Guided by the devoted sages, she approached the sacred place they had indicated. At dawn, gathering holy sticks, grass, and fruits, she entered the forest, her heart intent upon ritual and reverence. With gentle instruction, she led her disciples deep into the woods. When others inquired, “Where has the sage gone?” they were reassured, “He will return here in a moment.” Upon her return, she was greeted with rising, offered a seat, water for her feet, arghya, and kind words. “Be patient for a moment, son,” she said, as others made their way to the site. Suddenly, the place was transformed—splendid palaces adorned with countless jewels filled the area. From afar, the sage beheld his hermitage shining brilliantly, surrounded by hundreds of celestial mansions. With the eye of knowledge, he perceived the entire meeting of Gaurī. His swift-moving disciples recounted all that had transpired. Filled with curiosity, the great sage approached, seeking only the fruit of his own austerities. At that time, universal devotion to Shiva arose, intent on restoring what had been lost. He saw Gautama arriving, accompanied by his disciples. Gautama’s matted locks were a deep copper hue, purified by ritual baths at holy places. His broad forehead shone, marked with sacred ash and the triple lines. He wore a red bark garment, his body emaciated by austerity. His words carried noble dignity, his presence reminiscent of Shambhu himself. Seeing this great soul, aged and devoted to the feet of Shambhu, the sage beheld him with joined palms and recognized the Mother of all worlds. With reverence, he welcomed her: “Welcome, O Gauri, O fortunate one, O ocean of compassion, Mother of the world. Ah, venerable one, knowing the most worthy purpose, we have always honored it. O goddess, if there is nothing of yours, then only your own play of illusion remains. Let the rest remain for me to speak of—your wondrous play of illusion.” He invited her, “Sit, O pure one, upon the seat made of kusa grass, sanctified and clean.” The disciples brought the supreme seat, cushioned with darbha grass, and he offered all worship, imbued with deep devotion. He spoke, his face radiant as if washed by the moonlight of his teeth: “Ah, the greatness of the god Shambhu, of boundless brilliance! What else remains unattained, or is there anything else you desire? The account of Mount Kailāsa, where you performed austerities on the banks of the Kampa. O highly fortunate one, you yourself have come to this hermitage of devotees.” Hearing these words from the great sage, knower of all the Vedas, he declared, “This immense glory belongs to you; Lord Śiva himself. You are one who has mastered the Āgamas spoken by Śiva and even the Vedas. Śiva declared, ‘I abide here by the name Aruṇācala.’ I have arrived here to perform austerities in the presence of Aruṇācala. Conversation with a devotee of Śiva and hearing the chanting of Śiva’s names—therefore, I wish to hear this greatness of mine from your lips.” Upon hearing her words, Gautama, the treasury of austerities, responded: “Whatever is not known, you may ask again and again.