The Supreme Lord, whose true nature is beyond all division and form, declared, “I too, becoming without parts, dwell in the lotus of your mind.” Having received these words from the Lord of gods, the goddess Parvati set out for Kampa. She journeyed to the pure and sacred river Kampa, a place beloved by hosts of sages, its banks adorned with fruits and flowers and alive with the melodious calls of cuckoos. Yet, though the river’s beauty was abundant, Parvati’s body burned with the fire of longing. Emaciated by her rigorous austerities, she was worn thin by desire and sorrow, suffering deeply from her separation from Shiva, the destroyer of the cities. Undaunted, Parvati remained at Kampa, worshipping Shiva day and night through austerities that burn away sin, even though she was alone. For how could she possibly endure separation from Shiva, when her mind was so deeply agitated by the god of love? She consoled herself with hundreds of hymns, seeking visions and means of communion with Shiva. “O Goddess,” the voices of wisdom reminded her, “you have always been inseparable from Shambhu. In this, you reveal your own power of illusion.” Having received Shiva’s command, Parvati approached the task with resolve. “The austerity to be performed has been attained at this place, devised by Shiva himself. Otherwise, the protection of the world depends upon you, O embodiment of the universe.” Meditating on the absolute, undivided Shiva established within her own heart, Parvati set about her practices. The conduct of her foremost devotees, she knew, was but a reflection of her own ways. Hearing these words, Gauri became steadfast in her purpose. She removed her various ornaments and adorned herself instead with clusters of rudraksha beads. Quickly, she fashioned her hair into matted locks. Finding contentment among the gentle deer, she lived by gleaning what she needed. Each day, she performed the threefold ritual bath in the pure waters of the Kampā. She planted trees, gave gifts, and honored every guest who arrived. In summer, she stood amidst five fires; in the rainy season, she lay upon the bare ground—all for the sake of seeing the virtuous great sages who had come to that holy place. Sometimes, she herself would gather tender shoots from the forest for sustenance. On the pure bank of the Kampā river, she fashioned a linga from sand and worshipped it, offering red flowers and sandalwood to the Sun as prescribed. With incense, lamps, and offerings of food, she poured out her devotion. It was then that Shiva himself appeared, wishing to test Ambika. Suddenly, a mighty flood of the Kampa river began to swell and approach. A voice called out, “Arise, O Goddess! A mighty flood is swelling forth.” Hearing these words, Parvati, her eyes closed in deep meditation, reflected within. She was troubled by this obstacle to her worship, knowing that the virtuous on earth are generally blessed with auspiciousness without hindrance. “The sand-made linga will dissolve due to this incomparable flood,” she realized. “This flood is approaching, created by Shiva’s own maya.” Determined, Parvati embraced the sand linga firmly with both arms, so that it would not be disturbed. Thus instructed by her inner resolve, Ambika held the sand linga tightly. The mark of her devotion was revealed—the impression of her breast’s tip pressed into the linga. With eyes closed, absorbed in meditation, she stood unmoving, her heart fixed solely on concentration and her beloved Lord.