Hearing the words of the wind-mouthed messenger, the goddess—daughter of the mountain—was seized by a fierce and burning anger. Her eyes reddened with wrath, and, heart pierced by pain, she cursed her own son, Vīraka. In her anguish, she declared, “Because you, overwhelmed with affection for your mother, abandoned me and secretly allowed women to approach Śaṅkara, you are now cursed, O Gaṇeśa. Your mother will become harsh, rough, dull, and devoid of heart—like alkali, like stone.” This, it is said, became the well-known reason for Vīraka’s transformation into stone, a tale that would be recounted with wonder through the ages. No sooner had the curse left the lips of the mountain’s daughter than her wrath took shape—emerging from her mouth as a mighty lion, fierce and powerful. This terrible lion had a terrifying visage, matted locks flowing over its neck, its tail arched and swaying, with dreadful jaws and protruding fangs. Its mouth was agape, tongue lolling, belly gaunt, and from within it devouring flames leapt forth. Seeing this manifestation of her own anger, Sati resolved to subdue it swiftly. At that moment, the blessed Four-faced One—Brahmā—perceived her intention and came to the hermitage, the abode of prosperity. Arriving there, the lord of gods addressed Girijā, “Daughter, what do you desire? Tell me what is beyond attainment, and I shall grant it. Cease this excessive austerity, for I command it.” Hearing these words, Girijā replied with the weight of her teacher’s instruction, speaking aloud her cherished and long-held wish: “Through arduous austerity, I have obtained Śaṃkara as my husband, yet he often calls me ‘dark-complexioned.’ May I become golden in form, united with my beloved, and equal to my husband, the Lord of beings, in every limb.” Moved by her words, Brahmā, the lotus-seated one, replied, “So be it. Moreover, you shall bear half your husband’s body.” With that, Girijā cast off her bee-dark complexion—the hue of a blooming blue lotus. She appeared radiant, her skin glowing, holding a bell in her hand, three eyes shining, her limbs adorned with many ornaments, and clad in yellow silk. Brahmā then spoke to the goddess, whose radiance was like a blue lotus: “By my command, you have arisen at night from the dust of the mountain. Having fulfilled your purpose, you are now a unique portion. Long ago, this lion was born from your wrath, O beautiful-faced one. Let him be your mount, mighty in battle. Go now to Mount Vindhya; there you will accomplish the work of the gods. This Yakṣa named Pañcāla, follower of the Yakṣa king, I give to you as an attendant, endowed with hundreds of magical powers.” Thus instructed, the goddess Kauśikī departed for Mount Vindhya, while Umā, her wish fulfilled, returned to the Lord of the Mountain. As she approached the entrance, Vīraka, holding a golden cane and ever vigilant, stopped her. He pulled her aside and blocked her path, speaking 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, once entered here to deceive the god, but he was seen and slain by the god. After that, the wrathful blue-throated one ordered me, ‘Be vigilant at the doors,’ and so I remain ever watchful. You shall not stand at my door for countless years; I will not grant you entry—depart at once!” Having spoken thus, Vīraka made it clear: only the mountain’s daughter—his mother, full of affection—was permitted to enter; no other woman with lotus eyes would gain admittance. Hearing his words, the goddess pondered deeply: “She was not a woman, but a demon, as the wind had told me. In vain did I curse Vīraka, overcome by anger; for fools, driven by wrath, often act wrongly. Anger destroys reputation; anger ruins lasting prosperity. Without full understanding, I have cursed my own son. For those whose minds are confused, calamity easily arises.” Thinking thus, the daughter of the mountain spoke to Vīraka, her face glowing with a gentle blush and lotus-like radiance: “I am your mother, Vīraka; let there be no confusion in your mind. I am the beloved of Śaṅkara, daughter of the snowy mountain. Do not harbor suspicion, my son, because my complexion has changed. This fair hue was graciously given to me by the lotus-born one. Unaware of the circumstances created by the demon, I cursed you, believing Śaṅkara was alone with a woman in secret. The curse cannot be undone; but I tell you, soon you will return from humanity and be endowed with desire.” Hearing this, Vīraka, with a heart full of devotion, bowed his head to his mother and addressed the radiant daughter of the snowy mountain: “O daughter of the mountain, whose hands are adorned with marks from the gems of gods and demons who bow before you, who cherishes those who seek refuge, who destroys the suffering of the bowed—I bow to you. O daughter of the mountain, whose neck is encircled by the brilliance of the sun, whose body shines like pure gold, whose arms are adorned with snake ornaments—I take refuge in you. Who in the world grants the wishes of the devoted as swiftly as you, O praised one? What does Śaṅkara not desire in you, daughter of the world-supporting mountain? In the circle of the great lord, you are equal to your own unconquerable form, created by pure yoga. You were first praised by the best of gods after destroying the host of Andhaka’s kin. Seated on the chariot of the great lion, with a neck adorned by a mass of white locks, your pure, fiery arms, tawny and long, have crushed the great demons.” Thus, with reverence and devotion, Vīraka praised his mother, the goddess, whose compassion and might shine as brilliantly as the sun.