Hearing herself reproached for her dark complexion, the goddess spoke with gentle resolve, “Since this color of mine has been secretly criticized, I will abandon it. I may choose another hue—or perhaps none at all, as I wish.” Having said these words, she rose from her couch, her voice trembling with emotion, and respectfully asked her husband’s permission, determined to undertake austerities. Witnessing her resolve and fearing a rift in their deep affection, the Lord of all beings, Mahādeva himself, bowed at the feet of Bhavānī and spoke to her with concern. Unaware that her words were spoken in jest, he asked, “Dearest, why are you angry? How could I ever lose delight in you, or find joy in anyone else? You are the mother of this world, and I am its father and lord—how could I not rejoice in you?” He continued, “Even if there is desire between us, is it the work of Kāma? The origin of desire was before the world’s creation. For the pleasure of ordinary people, I created Kāma as the embodiment of longing. Why, then, do you reproach me for burning Kāma? Manobhava, thinking me like any other god, showed me slight disrespect, and so I reduced him to ashes. For the world’s protection, I set aside desire between us. That is why you made a playful remark to me today. Soon, the purpose behind your words will be revealed.” He reflected, “O blessed one, I have heard your sweet words before, and even I, steadfast as I am, was once deceived by them. A virtuous woman who does not even abandon her life for her husband, though noble and good, is looked down upon by the wise. Your displeasure with me is great, and my dark form is the reason. Even your playful speech is timely—how could it be otherwise? Therefore, your dark complexion is not approved by the virtuous and is not accepted. I cannot remain here, forsaking my ascetic practice.” He added, “If your austerity is of this kind, what is the use of such penance? By my wish or your own, take on another color.” But the goddess replied, “I do not wish to change my color by your will or any other means. By worshipping Brahmā with austerity, I will quickly become Gaurī, the fair one. By my grace, Brahmā once attained his exalted state—so what need is there for me to undertake austerity? Yet all the gods, beginning with Brahmā, have received their positions from you. Still, by your command, Brahmā worshipped you with austerity.” She recalled, “Long ago, I was born as Satī, daughter of Dakṣa, and in this way I gained you, Lord of the world, as my husband. Now, in the same way, I wish to please the twice-born Brahmā with austerity to become Gaurī. What fault is there in this? Let it be spoken here.” Thus addressed, Vamadeva, the Lord, as if smiling, did not restrain her, for he wished to fulfill the purpose of the gods. Then, the devoted goddess, after circumambulating her husband and mastering her sorrow at their separation, journeyed to Mount Himavat. Out of affection, she chose once more the very place where she had previously performed austerities with her companions, resolving to undertake penance there. Arriving at her parents’ house, she bowed before her father and mother, informed them of all that had happened, and, with their consent, Sati withdrew once more to the forest of penance. She set aside her ornaments, bathed, and donned the pure attire of an ascetic. Firmly resolved to perform the most severe and difficult penance, she fixed her mind constantly on the lotus feet of her husband. Meditating on the transient liṅga, she worshipped it according to the proper rites at the three junctions of the day, offering forest flowers, fruits, and the like. Always holding the thought that Brahmā himself, assuming his own form, would grant her the fruit of her penance, she continued her austerity with unwavering devotion. As she practiced her penance over a long time, a great tiger of evil intent appeared before her. Yet as the wicked beast approached, his body grew stiff, as if painted with strange patterns, unable to move near her. Even seeing this tiger, who had come with harmful intent, the goddess, by her very nature, did not see him as she would an ordinary creature. The tiger, his body paralyzed and tormented by hunger, thought, “For me, there is no other meat but hers,” and so he remained there constantly, watching the goddess day and night, as if engaged in her worship. Compassion arose in the goddess’s heart: “He is ever my devotee, and I am his protector from evil beings.” By the power of her compassion, all impurities were instantly destroyed in him, and the tiger recognized the goddess for who she truly was. His hunger vanished, his stiffness left him, his innate wickedness disappeared, and he felt deep satisfaction within. Realizing his own fulfillment with supreme feeling, the tiger immediately became a true devotee and served the supreme goddess. He became a remover of evil even among other wicked beings, wandering in the forest of penance. Meanwhile, the goddess’s austerity grew ever more intense and severe. Because of the unrelenting oppression of the Daityas, the gods, afflicted by their enemies, sought refuge with Brahmā. They made known their suffering and recounted how Śumbha and Niśumbha had received their boons through satisfaction.