Upon the sacred mountain, the daughter of Himavat, dressed only in garments of tree-bark, devoted herself to intense austerities. Through the searing heat of summer, she endured the trial of five fires; during the rains, she dwelled immersed in water; and on the cold nights of winter, she lay upon dry ground. In this way, she remained unwavering in her penance. Meanwhile, a powerful demon, the son of Andhaka, who still remembered his father's death, learned of the mountain’s daughter. This fierce warrior, Āḍi, brother of Baka, had conquered all the gods in battle. Ever vigilant for the crescent-crested one, he, the enemy of the gods, journeyed to the city of the destroyer of Tripura. Upon arrival, he saw a hero stationed at the gate. Āḍi recalled a boon granted by the lotus-born Brahmā when Andhaka, his father, had been slain by the god of the mountain, the foe of the immortals. Driven by ambition, Āḍi undertook severe and intense austerities. Pleased by his penance, Brahmā appeared before him and asked, “What do you wish to obtain, O best of Daityas?” Āḍi replied, “I choose deathlessness as my boon.” Brahmā explained, “No man or Daitya exists without death; all embodied beings must meet their end.” Undeterred, Āḍi, the lion among Daityas, spoke, “O you born from the lotus, let death come to me only when my form changes.” Brahmā consented: “When the second transformation of your form occurs, then death will come to you; otherwise, you will not die.” Satisfied, Āḍi considered himself immortal and, recalling his means of destruction, prepared his next move. To avoid the hero at the gate, he transformed into a serpent and slipped through a crevice, evading Gaṇeśa’s sight. Unseen, the formidable Dānava entered the abode of the destroyer of cities. There, abandoning his serpent form, Āḍi assumed the guise of Umā, intending to deceive the mountain lord. Through his magic, he created a form beyond imagination—enchanting, flawless, and concealing all marks of recognition. Within his mouth, the Daitya fashioned teeth like adamant, sharp and firm, preparing in his deluded mind to slay the mountain lord. Now appearing as Umā, beautiful yet wicked, adorned in wondrous ornaments and garments, he approached Hara. Seeing this form, the mountain lord was pleased and embraced the Asura, believing him to be the true daughter of the mountain. Shiva spoke, “Your disposition is genuine, O daughter of the mountain, not artificial. You have come here, knowing my heart, O fair-complexioned one. Thinking the three worlds empty without you, you have arrived with a cheerful face; such conduct is fitting for you.” The lord of the Dānavas responded with a slight smile, speaking words that did not betray his true identity, “I went to perform austerities, seeking your incomparable favor, but found no delight; therefore, I have come to you.” Hearing this, Śaṅkara grew suspicious. Smiling, he fixed his mind and carefully considered: “She is angry with me, slender-limbed and steadfast, having come unfulfilled in desire—what doubt is there for me?” Seeking a sign of recognition, Hara looked for the lotus mark on her left side, but found none. Instead, he saw a whorl of hair fashioned there, and realized the Dānava’s illusion. Concealing his own form, the god took up his thunderbolt weapon and struck down the Dānava. Yet Vīraka did not realize that the lord of the Dānavas had been slain. Seeing the Dānava lord slain by Hari in a woman’s form, and not understanding the true meaning, Vīraka reported the event to the daughter of the mountain. Hearing from the wind-mouthed messenger, the goddess, her eyes red with anger, cursed her son Vīraka, her heart pierced with pain: “Because you abandoned your mother, overwhelmed with affection, and enabled women to approach Śaṅkara in secret union—therefore, your mother, O Gaṇeśa, will become harsh, rough, dull, and devoid of heart—like alkali, like stone.” This curse became the well-known cause for Vīraka’s transformation into stone, and in time, he became the subject of wondrous tales. As soon as the curse was uttered, wrath in the form of a lion emerged from the mouth of the mountain’s daughter—mighty in strength, with a terrifying face, matted locks upon its neck, tail raised and hanging, dreadful jaws and protruding fangs. Its mouth agape, tongue lolling, belly gaunt, and flames devouring, the goddess Sati resolved to subdue it quickly. Knowing her intention, the blessed Four-faced Brahmā arrived at the hermitage, the abode of prosperity, and spoke clearly to Girijā: “Daughter, what do you wish to obtain? What is unattainable that I might give you? Cease this excessive austerity by my command.” Hearing this, Girijā replied with words filled with the weight of her teacher’s instruction, expressing in speech her long-cherished and well-defined desire.