Then, filled with urgency, the goddess made her way to the abode of Maheshvara. As she approached, her presence radiated a fierce anger, which did not go unnoticed by those around her. Narada, ever the messenger, announced to the goddess the imminent meeting of the two great beings. Though the goddess was exceedingly proud, it was well known that gentle words could soothe her and bring her under control. At such moments, her virtue would shine forth, and so it was advised: approach her with conciliation. Thus, when Rudra had spoken in this manner, O best of kings, Jahnavi—the goddess Ganga—approached with modesty, her palms joined in reverence before the goddess. She spoke humbly, recalling the past: “At your beloved’s command, I once fell from the sky. Thereafter, my affection grew for the one named Bhagiratha. Now, by your words, O queen of the gods, I understand. He is the lord of the three worlds; how could he possibly depart from that?” Maheshvara responded with sweet and gentle words, affirming, “What you have said is true.” He then offered her a boon, inviting her to choose whatever she desired. Ganga, auspicious one, requested, “Therefore, grant me one day for play with him.” She specified, “On the thirteenth day of the bright half of the month of Caitra, O queen of the gods, both day and night.” From that time, the pool upon the earth became renowned as Śiva-Gaṅgā. After this, Maheshvara embraced Ganga again and again before letting her go. As she departed, Ganga modestly lowered her face. Thus, O king, in ancient times, these events took place at that sacred pool. It is said that in the bright half of Caitra, one should bathe there; any inauspiciousness incurred at that spot is completely destroyed, and by the number of hairs on one’s body, a person is assured of dwelling in heaven. After these events, the great unchanging lord established the liṅga there. But why, you may wonder, was that liṅga once cast down by the great-souled Vālakhilyas? Listen, and I shall recount this wondrous tale as it truly happened. When Satī, steadfast in truth, met her end, Kāmadeva, armed with his flower-bow, swiftly approached Maheshvara. Seeing Kāmadeva rushing in, Tripurāntaka—another name for Shiva—vanished out of fear and made his way to the hermitage of the Vālakhilyas, a place sacred and adorned with noble trees. There, the women, deluded by desire and clothed only in the directions, spoke sweetly to Shiva, saying, “O king, enjoy with us.” Some embraced him, while others kissed him. Yet, the blessed Śambhu, the supreme lord, remained entirely without desire and simply walked ahead of them. Observing their wives’ strange behavior, the Vālakhilya sages became greatly distressed. For the sake of their wives, they pronounced a curse upon Shiva, saying, “You mock us with our wives, and from your constant presence, this occurs.” By the words of Brahmā, O royal sage, the earth itself trembled at that time. Then, all the hosts of gods, seized with terror, went to the Grandfather, Brahmā, and reported everything that had transpired. “O lord, we do not know, O best of gods, the cause of this,” they said, seeking his guidance and wisdom.