In ancient times, the sages devoted themselves to the constant recitation of the supreme mantras, articulating each syllable with utmost clarity. Their worship was marked by reverent circumambulations, heartfelt salutations, and ever-new gestures of mudrā, expressing their devotion in myriad ways. They honored Śiva with the five Brahmas, the six limbs, and other sacred rites, performing each ritual with precision and faith. By also worshipping Viṣṇu and Brahmā, they attained the profound knowledge of Śiva, their hearts illuminated by divine understanding. It was from my father, Śilāda, that I once heard these secret teachings, passed down with care. Yet, even with such wisdom, curiosity still seizes me, as it does these sages gathered here. Listen attentively, O Markandeya, wise and learned one, for surely you know the story of how, in former times, Dakshayani became the wife of Shiva. You know too how, angered by her husband, she opposed Daksha, the lord of progenitors, standing firm in her resolve. By Hara’s command, Virabhadra acted as ordered, and you have heard how Daksha’s head was severed by the ganas. There was the breaking of teeth, the cutting off of Surya’s hands, and the wounding of Agni—all tumultuous events at that sacrificial gathering. Afterward, the goddess was born again in the house of Himavat, the mountain king. The god, devoted to her service, dwelled with her in the secluded forest of Sthanu, living in secret. In time, the god, self-controlled, went away with his ganas. Then, he approached her—her mind troubled by memories of past sorrows. The daughter of the mountain, distressed by widowhood, yearned for union with him once more. Supported by her mother Mena and her father Himavat, she sought to be reunited. Meanwhile, Shumbha and Nishumbha obtained a boon from the Creator, causing the gods to tremble with fear upon hearing those words. Andhakasudana, the destroyer of Andhaka, reassured them: “Do not fear, O blessed ones; in time, all will be countered accordingly.” Having granted them safety, he dismissed Mukunda and the others. Once, because of a hidden wound, the goddess was affectionately called ‘Kali.’ There, by her own will, the supreme goddess cast off her skin. She, known as Kauśikī of the skin, is Kālī, dwelling on Mount Vindhya. The goddess Gaurī also resided on that beautiful peak. Gradually, filled with longing, she gave birth to Pārvatī. Nārāyaṇa and the Four-faced One, as tradition tells, spoke of these events. The two children, growing up, gazed upon their parents with wonder. Sometimes, they delighted in the sound of the vīṇā; sometimes, they drew pictures. At times, they conversed about knowledge and tradition, marveling at wondrous objects. They gathered flowers, played in the water, and were honored by Maināka or worshipped by Menā. They enjoyed the amusement of dice and lively conversations; when something was lost in dice, she would reclaim it and return to her husband, filled with delight. Thus, those two—the parents of all moving and unmoving beings—dwelt among the golden mountains and other sacred places, living in harmony. There, she satisfied the people with cooked food and drink, sharing her bounty. Sometimes, with eyes closed in meditation at twilight, she entered deep contemplation. Surely, even now, some fortunate woman is meditating, seeking wisdom and peace. As for the crooked state of men’s minds—how can it ever truly be known?