The auspicious preparations for the great goddess began with one attendant applying a well-prepared, sacred ointment to her, while others, devoted and graceful, performed their proper duties with reverence. Surrounding the supreme goddess, her attendants served her from every side, and amidst them, she shone with radiant brilliance, a vision of divinity. In the midst of Tara’s attendants, the goddess appeared like the crescent moon in autumn, serene and luminous. A conch sounded, heralding the moment, and then a great introductory drum was beaten. Sweet instruments joined in harmony, accompanied by the rhythmic clapping of hands, filling the air with music. Hundreds of kettledrums resounded mysteriously, their sounds unstruck yet echoing powerfully. The leaders of the divine hosts, armed and radiant, stood present, their majesty undeniable. Thousands, eight hundred strong, advanced in procession; among them, the bull-mounted one—like a teacher riding atop an elephant—proceeded in dignity. The illustrious leader of the hosts, worshipped by Somānandīśvara, advanced with divine drums resounding in heaven, while clouds showered celestial joy. Sages danced in delight, accomplished yogis rejoiced, and above the canopy, clouds rained flowers, blessing the occasion. Then, accompanied by the other divine hosts, the supreme goddess entered her father’s house, traversing every path as if in a single moment. Upon seeing her, Daksha’s heart filled with anger, for she was the cause of his own decline. Yet, he performed a respectful worship for her, even more than for his younger daughters. Ambika, the goddess whose face was as radiant as the moon, saw her father seated in the assembly and addressed him with composed, unwavering words, free from pity. “O father,” she said, “the god whom even Brahma and all the spirits obey without question 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 are many who are greater and more distinguished than you, worthy of honor despite their youth. Their husbands, too, are highly esteemed by me, joyful and superior in every virtue—even more so 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.” Thus spoken to by her father, the goddess, enraged, addressed Daksha in the hearing of all assembled in the sacrificial hall. “Without cause, Daksha, you revile my husband, the Lord of the Worlds, who is without 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. Because you did not worship Tryambaka, the god of gods, know that your lineage, corrupted, will be destroyed.” Having spoken thus in anger, Sati cast aside all fear, abandoned her body, and went to the mountain Himavat. Himavat, devoted and glorious, performed severe and difficult austerities for a long time, seeking only to please the goddess. By her own will, the goddess favored Himavat, and through her yogic power, made him her father. When Sati, distressed and condemning Daksha, departed, the mantras vanished, and the sacrifice was ruined. Hearing of the goddess’s departure, the destroyer of the three cities—Rudra—became enraged with Daksha and the sages, and cursed them. “Because Sati, though innocent, was slighted by Daksha on my account, while all his other daughters were honored with their husbands, therefore, in the interval of Vaivasvata Manu, all your sons-in-law will be born together, not from a womb, at the Brahma sacrifice. You will be born as a human king in the lineage of Cākṣuṣa, the grandson of Prācīnabarhis and the son of Pracetas. Even there, O wicked-minded one, I will again and again cause obstacles for you in actions connected with righteousness, wealth, and desire.” Thus addressed by Rudra of immeasurable brilliance, Daksha abandoned his Svāyambhuva body, falling to the earth in distress. In the Cākṣuṣa period, Daksha, son of Pracetas, was indeed born as the grandson of Prācīnabarhis and the son of the Pracetas. Bhṛgu and others were also born during the sacrifice of Brahmā, who upheld the Vāruṇī form, in the interval of Manu Vaivasvata. Then, for the sake of Daksha’s righteousness, Maheśa caused an obstacle in the sacrifice of that evil-minded one, while Manu Vaivasvata was present. The sages asked, “How did Maheśa cause this obstacle in the sacrifice undertaken by the evil-minded Daksha for the sake of righteousness? We wish to know this.” By the power of her austerity, the goddess, mother of the universe, attained the status of a daughter to Himavat, rejoicing on the snowy mountain. When the gods arranged her marriage on the summit of Himavat, after much time had passed, she sported together with him. When the period of Vaivasvata arrived, Daksha, son of Pracetas, undertook an Aśvamedha sacrifice. He performed this sacrifice on the slopes of Himavat, at Gaṅgādvāra, a blessed place frequented by sages and siddhas. At that sacrifice, all the gods, led by Indra, gathered together and resolved to go there.