Then, O King, all the assembled sages, led by the venerable Galava, gathered together. They addressed a question: “Why is it that, having given barley meal, you do not wish to offer anything else?” They reflected among themselves, for the greatness of giving barley meal is well known among sages whose minds are purified. They recalled that, in former times, when one lacked devotion, even the barley meal he had offered was snatched away by a dog. Now, however, they pondered the results for those who offer with true devotion, saying, “Here, in this sacred place, joined with devotion, I attain my own true self through truth, though I do not know what the precise fruits may be for the devoted giver.” Hearing these words, Pulastya spoke: The sages, delighted, exclaimed, “Excellent! Excellent!” And thus, O royal sage, was described the power of offering parched grain. Whoever listens to this narration from a devoted twice-born, with faith, is blessed. Now, O King, there is a place upon seeing which a mortal becomes handsome and radiant. There, one reached the hermitage of the Vālakhilyas, where the liṅga had fallen. There is great curiosity about how Śambhu was worshipped in that place. At that time, one showed his own arrow and stood behind him. Then, out of fear, the destroyer of Tripura—Mahadeva—journeyed to Vārāṇasī. From there, he traveled to Prayāga, and then further to Kedāra, and onward to Gokarṇa, Prabhāsa, and the holy Kṛmijāṅgala. But what is the use of recounting at length all the sacred places and shrines? Wherever the great god, out of fear, went, O king, he wandered. After some time, he again arrived near Arbuda, standing with one foot drawn up and with a steady gaze, O best of kings. There, the blessed one remained silent, filled with both joy and sorrow for his beloved. But for him, overcome by anger, from his third eye, O king, with bow and arrow on the slope of that mountain, a wondrous event occurred. He then journeyed to Kailāsa, the foremost of mountains, worshipped by the gods, while she—overwhelmed by grief for her husband—cried out piteously in distress. The illustrious king, having gathered wood and built the funeral pyre, heard a voice from the sky. The voice declared, “You will again obtain a husband, by the grace of Shiva, pleased by your devotion.” Hearing this celestial assurance, she, slender-waisted, rose up at once and undertook vows, gifts, recitations, sacrifices, and other great austerities. At the end of a thousand years, Maheshvara was satisfied with her. She prayed, “May my beloved husband, Kama, be restored to me with his body uninjured.” As soon as she spoke these words, he appeared there instantly, holding a bow made of sugarcane and fitted with flower-arrows. Accompanied by Rati, Kama bowed down to Maheshvara. Witnessing Shiva’s greatness, Kama developed deep faith, O best of kings. O great king, whoever—woman or man—beholds him attains blessings. Thus have I declared to you what you have asked me. Here ends the fortieth chapter, named “The Greatness of Kameshvara,” in the third Arbuda section of the seventh Prabhasa book of the Skanda Mahapurana. Now, O King, in that very place where the great-souled Markandeya once performed austerities, there lived a brahmin named Mrikanda, devoted to vows. He was adorned with all auspicious marks, tranquil, and radiant like the sun. One day, a learned brahmin arrived there, shining like the ocean itself. He gazed at Mrikanda for a long time, from the tip of his nose to the top of his head. At last, Mrikanda spoke, “You have looked at my son for a long time, O brahmin.