Listen now to the wondrous deeds of Shiva, the great lord, whose actions shake the universe and whose will alone determines the fate of gods and demons alike. Once, Brahma, the creator, became obstinate and, out of pride, uttered slander against Shiva, calling him ‘son.’ In response, Shiva, unmoved by such arrogance, severed Brahma’s fifth head again and again, curbing his insolence. Even Vishnu, when he took the fierce form of Narasimha, met Shiva’s might—Sharabha, the terrible aspect of Shiva, split open Narasimha’s heart with his sharp claws and trampled him underfoot. None among the gods or goddesses escaped Shiva’s power when Daksha’s sacrifice provoked his wrath. Virabhadra, the heroic emanation of Shiva, punished all present, sparing none. When the triple city of the demons—together with its women, children, and all its inhabitants—stood against Shiva, a single glance from his fiery eye reduced it to ashes in an instant. Kāma, the god of desire and source of pleasure for all beings, was also consumed by the fire from Shiva’s eye, offered as a sacrifice while the gods cried out in dismay. Even cows, who, while flying through the sky, poured streams of milk on their heads, were instantly reduced to ashes when Shiva cast his angry gaze upon them. The demon Jalandhara, who wielded water as a weapon, was torn apart by Shiva. He bound Vishnu and hurled him a hundred yojanas away, and was finally slain by Shiva’s spear, his watery form undone. Vishnu, ever empowered, reclaimed his discus through austerity. The clan of demons, enemies of the gods and ruthless in their intent to kill, were struck down by Shiva’s trident upon the chest of Andhaka, just as the peacock’s lord vanquishes his foes. From his own throat, Shiva created Kālā, the maiden of death, casting down even the boy who opposed him. He also generated Kauśikī, who dwelled within the sheath of Gaurī’s skin. Śumbha and Niśumbha, mighty asuras, met their end in battle, and their story—so dear to Skanda—has been preserved in the Skanda Purāṇa. For the destruction of Tāraka, the demon king and hater of Indra, Shiva, urged by Brahmā, entered the palace on Mount Mandara. There, united with the goddess, Shiva delighted in her company for a long time, deeply absorbed in pleasure, and affectionately named her Rasā, as if she had been led into the netherworld. Yet, through divine deception, Shiva did not release his potent seed within her. Instead, as clarified butter is poured into fire, he discharged it pure as nectar, depositing it in the Gaṅgā and other rivers by the agency of fire, gathering it little by little. Svāhā, taking the form of the Kṛttikā stars, delighted with her own husband and, shining golden, placed the seed upon Mount Meru in a thicket of reeds. In time, this energy blazed forth, illuminating all ten directions and turning the mountains golden with Meru’s radiance. From this energy, after a long while, a boy was born—a child of delicate limbs, surpassing all others in beauty and excellence. When the gods, asuras, and the inhabitants of all worlds beheld his charming form, they were filled with amazement and wonder. Shiva himself came, longing to see his son. Together with the goddess, he took the boy onto her lap, his face shining with a smile, his heart overflowing with affection as if he had tasted nectar itself, while gods and passionless ascetics looked on in awe. He joyfully made the boy dance upon his own chest, delighting in his play, and they regarded each other with great love. Shiva instructed the goddess to give the boy her breast, so he might drink her milk, sweet as nectar. He told the child, “Your descent is for the welfare of the worlds.” Yet, even with this, Shiva and the goddess could not be satisfied. Then, at Indra’s urging, fearing the threat of Tāraka, the gods consecrated the boy as their commander, placing him at their head, under the protection of Shiva, the destroyer of Tripura. Shiva, remaining unseen, guarded Skanda together with Indra and the other gods, wielding his spear—the breaker of Krauñca—fierce as the fire of destruction in battle. When Tāraka’s head was finally severed by Indra, the gods, led by Hari (Vishnu) and Dhātṛ (Brahma), offered their praises in gratitude. Likewise, Rāvaṇa, lord of the Rākṣasas, proud of his strength, once tried to lift Mount Kailāsa with his own long arms. Shiva, lord of lords and wielder of the trident, could not tolerate this arrogance and, with a mere movement of his big toe, pressed the mountain down into the earth, subduing Rāvaṇa. Once, Yama, the god of death, swiftly took the life of a devotee who had sought refuge at Shiva’s feet. Not recognizing his own vehicle, the great bull, the submarine fire seized all the planets, and thus, there is but one water in the world. Through these wondrous and delightful acts, unknown to the world, the universe and its hosts were repeatedly shaken. If Shiva, who is ever peaceful, were to grant everything to all, how could he liberate anyone by his power? The diversity of karma, which has no beginning, is not the determining factor here; for even karma acts only by the Lord’s will. Why speak at length? Atheism is not the cause of these events. O Wind, tell me—how could it quickly be dispelled? O Brāhmaṇas, your doubts, prompted by reason, are fitting, for inquiry does not lead to atheism in those of noble understanding. I will declare the means of true knowledge, which removes the delusion of the good; but for the wicked, unless there is the Lord’s grace, there is another fate. It is certain that, apart from the supreme grace of the all-complete Shiva, nothing at all can be accomplished. His very nature alone is sufficient for the act of supreme grace; for one devoid of such nature can bestow nothing. Indeed, the entire world, made up of bound souls, is to be favored; yet, for the sake of supreme grace, the Lord’s command alone prevails.