Daksha, blinded by delusion, failed to recognize the supreme nature of his own daughter. Seeing her merely as his child, he allowed enmity to fester within himself toward her. Driven by this hostility and compelled by fate, Daksha—though he was an initiated sacrificer—deliberately did not invite Bhava, harboring even greater hatred toward his daughter. Nevertheless, Daksha performed hundreds of splendid sacrifices, each conducted separately with great pomp. It was through Nārada that Rudrāṇī, Daksha's daughter and the consort of Rudra, heard of these grand assemblies. She went to Rudra and informed him about her father's sacrificial gathering. At that moment, a divine aerial chariot appeared before her. It faced all directions, adorned with auspicious symbols, easy to ascend, and utterly enchanting. The chariot gleamed like molten gold, decorated with precious gems, draped with pearl canopies, and adorned with garlands and ornaments. Its entire structure was of refined gold, surrounded by hundreds of jeweled pillars, with steps like diamonds and gateways of coral. The floor was covered with floral carpets, and a magnificent throne set with many-colored gems stood within, latticed with diamond windows and flawless jeweled pavements. At the front of the chariot was a beautiful jeweled staff, marked by the image of a great bull, and a banner as pure as a cloud. The entrance was guarded by attendants clad in gem-studded armor, holding ornate staffs, and protected by mighty lords of virtue, unassailable in their strength. Within, the chariot was filled with many women skilled in playing drums, cymbals, singing, flutes, and lutes, all adorned in clever attire and graceful speech. The great goddess ascended the chariot, accompanied by her beloved friends. For her, a charming fan with a jeweled handle was prepared. Two auspicious Rudrakanya maidens took up the task of fanning her, and between these two attendants, the radiant face of the goddess shone forth. Between them, who vied with each other like graceful swans, a lotus-like parasol, shining like the moon and garlanded with flowers, was held above the goddess’s head. That radiant parasol, encircled with pearls and full of affectionate care, glowed above the goddess’s face. Above her, like the disk of the nectar vessel or the full moon, the beautiful and smiling goddess sat at the forefront of the chariot. Suyaśā, with the game of dice, entertained the virtuous goddess, and her auspicious jeweled sandals were placed nearby. Suyaśā, placing the sandals between her breasts, served the goddess with devotion. Another attendant, golden-limbed and radiant, held up a shining mirror. One held a palm fan, another a betel box, while a lovely maiden took a charming play-cloth in her hand. Another brought delightful and fragrant flowers, and a lotus-eyed attendant carried a container for ornaments. One applied a well-prepared, auspicious ointment, while others, similar in grace, performed their respective duties with care. Surrounded on all sides by these devoted attendants, the supreme goddess shone exceedingly in their midst. Amidst the Tara attendants, she appeared like the autumnal crescent moon. Then, the sound of a conch shell arose, followed by the beating of a great introductory drum, and sweet instruments played in harmony with the rhythm of clapping hands. Hundreds of kettledrums resounded with unstruck, celestial sounds, and the leaders of the divine hosts, armed and radiant, were present. Thousands and eight hundred of these divine beings advanced at that time; among them, the bull-mounted one—the leader—proceeded like a teacher riding atop a great elephant. The illustrious leader of the hosts, worshipped by Somānandīśvara, advanced as divine drums resounded in heaven and clouds showered celestial joy. All the sages danced, accomplished yogis rejoiced, and flowers rained down from the clouds above the canopy. Thus, accompanied by the divine hosts, the supreme goddess entered her father’s house, moving along every path as if in a single moment. Seeing her arrive, Daksha was seized by anger, for he saw her as the cause of his own decline. Yet, despite his feelings, he performed a respectful worship for her, even more so than for his younger daughters. Ambika, the goddess whose face was like the moon, beheld her father seated in the assembly. Composed and unwavering, without a trace of pity, she spoke to him in the hearing of all: “O father, that god whom even Brahmā and all the rest, down to the spirits, obey without question—he has not been worshipped here today according to proper rite. Let it be that the worship of me, your eldest daughter, is neglected in this way; but by scorning it, you have committed a blameworthy act.” Daksha, filled with anger and resentment, replied: “Among my daughters, there are many who are greater and more distinguished than you, and they are worthy of honor, though still young. Their husbands, too, are highly esteemed by me—joyful and superior in every virtue—even more than your husband, Tryambaka. Your husband, whose mind is arrogant and filled with darkness, you have chosen as your refuge. Therefore, I disregard you, for he is hostile to me.” Hearing these words, the goddess grew enraged, and in the presence of all assembled in the sacrificial hall, she addressed her father: “Without cause, Daksha, you revile my husband, the Lord of the Worlds, who is without any fault, with your words. One who is a thief of knowledge, betrayer of his teacher, and defiler of the Vedas—such are all considered great sinners and deserving of punishment, so declares the scripture. Therefore, for this exceedingly wicked sin of yours, a severe and sudden punishment, befitting your crime, will come upon you by divine will.