Hearing the words of Hari, the demon’s anger flared. He challenged, “If you are truly capable, then free her from my grasp today itself!” But as soon as Mādhava, the Lord, spoke, his wrathful gaze alone struck the demon down; in an instant, the demon fell to ashes, leaving Vṛndā far behind. Bewildered by the wondrous illusion of the Lord of the universe, Vṛndā spoke with awe, “Who are you, ocean of compassion, by whom I have been protected here? The suffering of my body and mind, the burning pain brought by the demon’s asceticism, has been taken away by your sweet words and his destruction. Gentle one, in your hermitage I wish to perform austerities, O treasure of penance.” The ascetic replied, “I am Devaśarman, son of Bharadvāja, renowned among sages. Abandoning all pleasures, I have come to this dreadful forest. Here, with my disciple—this boy-nosed one—and other disciples who can assume any form at will, we reside. If you wish to perform austerities in my hermitage, noble lady, then let us go to another forest, for this place is far from the king.” Having thus spoken to the royal wife, Hari turned toward the east, while the king proceeded slowly into a haunted forest filled with ghosts and spirits. Vṛndā, her eyes overflowing with tears, followed behind. The messenger of love, walking after her, called out, “Wait for me!” Meanwhile, a wicked man of sinful appearance wandered the forest, spreading a net that soon filled with living creatures. Drawing in the net, this leader of evildoers took out the beings he had caught—and then, curiously, released them all. Seeing the two women, the hunter called to the messenger of love, “Lady, let your companion come to me and take me by the hand.” At this, Vṛndā looked at him—his face deformed—and, shaken by fear, she and her companion, the beloved of Sindhu, gazed at him in terror. They fled in distress, shining as they ran together through the forest, until at last they reached the hermitage of ascetics. There, in the ascetic forest, Vṛndā saw a most wonderful sight: birds with golden bodies, resounding with many kinds of songs; a pond rich with golden lotuses and golden ground; rivers carrying milk, and trees exuding honey. There were heaps of sugar, piles of sweets, all kinds of delicious foods, and many ornaments. Divine weapons flew through the sky, and satisfied monkeys leapt and played. In a beautiful monastery, Vṛndā beheld a sage seated on a tiger skin, radiating light throughout the three worlds. She approached him and pleaded, “Lord, protect me from the adversary of sin—whether by austerity, righteousness, silence, or recitation. There is no greater merit than rescuing the fearful.” Trembling, she embraced the sage, seeking safety in his presence. At that moment, the wicked soul—the captor of all living beings—arrived. Terrified, Vṛndā clung to Hari’s neck, embracing him with her arms, feeling his pleasant touch. Like a sorrowful vine entwined around a tree, she held him close; by this embrace, she would be restored once more. The sage, possessing all limbs and surpassing her husband in virtue, spoke: “Now, O woman, go for the sake of your husband to the splendid hall.” Thus instructed, Vṛndā entered the splendid hall with the sage. Mounting the divine couch, she took her beloved’s head. She drank from his lips, her eyes closed in passionate longing—and in that moment, the king assumed the form of Jalandhara. His appearance matched her beloved in every way—his chest, stature, words, and mind—he became the Lord of the world. Seeing her dear one’s body fully restored, Vṛndā said, “I will do what pleases you, master; tell me your wish and let me hear it.” Hearing her words, he who was born from the ocean of illusion replied, “Listen, goddess, to how the battle between Shambhu and me took place. My head was severed by Rudra’s fierce discus; yet, through your power and the union of my soul with yours, that severed head was brought here, and my life was joined with it. Dearest, you became sorrowful, child, due to separation from me. Forgive me for the offense of leaving you and going to battle.” Thus he reminded Vrinda with gentle words. With betel leaves, amusements, fine garments, and ornaments, the goddess Vrindarika enjoyed all pleasures. Embracing her beloved tightly, she kissed him, overcome with desire; Vrinda experienced a happiness greater than liberation itself, born of enchantment. The god Narayana considered even the nectar of Lakshmi’s love to be surpassed; Mādhava dispelled the sorrow of Vrinda’s separation. In that charming play, by the beautiful pond where royal swans dwelled, Krishna, enchanted by Vrinda’s form and mood, lost all desire for Padma. There, in Vrindavana, Vrinda assumed the form of Tulasi; from the sweat of her body, she appeared on earth, supremely pure. Having experienced the joy of union with Vrinda, Hari, Lord of the world, for a few days considered the work of Shiva. Then, once, at the end of their lovemaking, Vrinda saw, clinging to her neck, the ascetic—the supreme person with two arms.