That supreme power, the very Māyā known as the sleep of Viṣṇu, emerged in her full glory—wielding conch, discus, trident, and an array of other weapons in her eight mighty arms. Her form was a wondrous blend: gentle and terrible, awe-inspiring and beautiful, with three brilliant eyes and the crescent moon adorning her brow. Untouched by any man, invincible, and radiant beyond compare, she was at once the terror of evil and the delight of the virtuous. This eternal power, the goddess herself, was entrusted to Brahmā—the very slayer of Niśumbha and Śumbha, the lion among the Daityas. Delighted, Brahmā in turn gave her a powerful lion to serve as her mount, befitting her supreme might. He decreed that her worship should take place in the Vindhya mountains, with offerings of wine, meat, fish, and cakes. With the blessings of both Brahmā and Viśvakarman, and after bowing in reverence to Mother Gaurī and Brahmā, this goddess was honored and acclaimed. 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 the heat of battle, those foremost Daityas fell before her. Struck by her arrows and those of Kāma, their bodies and minds were shattered, and the earth was freed of their tyranny. Though the full tale of that battle is recounted elsewhere, only what is relevant is told here. After these deeds, Gaurī produced Kauśikī and entrusted her to Brahmā. In gratitude, the Grandfather Brahmā 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. By making him the leader, I am able to go forth with my companions.” At these words, 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 directly into the mouth of a venomous serpent? This wicked night-dweller, with his tigress, has devoured cows and ascetic Brahmins. He wanders in whatever form he desires, satisfying his companions as he pleases. Surely, one must reap the fruit of sinful deeds. Why, then, show compassion to such evil souls? What purpose does the goddess have for one whose nature is impure?” Gaurī replied, “All you have said is true; he is indeed as you describe. Yet, having sought refuge in me, he should not be abandoned. You have recounted his past deeds without knowing his devotion; but if he is truly devoted, what do his sins matter? A devotee does not perish. Even those who act virtuously do so only by your command. You are the unborn, ancient wisdom, the supreme goddess. For all beings, bondage and liberation depend on you; apart from you, who can attain the highest power or accomplishment? You alone are manifold power; whether beings act or not, without you, what can the agent accomplish? For Viṣṇu, for myself, and for all others—gods, demons, and spirits—the attainment of their respective dominions is caused only by your command. Countless Brahmās, Viṣṇus, and Śivas have come and gone, all following your will. Without worshipping you, O goddess of the gods, even the highest among us cannot attain the four aims of life. There may be an immediate exchange between the state of Brahmā and that of immobile beings; merit and demerit are established by you alone. You are the primal, eternal power of Śiva, the supreme soul, who sustains the entire universe, without beginning, middle, or end. For the world’s journey, you assume various forms. Therefore, even this tiger, though a doer of evil, may attain supreme accomplishment by your grace; what obstacle could there be?” Thus, recalling her own highest nature, Gaurī, urged by Brahmā, withdrew from her austerities. After taking leave of the goddess, Brahmā disappeared from view. The goddess then saw her mother Menā together with Himavat. Bowing and consoling her parents, who could not bear the pain of separation, the devoted goddess—beloved of penance—approached the forest hermitages. In the pain of parting, she shed tears like flowers, and the birds perched above echoed her sorrow with plaintive cries. Agitated and distressed in many ways, longing for a vision of her beloved husband, she spoke eagerly to her companions. Placing the tiger before her, out of affection as if it were her own son, she illumined the ten directions with the radiance of her body. Gaurī then went to Mount Mandara, where her husband—the great Lord, the creator, sustainer, and destroyer of all worlds—resided. Assuming a radiant, divine form, the daughter of the mountain entered the abode. As she entered, adorned and resplendent, how did she behold her husband, Satī? And at that very moment, what did the Lord do upon seeing the Gaṇeśas stationed at the palace gate—and how did they respond to his presence?