Shiva, the great lord, addressed Parvati, the daughter of the mountain, with warmth and admiration. “Your nature is truly genuine, O fair-complexioned one,” he said, “not artificial. You have come here, knowing my heart, and your cheerful face shows the depth of your love. The three worlds seem empty without you, and your conduct is fitting for one such as you.” As Shiva spoke, the lord of the Dānavas—unaware of the true identity of the slayer of Tripura—responded with a slight smile. “I undertook austerities seeking your incomparable favor, but found no delight there. That is why I have come to you.” Hearing these words, Śaṅkara became somewhat suspicious. With a smiling face, he fixed his mind and considered carefully. He thought, “She is angry with me, steadfast by nature, and has come unfulfilled in desire. What doubt is there for me in this?” Seeking a sign of recognition, Hara looked for the lotus mark on her left side, but did not find it. Instead, he saw a whorl of hair fashioned there, and realized the Dānava’s illusion. Concealing his own form, Shiva, bearer of the Pināka bow, took up the thunderbolt weapon and struck down the Dānava. Yet Vīraka, Shiva’s son, did not realize that the lord of the Dānavas had been slain. Seeing the Dānava lord killed by Hari in the form of a woman, and not understanding the true meaning, he reported the event to Parvati, the daughter of the mountain. Hearing this news from the wind-mouthed messenger, Parvati’s eyes turned red with anger. Her heart pierced with pain, she cursed her son Vīraka. “Because you abandoned your mother, overwhelmed with affection, and enabled women to approach Śaṅkara in secret union, your mother, O Gaṇeśa, will become harsh, rough, dull, and devoid of heart—like alkali, like stone.” Thus, Vīraka’s transformation into stone became the subject of wondrous tales. As soon as Parvati uttered her curse, wrath emerged from her mouth in the form of a mighty lion. The lion had a terrifying face, matted locks upon its neck, tail raised and hanging, dreadful jaws and protruding fangs. Its mouth gaped, tongue lolling, belly gaunt, and flames devoured all it touched. Sati, the goddess, resolved to subdue the lion quickly. Knowing her intention, the blessed Four-faced Brahmā arrived at the hermitage, the abode of prosperity. He 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.” Girijā replied, expressing her long-cherished desire: “Through arduous austerity, I obtained Śaṃkara as my husband; yet he often calls me ‘dark-complexioned.’ May I be golden in form, united with my beloved, and equal in every limb to my husband, the Lord of beings.” Brahmā, the lotus-seated one, said, “So be it; and furthermore, you shall bear half your husband’s body.” Girijā then cast off her bee-dark form, the hue of a blooming blue lotus. With radiant skin, holding a bell in her hand, three-eyed, adorned with various ornaments and clad in yellow silk, she stood resplendent. Brahmā addressed the goddess, whose radiance was like a blue lotus: “By my command, you have come into being at night from contact with the mountain’s dust. Having accomplished your purpose, you are now a unique portion. Long ago, this lion arose from the goddess’s wrath, O beautiful-faced one. Let him be your mount, O goddess, and let him be mighty in battle. Go to Mount Vindhya; there you will perform the work of the gods. This Yakṣa named Pañcāla, follower of the Yakṣa king, is given to you as an attendant by me, endowed with hundreds of magical powers.” Thus addressed, the goddess Kauśikī went to Mount Vindhya, while Umā, her wish fulfilled, returned to the Lord of the Mountain. As she approached the door, Vīraka, holding a golden cane and intent on his duty, pulled her aside and blocked her path. He spoke angrily, “Because of your appearance, you are unchaste. You have no business here; go before you are frightened away. A demon, taking the goddess’s form, entered here to deceive the god, but he was seen and slain by the god. After he was slain, I was ordered by the wrathful blue-throated one: ‘Be vigilant at the doors,’ and thus I am always watchful. You shall not stand at my door for countless years; therefore, I will not grant you entry here—depart at once!” Vīraka declared that only the mountain’s daughter—his mother, full of affection—could gain entry; no other woman with lotus eyes may enter. Hearing this, the goddess pondered in her mind, “She is not a woman; that was a demon, as the wind told me. In vain did I curse Vīraka, overcome by anger; fools, driven by wrath, often act wrongly. Anger destroys reputation; anger ruins lasting prosperity. Without full understanding of truth, I have cursed my own son. For those whose minds are confused in meaning, calamity easily arises.” Thinking thus, Parvati, the daughter of the mountain, spoke to Vīraka, her face adorned with a blush and lotus-like radiance.