O King, you have asked with great curiosity how Śambhu, the Lord Shiva, was worshipped in that place. Let me recount to you the events as they unfolded. At that time, one stood behind Śambhu, showing his own arrow. Out of fear, the destroyer of Tripura—Shiva himself—departed and reached the sacred city of Vārāṇasī. From there, he journeyed to Prayāga, and then further onward to Kedāra. His pilgrimage continued to Gokarṇa, to Prabhāsa, and to the holy region known as Kṛmijāṅgala. Indeed, what need is there to recount at length all the holy shrines and sacred places? Wherever the great god, out of fear, went, O king, he sanctified those places by his presence. After some time, Shiva arrived near Mount Arbuda. There he stood, one foot drawn up, his gaze steady and unwavering. In that moment, the blessed Lord was silent, his heart filled with both joy and sorrow for his beloved. Overcome by anger, a fierce energy emanated from his third eye. With bow and arrow in hand, upon the slope of that mountain, he prepared himself. Then he journeyed to Kailāsa, the foremost of mountains, worshipped by all the gods. There, his beloved, overwhelmed by grief for her husband, cried out in great distress. The funeral pyre was prepared—wood gathered, the pyre built—and as the illustrious king stood there, a voice was heard from the sky. The celestial voice declared, "By the grace of Shiva, pleased by your devotion, you will again obtain a husband." Hearing these words, she, slender-waisted and resolute, rose up at once. She undertook vows, offered gifts, engaged in recitations, sacrifices, and performed great austerities. For a thousand years she persevered, until at last Maheshvara, Lord Shiva, was satisfied with her devotion. She prayed, "May my beloved husband, Kama, be restored to me with his body uninjured." As soon as she spoke these words, Kama appeared there instantly. He held a bow made of sugarcane, strung with arrows tipped with flowers. Accompanied by Rati, Kama bowed down before Maheshvara in reverence. Witnessing the greatness of Shiva, Kama's heart was filled with faith. O great king, whoever—woman or man—beholds this sacred event is truly blessed. Thus, I have 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, listen further. In the very place where the great-souled sage Markandeya once performed his austerities, there lived a brahmin named Mrikanda, devoted to vows. He was endowed with all auspicious marks, tranquil and radiant like the sun. One day, a learned brahmin arrived there, shining with the brilliance of the ocean. He gazed intently at Mrikanda's son, from the tip of his nose to the crown of his head. Mrikanda, observing this, asked, "O brahmin, you have looked at my son for a long time. What do you see in him?" The best of the twice-born was questioned repeatedly by Mrikanda, who inquired, "O best of brahmins, what are the marks you see on this child's body?" The learned brahmin replied, "Within six months, this child will surely die. I have never spoken a falsehood, not even to my enemies." Having been permitted by Mrikanda, the sage departed to his desired place. Now Mrikanda, knowing his son was destined for a short life, became deeply concerned. Whomever he saw before him, endowed with study and learning, he regarded with hope. The boy, as a celibate student, was especially obedient to his father's words. Whomever he saw with his eyes—whether child, old man, or youth—he approached with respect. In time, near his hermitage, whenever he saw such persons, he would quickly go to them and offer his salutations, O king. Thus, the story unfolds, filled with devotion, destiny, and the grace of the great Lord.