Hearing the anguished cries of the gods, Brahmā, the Creator, was moved by deep compassion. He recalled the ancient story whose root and purpose lay in the destruction of the Daityas, the great enemies of the gods. Thus invoked and accompanied by the troubled deities, Brahmā made his way to the hermitage of the Supreme Goddess, his mind fixed on the deliverance of the gods—a deliverance that would come through his own effort. Arriving at the sacred hermitage, the foremost of the gods beheld Lady Bhavānī herself. She sat absorbed in the highest austerity, radiating such presence that she seemed the very foundation upon which the universe rested. Brahmā bowed reverently before her—the Mother of the Worlds, consort of both Hari and Rudra, and noble daughter of the Lord of Mountains. Perceiving Brahmā’s arrival, the Goddess, together with the assembled gods, honored him with the appropriate arghya and welcomed him with all due rites. After graciously accepting her hospitality and offering her praise, the lotus-born Brahmā inquired, as if unaware, about the purpose of her severe austerities. “O Goddess,” he asked, “what is it that you seek to accomplish with such intense penance? For all the fruits of austerity are already subject to your will alone. You, who have attained as your husband the Supreme Lord of all worlds—what more could these austerities grant you? Or perhaps this is but your divine sport, your play. Yet, it is remarkable how you endure separation from the Lord. “At the dawn of creation, it is said you were born from the Lord himself. Among beings, you were my first-born son. Later, for the increase of creation, when Bhava was born from your forehead, you became my teacher, and my son-in-law as well. When the Lord of Mountains was your father, and mine also, you became my grandfather, ancestor of the worlds. You, who regulate the course of the worlds, have already fulfilled every role—how can I speak again of a husband for you? “But why speak further? If this dark complexion of mine is abandoned, by the arrangement of sattva, I am able to become Gaurī. Tell me, O Goddess, for what purpose have you performed such severe austerity? Is not your own will sufficient? For such play is indeed yours. Even your divine play, O Mother of the Worlds, is always for the welfare of the worlds. Therefore, let some desired fruit be accomplished by my intervention. “The two Daityas, Niśumbha and Śumbha, have grown arrogant and oppressive toward the gods, having received boons from me. Their destruction has been ordained through you. Let there be no more delay—become steadfast, and as your power is released today, death will come to those two.” Thus requested by the Brāhmaṇas, the Goddess, daughter of the mountain, with firm resolve cast off her outer skin. From this act, she manifested as Gaurī, the radiant one. From the shed skin emerged Kauśikī—also called Kālī—a maiden dark as a raincloud. This power, the embodiment of Māyā and known as the sleep of Viṣṇu, appeared armed with conch, discus, trident, and other weapons, bearing eight mighty arms. Her form was at once gentle, terrible, and wondrous—three-eyed, adorned with the crescent moon, untouched by any man, invincible, and supremely beautiful. This eternal power, the Goddess entrusted to Brahmā, declaring her the slayer of Niśumbha and Śumbha, the lion among Daityas. Delighted, Brahmā gifted her a powerful lion to serve as her mount. He instructed that her worship should be performed in the Vindhya mountains, with offerings of wine, meat, fish, and cakes. This supreme power, approved by Brahmā and Viśvakarman, bowed in order to Mother Gaurī and to Brahmā, and was honored. Surrounded by many powers equal to herself—her own daughters—she set out for the Vindhya mountains, intent on slaying the Daitya lords. There, in a mighty battle, those foremost Daityas were struck down by her; their bodies and minds shattered by her arrows and the arrows of Kāma. The full account of that great battle is told elsewhere, but here only what is relevant is recounted. After producing Kauśikī, Gaurī entrusted her to Brahmā. In return, the Grandfather spoke: “Have you seen this tiger, who has taken refuge with me? By his presence, my hermitage has been protected from evil beings. With his mind fixed on me, devoted to me alone, nothing is dearer to me than his protection. Therefore, he is destined to dwell in my inner chambers; out of affection, Śaṅkara will grant him the status of lord of the Gaṇas. Making him their leader, I am able to go forth with my companions.” Hearing this, Brahmā laughed gently, smiling at the Goddess as if she were innocent. “O Goddess,” he said, “wild beasts are cruel—where is your auspicious compassion? Who pours nectar into the mouth of a venomous serpent? This wicked night-dweller, accompanied by a tigress, has devoured cows and ascetic Brahmins. Taking whatever form he desires, he wanders, satisfying his wants as he pleases. Surely, one must reap the fruits of sinful deeds. Therefore, what use is compassion for such evil souls? What purpose do you have for one whose nature is impure?” The Goddess replied, “All that you have said is true; he is indeed as you describe. Yet, having sought refuge in me, he should not be abandoned.