Through threefold effects, the divine power brings forth the sixfold paths, and thus the entire world, composed of six varieties, emerges from the interplay of word and meaning. The scriptures themselves describe in detail the vastness of this process, illuminating the fullness of creation. Yet, the wondrous and profound deeds of this divine force are so intricate that even the gods struggle to comprehend them, leaving mortal minds bewildered. In the essential union of Shiva and his power, there is no fault; from their actions, even ordinary states of existence arise. Brahmā and the other deities, who serve as the causes behind creation, preservation, and dissolution, remain subject to Shiva’s will—whether he chooses to restrain or show grace. Shiva, however, is not bound by restraint or grace for anyone; his sovereignty is utterly independent, and this is certain. Such sovereignty is marked by absolute freedom, and this freedom, being Shiva’s own nature, may have embodiment as its abode. Yet, form does not belong to one who is absolutely free, for form arises from a fundamental cause, and since form is itself an effect, its existence would be causeless. Everywhere, people speak of the supreme state and the non-supreme; but how can these two states—supreme and non-supreme—exist together in one? The supreme nature of the Supreme Self is fruitless, so why does the entire manifest nature exist, since its essence is unchanging? If the inherent nature is contrary and the Lord is independent, then why does He not, by His own will, create confusion between the eternal and the non-eternal? It is commonly said that one is the embodied, the complete, while another is Shiva, fruitless, established by Shiva himself. At such times, the embodiment itself becomes the form of Shiva; thus, in form, there is a certain dependence between the embodied and the form. Otherwise, how could form be accepted without reason? Therefore, the acceptance of form is for the sake of attaining a desired result. Truly, embodiment by one’s own will does not align with absolute independence, for will in beings always follows action. Brahmā and others, down to the spirits, can assume and abandon bodies at will; but do they transcend action? They know that the creation of a body by will is like an illusion, for mastery over powers such as minuteness does not surpass their control. Vishnu himself, assuming the form of the universe, was observed by the sage Dadhichi, who also took on that form during battle. Even for Shiva, the Supreme Self, embodiment appears to us as similarity with other selves. Shiva is declared to be the supreme cause and universal benefactor; yet, how does he, who grants favor to all, restrain the gods? The god repeatedly severed the fifth head of Brahma, who, out of stubbornness, uttered slander against Shiva, calling him “son.” To Vishnu in his fierce Narasimha form, Shiva appeared as Sharabha, splitting his heart with sharp claws and trampling him underfoot. Among goddesses and gods, none escaped punishment at the hands of Virabhadra during Daksha’s sacrifice. The triple city, along with its women, demons, and children, was in a moment reduced to fuel for the fire of Shiva’s eye. Kāma, the lord of desire and cause of pleasure among beings, was offered as a sacrifice to the fire from Shiva’s eye, while the gods cried out in distress. Some cows, pouring streams of milk on their heads while flying in the sky, were instantly reduced to ashes when seen angrily by Shiva. The demon Jalandhara, who made water into a discus and bound Vishnu, hurling him a hundred yojanas away, was torn apart. That same one, joined with water, was slain by the spear, and Vishnu, ever empowered, obtained the discus through austerity. The clan of enemies of the gods, seeking to kill, was struck down by the trident upon Andhaka’s chest, as by the lord of peacocks. Shiva created Kālā, the maiden of death, from his own throat, casting down even the boy, and generated Kauśikī, who dwelled within the sheath of Gaurī’s skin. Śumbha and Niśumbha were brought to death in battle, and the great story—the refuge of Skanda—has been heard in the Skanda Purāṇa. For the destruction of Tāraka, the demon king and hater of Indra, Shiva, urged by Brahmā, entered the palace of Mandara. There, for a long time, he delighted with the goddess, deeply absorbed in pleasure, and named her Rasā, as if she had been led to the netherworld. Deceiving the goddess, he did not release his exceedingly powerful seed, but, as clarified butter is offered into fire, discharged it, pure as nectar. He deposited it in the Gaṅgā and other rivers, through the agency of fire, in part; then, gathering it little by little from here and there. By Svāhā, taking the form of the Kṛttikā stars, delighting with her own husband and made golden, it was placed somewhere on Mount Meru, in the thicket of reeds. In time, this energy kindled all ten directions with its radiance, coloring the mountains golden with Meru’s brilliance. Then, after a long while, from that energy, a boy was born there, with delicate limbs, as an exemplar among boys. Seeing his charming childhood form, the gods, asuras, and all the worlds were astonished and bewildered. The god himself came, longing to see his son; together with the goddess, he took the boy onto her lap, and his face shone with a smile.