Let us contemplate the profound mysteries of Shiva, the Supreme Lord, and the nature of embodiment and independence. If the Lord is truly independent, why does He not, by His own will, create the confusion between what is eternal and what is not? Everywhere it is said that one is the embodied, the complete being, and another is Shiva, fruitless and established by Shiva Himself. At the appointed time, the embodied being itself becomes the form of Shiva; thus, there is an undeniable dependence between the embodied and the form. After all, how could a form be accepted without purpose? The acceptance of form is always for the attainment of some desired result. Indeed, taking on embodiment by one's own will does not accord with true independence, for such will, in people, always follows after action. Brahma and the other gods, even down to spirits, are able to assume and abandon bodies at will—but do they truly transcend action? They know that creating a body by will is like conjuring an illusion, for mastery over powers such as minuteness does not exceed their control. Consider Vishnu, who assumed the form of the universe; the great sage Dadhichi himself took on that form while engaged in battle. Even for Shiva, the Supreme Self, embodiment appears to us as similarity with other selves. Shiva is declared to be the supreme cause, the universal benefactor; yet how does He, who grants favor to all, restrain the gods? There are wondrous tales: the god severed, again and again, the fifth head of Brahma, who, out of stubbornness, uttered slander against Shiva, calling him ‘son.’ Even Vishnu, in the fierce form of Narasimha, had his heart split by Sharabha’s sharp claws and was trampled with his feet. Among goddesses and gods, none escaped the punishment of the heroic Virabhadra during Daksha’s sacrifice. The triple city, with its women, demons, and children, was in a moment made 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. Even cows, pouring streams of milk on their heads while flying in the sky, were instantly reduced to ashes when the god looked upon them in anger. The demon Jalandhara, who made water into a discus and bound Vishnu, hurling him a hundred yojanas away, was torn apart. That same one, joining water, was slain by the spear; and Vishnu, always empowered, obtained that discus through austerity. The heartless clan of the enemies of the gods, seeking to kill, was struck down by the trident upon Andhaka’s chest, as by the peacock’s lord. Shiva created Kālā, the maiden of death, from his own throat—even the boy was cast down. He generated Kauśikī, who dwelled within the sheath of Gaurī’s skin. Śumbha, together with Niśumbha, was brought to death in battle; and the great story, the refuge of Skanda, is told in the Skanda Purāṇa. For the destruction of Tāraka, the demon king who hated Indra, Shiva, urged by Brahmā, entered the palace of Mandara. There, delighting for a long time with the goddess, absorbed in pleasure, he gave her the name 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, the boy born from that energy kindled all ten directions with his radiance, coloring all the mountains golden with Meru’s brilliance. After a long time, 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 amazed and bewildered. Shiva himself came, longing to see his son; together with the goddess, he took him onto her lap, and his face shone with a smile. Overcome by affection, as if he had drunk nectar, even as the gods and ascetics looked on, Shiva made the boy dance upon his own chest, delighting in his play, and they regarded each other with affection. He ordered the goddess to give him her breast, and had him drink the milk, like nectar, instructing him, “Your descent is for the welfare of the worlds.” Yet even Shiva and the goddess did not attain satisfaction. Then, by Indra’s arrangement, fearing Tāraka the demon, the god performed the consecration for the office of commander of the gods, placing the son in their midst. Shiva himself, remaining invisible, protected Skanda together with Indra and the others, with that spear—the breaker of Krauñca, fierce as the fire of destruction—in battle. When Tāraka’s head was cut off by Indra out of fear, the gods, led by Hari and Dhātṛ, offered special praise. Likewise, Rāvaṇa, the lord of the Rākṣasas, proud of his strength, tried to lift Mount Kailāsa with his own long arms. Shiva, the god of gods and wielder of the trident, could not tolerate it; with a mere movement of his big toe, he pressed the mountain down into the earth. For some reason, Yama, the ender of life, came swiftly and brought the life of a certain devotee, who had sought refuge, to the feet of Shiva. Thus, the wondrous deeds of the Supreme Lord, Shiva, are recounted—his embodiment, his acts of destruction and protection, his love for his son, and his unfathomable ways.