The goddess, radiant and compassionate, spoke gently to Vīraka, “Do not be confused, my child. I am indeed your mother. I am the beloved of Śaṅkara, and the daughter of the snowy mountain.” She reassured him further, “Do not let doubt trouble your heart because my body’s complexion has changed. This fair hue was graciously granted to me by Brahmā, the lotus-born one.” She continued, explaining the past, “Unaware of the circumstances set in motion by the demon, I uttered a curse when I learned that Śaṅkara had taken the form of a woman in secret. That curse cannot be withdrawn. But know this, my son: soon you will return from your human birth, and you will be endowed with desire.” Hearing these words, Vīraka’s heart was filled with reverence. With deep devotion, he bowed to his mother, the daughter of the snowy mountain, whose radiance shone like the full moon. He addressed her with loving praise: “O daughter of the mountain, whose hands shine with the marks of the gems pressed by the bows of gods and demons, who cherishes all who seek refuge and destroys the suffering of those who bow before you—I bow to you. “O daughter of the mountain, whose neck gleams with the brilliance of the sun, whose body glows like pure gold, whose arms are adorned with serpents—I take refuge in you. Who in all the worlds grants the wishes of the devoted as swiftly as you do, O praised one? What is there that Śaṅkara himself does not desire in you, O daughter of the world-supporting mountain? “In the assembly of the great lord, you were first praised by the best of the gods, your unconquerable form born of pure yoga, after you destroyed the kin of Andhaka. Seated on the mighty lion chariot, with a neck crowned by a mass of white locks, your pure, fiery, tawny arms have crushed the greatest demons. “Known as Caṇḍikā in the three worlds, mother and destroyer of Śumbha and Niśumbha, you swiftly and alone destroy the demons for those who bow to you here on earth. In the blazing path of wind in the sky and on earth, O goddess, your form is unconquered, incomparable. I bow to you, creator of the worlds, beloved of Bhava. “The oceans with their lively waves, the fires with their radiance, all moving and unmoving beings, and the thousand-hooded serpents—all will speak your name, though it fills me with awe. O blessed one, refuge of the steadfast, I have come to your feet for shelter. May my actions here be unwavering, so that I may gain even a trace of the fruit of your praise.” Pleased by Vīraka’s devotion, the goddess—daughter of the mountain and praised by him—entered the auspicious abode of her husband. At that moment, Rudra beheld Mahāgaurī, the beautiful Gaurī, whose form bewildered the mind and moved with the grace of a wild elephant. He gazed upon her, her face like the full moon, slender, with broad hips and heavy breasts, her waist thin, her beauty undiminished, radiating the nectar of charm. Adorned with every ornament, she acted with gentle intoxication. Rudra was filled with longing: he was desirous, anxious, dejected, fierce, heroic, and terrifying, all at once. He became somewhat compassionate, smiling, yet dreadful and strange; wishing to fulfill the gods’ purpose, he assumed a terrifying form. Parvati, too, became Bhairavi, his counterpart, and the mountain-dweller saw her manifest a thousand forms. When those thousand forms had been absorbed, Parvati revealed her star-like form, and Śaṅkara’s doubts dissolved. Seeing her, the very embodiment of the universe, Śaṅkara—the lover of pleasure—rejoiced, reunited at last with Himavat’s daughter after their long separation. For a thousand years, the two remained in seclusion, their divine play unbroken, arising from many causes. During this time, Vīraka stood at the doorway, respectfully turning away the gods who wished to see Hara, directing them back to their own abodes. “There is no opportunity here, O gods; the bull-bannered one is in private play with the goddess,” he said, and so the gods departed as they had come. When a thousand years had passed, the gods, eager to know what Śaṅkara was doing, urged Agni to find out. Agni, taking the form of a boar, entered through a lattice opening and saw Śarva lying with Girijā. The lord of the gods noticed Agni in his boar form and, somewhat angered, addressed him: “Half of my semen has been discharged in the goddess, O Agni, in the form of seed; since she, out of shame, stopped the rest, you must drink the other half. “Because you have caused this interruption, this task falls to you.” So addressed, Agni, with joined palms, drank the potent seed. By this act, the gods themselves became filled with that divine essence, each according to their own form. Splitting open their bellies, the seed of Maheshvara emerged. When it came forth, glowing like molten gold, it spread out in Śaṅkara’s hermitage and formed a vast, pure, golden lake. The lake was filled with golden lotuses in full bloom, resounding with the calls of many birds. Hearing of this marvel, the goddess approached the great golden lake, her curiosity awakened. She went to the lake of golden lotuses, played in its waters, and adorned herself with a garland of lotuses. Then, seated on the bank with her companions, the goddess wished to drink. She saw that the water, pure and sweet, was adorned with lotuses. She also saw the Kṛttikās, radiant as six suns, who had bathed and taken some of the water from a lotus leaf to their home. Delighted, the goddess exclaimed, “I see milk resting on the lotus leaf!” The Kṛttikās then explained everything to the daughter of the mountain. They said, “If a child is born to you, we will give him to you; but let him also be our son, bearing our names, and let him be renowned in all the worlds, O auspicious one.” Girijā replied, “How can a son born from my body, possessing all limbs, belong to you all?” The Kṛttikās answered, “We will provide him with the finest limbs; if it is so, let it be.” So, the divine events unfolded in accordance with the will of the gods and the goddess, each act suffused with mystery, devotion, and grace.