Troubled by a sudden, uncaused agitation in his mind, the king pondered, “What is this turmoil within me?” Unable to find its source, he remained distressed and confused. As he observed his surroundings, two beings appeared before him—no longer in their animal forms, but radiant and resplendent. These two were adorned with crowns and earrings, their necks and arms gleaming with necklaces and armlets. They approached the king, whose mind was filled with wonder at their presence, and spoke gently: “O king, do not grieve. This unrest is due to the power of the lord of Śoṇa mountain.” Reassured by their words, the king found his voice and asked, “Who are you two, whose encounter has so affected me?” In response to his question, Kalādhara spoke, revealing their identity: “Know, O king, that we were once lords among the Vidyādharas. Long ago, beside the golden mountain at the hermitage of the sage Durvāsas, we performed loud austerities, seeking to worship Shiva. Though disciplined and possessing wisdom suited to truth, we grew arrogant—proud of the place’s splendor and our own status. My heart, especially, was captivated by the extraordinary fragrance of the flowers there. One day, seated at the root of the Śāṇḍilya tree upon a tiger skin, the sage Durvāsas became intensely agitated, his lips quivering with indignation. His rage caused his body to radiate fierce heat, his form burning with tension. He cried out, ‘Ah! You two are wicked, your conduct fallen—who are you, so excessively arrogant? This is my hermitage, a sacred abode, purifying and holy. This forest is the alternate residence of the enemies of the city. By polluting it with your footsteps, this one is a sinner. Without permission, he entered this exceedingly fierce, precipitous cave; driven by greed for the fragrance of flowers, he has reached the essence of scent.’ Thus, struck down by his wrath like a thunderbolt, we were cursed. We addressed the god with hands joined in reverence, our minds utterly dejected. Seeing our despair, O king, Durvāsas spoke kindly: ‘Do not be so, O you two, whose minds are misguided.’ He then recounted an ancient event: Long ago, the enemy of the city presided over an auspicious assembly. At that time, for the lord of gods, the deities of the Nandana forest gathered. Overcome by childhood curiosity, Gajānana and Ṣaḍānana—the sons of Shiva—were eager for fruit. The god spoke to them: ‘This entire earth, encircled by the world and the netherworld…’ When the lord of Pārvatī had spoken thus, his face shone with a gentle smile. Lambodara, son of the god whose form is like the crimson mountain, displayed cleverness, and Triyambaka addressed Heramba: ‘From this day forth, you are chief among all fruits.’ He then spoke to all gods and asuras assembled in the hall: ‘This form of mine is immovable, like the crimson mountain, due to his devotion. Whoever, in circumambulating this mountain, feels pain in his foot…’ Thus, by the command of Śambhu, the circumambulation of the crimson mountain was established.” In this way, the Vidyādharas revealed their story, connecting their fate to the sacred power and the ancient events surrounding the crimson mountain and the divine assembly.