From the sacred heights of Mount Sumeru, she—merged into his very limbs—flowed eastward, her waters glimmering with the supreme brilliance of jewels. This radiant stream, born from their union, carried the light of precious gems, illuminating the world with its splendor. Later, the sage Nārada journeyed to the abode of the son of the ocean, Jālandhara, and spoke: “Śaṃbhu has vowed to slay you, O lord of all heroes.” Hearing this, Jālandhara, king among asuras, questioned Nārada: “O great sage, is there any treasure of jewels in the house of the trident-bearer? Tell me all, for no battle is fought without a prize.” Nārada replied, “His wealth is ashes smeared upon his body, an old bull for his mount, serpents coiled around his neck, poison resting at his throat, a begging bowl in his hand. His sons are the elephant-faced and the six-faced ones. Such is his prosperity. But listen—his wife is the daughter of the mountain king, broad-hipped and high-breasted. Though the god of love was burned by him, even he was deluded by her form. Maheśa, for his own amusement, always creates wonders. Śaṃbhu himself becomes dancer and singer for her, making her laugh. She is known as Pārvatī, the very limit of beauty among goddesses. O king, Vṛndā is a most excellent woman, and the celestial nymphs are beautiful, but not one-sixteenth of Pārvatī’s beauty do they attain.” Having spoken thus, Nārada vanished in an instant before all the daityas, leaving Jālandhara, who remained unyielding. Then, Jālandhara sent a messenger—the son of Siṃhikā—who swiftly reached Kailāsa, beholding the divine abode. Meanwhile, Hari, after taking leave of Bhīma, quietly approached Hara and, unnoticed, went to the milk ocean, suspecting a breach. Rāhu, the messenger, beheld the exceedingly radiant mansion of Śaṃkara. Seeing his own reflection, he wondered in astonishment, “What is this?” Desiring to enter, Rāhu was stopped at the door by strong, armed doorkeepers. Though he tried, they forbade him, raising their weapons. Nandī, restraining the attendants, addressed the moon-biter: “Who are you? Why have you come? What is your business, O shaggy one? Speak your purpose before these fearsome attendants slay you.” Rāhu replied, “I am the messenger of Jālandhara. Take me before Shiva. Do not speak anything else, doorkeeper—the great king’s business is at hand.” Hearing this, Nandi, blue and red in hue, approached Śaṃkara, bowed in salutation, and spoke: “O great king, the son of Siṃhikā stands at the door on business. Let him go or let him come in—as you command.” Hearing Nandi’s words, Lord Maheshvara, as if in haste, sent the goddess, who was sleeping in the inner chambers, away with her companions. Then he told Nandi, “Bring the messenger in.” Mighty Nandi took Rāhu by the hand, brought him into the midst of the gods, and showed him Śaṃbhu. Rāhu saw Śaṃbhu—matted-haired, dark in complexion, with five faces and ten arms, adorned with a serpent-sacred thread, bereft of the goddess, and a crescent moon ornamenting his head. He exhaled and inhaled deeply, attended by the Pramatha hosts, surrounded by all the hosts of gods, worshipped by multitudes of attendants. Seeing the messenger before him, Śaṃbhu said, “Speak.” Rāhu began: “O god, I have been sent by Jālandhara into your presence. Hear his message and act quickly. O Lord of the Mountain, you are devoted to austerity, without qualities, devoid of righteousness; you have neither father nor mother, nor lineage or family. Jālandhara, mighty-armed, enjoys the three worlds; you too are under his control, so do as he commands. How is it that you, the ancient one, passionate, riding the bull, have sons—Skanda and Vinayaka—who have now arrived?” At that moment, the god of gods, silent and restraining his limbs, made a gesture with his hands, and Vasuki fell to the ground. Then the tail of the mouse, vehicle of Heramba, was seized by the serpent; seeing his own tail seized, the mouse cried out, “Release! Release!” Hearing the loud cry and seeing Skanda’s mount agitated, Vasuki, out of fear, released the mouse’s tail. Then, Vasuki climbed onto Shiva’s body, wrapped himself around his neck, and remained there; from his breath, fire was produced. By his heat, the crescent moon resting in the forest of matted hair became moist, and Shiva’s body was drenched, as if flooded. Streams of nectar from the moon adorned the heads of Brahma and the guardians of Shiva’s crest, reviving them. He recited all the sequences of yoga and sacred teachings previously learned; hearing what each other had studied, the heads began to dispute. “I am the first, I am the beginning, I alone am the supreme beyond the supreme; I am the creator, I am the sustainer,” they contended eagerly. They lamented, “These things were neither given, nor enjoyed, nor offered by me; with a mind seized by greed, not even wealth was given to Brahma.” Then, from the matted locks of the Lord, a great attendant appeared—three-faced, three-legged, three-tailed, and possessing seven hands. He was the great, tawny-haired, matted one named Kirtimukha. Seeing him, that garland of skulls stood still in fear, as if lifeless. Kirtimukha, exceedingly hungry, bowed to Shiva with his attendants and addressed the Lord. Shankara told him, “Devour those slain in battle.” After pondering for a moment, the attendant found no battle anywhere and saw no slain. He approached to devour Brahma, but was restrained by Shankara. Then Kirtimukha devoured his own entire body.