Parvati’s heart was awash with uncertainty and longing. “If today he holds kindness toward me in his heart,” she thought, “perhaps it is truly so.” She recalled his words, spoken with gentle firmness: “From this day onward, I am your servant, purchased by your austerities.” Yet, doubts lingered within her, for she reflected, “In women whose minds are clouded by delusion, love is seldom equal or constant.” Thus, as affection mingled with anger, the goddess’s mind became deeply troubled. Her eyes, reddened and brimming with tears, overflowed in streams of weeping. The mark of her tilaka, resting upon her brows, was broken apart by her sorrow. Her lower lip trembled from the weight of her inner anger, and her cheeks burned with emotion. Within her breast, a trembling quiver rose, shaken by her turmoil. “Surely,” she thought to herself, “this is all due to my lack of good fortune.” Resolving to act, Parvati said inwardly, “Now, I will go elsewhere—what is left for me here, alone?” With eyes closed in determination, she prepared to depart quietly from her place. Yet, even as she did so, Ganga, ever affectionate, continued to nurture her sons, steadfast in her own devotion. Having made up her mind, Parvati withdrew swiftly from the Lord’s side. She was joined by her companions—Calavati, Malyavati, Malini, Vijaya, and Jaya—and together they wandered through sacred mountains, forests, and cities. Their journey brought them to the foot of the Sahya mountains, in the region known as Dravida, a land renowned for its peaceful retreats. Before them, the landscape shimmered with a radiant red glow. In the valleys, hermitages of ascetics could be seen nestled among the trees. “Let us go and behold these holy hermitages,” Parvati said to her friends. Thus, O friend, the daughter of the mountain gradually found delight and solace, her heart easing as she traveled. The region teemed with wondrous life: lizards drew out silken threads, crocodiles carried away waterweeds, and camara antelopes with thick hair swept away refuse with their tails. Monkeys gathered fruits and flowers, while bears took the honey-laden leaves. The air was alive with cuckoos, owls, parrots, hawks, deer, tigers, and even green elephants. The fragrance of offerings from ancient sacrifices lingered in the breeze. Here, the enemies of crows—ascetic sages—recited the Śatarudrīya hymn. Tigers and cows alike wandered among the vegetable gardens and rice fields. In a particularly beautiful, sacred, and enchanting spot, beneath a seven-leaved tree, an ascetic was seated on a variegated tiger skin. His matted locks shone red like ripening rice stalks, his body was pale with sacred ash, and his gaze was fixed at the tip of his nose, lips gently parted in serene contemplation. He was absorbed in deep meditation, poised at the threshold of the final state of sleep, like a snare set for the destruction of the sixfold enemies within. Having performed the proper rites, Parvati approached this ascetic with reverence. Nearby, the Aruṇa mountain stood, revered throughout the holy regions. Through the words of Vijaya and her companions, the sage learned about Uma’s journey and her presence there. With hospitality, the sage honored her as a guest, offering roots, tubers, fruits, and other simple fare. He began to recount, in order, the tale that started with the manifestation of the pillar of light. “On the eastern side of Mount Shona,” he said, “lies the sacred place called Sthalishvara.” This place, he explained, was densely populated by the gods, including those of Vaikuntha and Parameshthi, making it a realm of divine presence and sanctity.