Have you seen this tiger, who has come to me for refuge? It is by his presence that my hermitage has been protected from evil beings. With his mind steadfastly devoted to me, loving me above all else, there is nothing I cherish more than his protection. Because of this unwavering devotion, he is destined to dwell within my innermost chambers; out of affection, Śaṅkara himself will grant him the status of lord of the Gaṇas. By appointing him as their leader, I am able to go forth with my companions, secure in his guardianship. Hearing these words, Brahmā laughed gently, smiling at the goddess as if she were innocent in her compassion. He said, “O goddess, wild beasts are by nature cruel; where is your auspicious compassion in this? Who would pour nectar directly into the mouth of a venomous serpent? This wicked night-dweller, accompanied by a tigress, has devoured cows and ascetic Brahmins alike. Taking on whatever form he desires, he roams about, satisfying himself as he wishes; surely, one must reap the fruits of sinful deeds. What is the use, then, of extending compassion to such evil souls? What purpose does the goddess have for one whose nature is impure?” To this, the goddess replied, “All that you have said is true; he is indeed just as you describe. Yet, having sought refuge in me, he should not be abandoned. Without knowing the depth of his devotion, you have spoken only of his past deeds; but if he is truly devoted, what do his sins matter? No devotee of mine ever perishes. Even those who act virtuously do so only by your command, O goddess; you are the unborn, ancient wisdom, the supreme power. For all beings, bondage and liberation depend upon you alone; apart from you, whose action can attain the highest accomplishment? You alone are the manifold power; whether beings act or refrain, without you, what can the agent achieve? For Viṣṇu, for myself, and for all others—gods, demons, and spirits—the attainment of their respective dominions is possible only by your command. Countless Brahmās, Viṣṇus, and Śivas have come and gone, and countless more will follow, all moving according to 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 sake of 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 reminded of her own highest nature, Gaurī, urged by Brahmā’s words, withdrew from her austerities. When Brahmā had taken leave of the goddess and disappeared, the goddess beheld her mother Menā together with Himavat. She bowed before them and offered words of consolation, for her parents were unable to bear the pain of separation from their beloved daughter. Then, devoted to penance and filled with love, the goddess made her way toward the forest hermitages. As she journeyed, tears fell from her eyes like flowers, and in her sorrow, the birds perched on the branches above cried out plaintively, echoing her grief. Agitated and distressed in many ways, she spoke to her companions, expressing her longing for a vision of her husband. Placing the tiger before her, caring for him with affection as if he were her own son, she illumined the ten directions with the radiance of her presence. Gaurī then proceeded to Mount Mandara, where her husband—the great Lord, the creator, sustainer, and destroyer of all worlds—resided. Assuming a radiant, divine form, the mountain’s daughter entered the Lord’s abode. As she entered, how did she see her beloved husband? What did the Lord do when he saw the Gaṇeśas stationed at the palace gate, and how did they respond? Such supreme delight cannot be described in words, for the feeling born of love seizes the hearts of those who feel it. The doorkeepers, filled with excitement and anxious for the goddess’s arrival, quickly let her in, and within she beheld her Lord. Honored by the chief Gaṇas within the palace, greeted with words of devotion and affection, she bowed reverently to Triambaka. She had not yet risen from her bow when the Supreme Lord embraced her with both arms, surrounding her with great joy. Though he wished to seat her on his lap, she sat on the couch; but from there, smiling, he gently lifted her onto his lap. Smiling, his eyes wide as if drinking in the sight of her face, the Lord spoke first, eager for conversation. “That difficult period has passed, O beautiful one, when no means could be found to appease anger. Even by your own will, time did not move, nor did you change your color; your very nature has seized my mind, O lovely-browed one, and brought me concern. How has that supreme feeling been forgotten, when, by the union of our own will, there can be no cause for impurity of mind? If, like ordinary people, there is any cause of displeasure between us, then such a thing does not exist anywhere else in the moving and unmoving world.” Thus, the reunion of the goddess and her Lord was filled with joy, love, and the profound peace that arises when true devotion and compassion are honored above all else.