king offered ritual water, entertained by the hosts of gods. The destroyer of cities spent the night there with his wife, accompanied by Gandharva songs and Apsaras dances. At dawn, awakened by the praises of gods and demons, the lord of the gods, after inviting the king of the snowy mountain, departed with Umā, traveling to Mount Mandara with the speed of the wind, riding the horned one. After the illustrious blue-red Lord departed with Umā, the mountain and his kin were overcome by longing—for whose heart is not unsettled when a daughter is given away? The city on the mountain, long prepared by Hara, shone with blazing gems, crystal, and gold, its towers radiant. The host of immortals departed, each returning to their own abode. Accompanied by Umā, the god whose eye is the sun enjoyed himself in delightful gardens and secluded forests. His heart deeply attached to the goddess, marked by the emblem of the makara, after much time passed, the mountain-born desired a child. With her companions, she played with artificial children; once, the mountain-born applied fragrant oil to her body. She rubbed herself with powders, hidden beneath dirt, and from that paste, fashioned a man with an elephant’s face. The goddess played with her little son, placing him in the water; through the friendship of Shiva and Jahnavi, he grew vast in form. With an exceedingly large body, he filled the world; the goddess called him “son,” and Jahnavi also called him “son.” The gods worshipped the elephant-faced one as “Gāṅgeya,” and the grandfather bestowed upon him the lordship of the Vināyakas. Again, the splendidly colored goddess played for the sake of a son; nurturing a charming sprout of the Ashoka tree, she raised him with proper rites and auspicious ceremonies, aided by priests led by Brihaspati and the chief of the gods. Then, the gods and sages spoke to the goddess: “O Bhavāni, you are Bhavatī, auspicious, born for the benefit of the worlds.” “Generally, people obtain the fruit of sons through children and grandchildren; yet, those without sons are often seen, due to fate’s workings. Now that the path has been shown, you should establish the proper order. What fruit will come, O Devi, from trees with imagined offspring?” Thus addressed, her body filled with joy, and she spoke auspicious words.