With bow and arrow in hand, O king, he ascended the slope of the mountain, his heart set on his purpose. He journeyed to the sacred Kailāsa, revered as the foremost of mountains and worshipped by the gods themselves. There, she, overwhelmed by the grief of her husband’s loss, cried out in anguish, her voice filled with sorrow. In his mourning, the illustrious king gathered wood and built a funeral pyre. As he prepared for the final rites, a wondrous voice rang out from the sky, saying, “By the grace of Shiva, pleased by your devotion, you will once again obtain a husband.” Hearing these divine words, the slender-waisted woman rose at once. She devoted herself to vows, gifts, recitations, sacrifices, and other great austerities. A thousand years passed in her unwavering penance. At last, Maheshvara, the great Shiva, was satisfied by her devotion. She prayed, “May my beloved husband, Kama, be restored to me with his body uninjured.” As soon as she spoke, her husband appeared before her instantly, whole and radiant. He held a bow made of sugarcane, strung with arrows of flowers. Accompanied by his beloved Rati, Kama bowed down reverently to Maheshvara. Witnessing the greatness of Shiva, Kama’s heart was filled with faith. O best of kings, it is said that whoever—man or woman—beholds him is truly blessed. Thus, O great king, I have declared to you all that you have asked. This concludes the fortieth chapter, named “The Greatness of Kameshvara,” in the third Arbuda section of the seventh Prabhasa book, in the Skanda Mahapurana. Now, listen further. In the place where the great-souled Markandeya once performed austerities, there lived a brahmin named Mrikanda, steadfast in his vows. He was adorned with all auspicious marks, tranquil, and radiant as the sun. One day, a learned brahmin arrived there, shining with the brilliance of the ocean. Mrikanda gazed at this sage for a long time, from the tip of his nose to the top of his head. Noticing this, the sage asked, “O brahmin, why do you look so intently at my son?” Mrikanda, the best of twice-borns, questioned him repeatedly, “O noble one, what do you see in the marks on this child’s body?” The sage replied solemnly, “Within six months, this child will surely die. I have never spoken a falsehood, not even to my enemies.” With Mrikanda’s permission, the sage departed for his desired place. Now aware of his son’s short lifespan, Mrikanda was filled with concern. The boy, devoted to his studies and his father’s guidance, lived as a celibate student. Whomever he saw—whether child, old man, or youth—he respectfully greeted. One day, near his hermitage, he saw a group of sages. He quickly approached and offered his respects. Pleased by his devotion, they blessed him, saying, “May you have a long life.” Among these sages was one named Aṅgirā, endowed with divine knowledge. With a sense of wonder, Aṅgirā addressed the assembled sages, saying, “This boy will meet his end on the fifth day. Let us devise a means so that he may live long.” So, taking the boy with them, they journeyed to the world of Brahmā. Upon their arrival, the boy did not immediately greet Brahmā. The seven sages, delighted in their hearts, continued their efforts. Those who traveled to the holy places of Mount Arbuda were honored by the boy. Yet, on the fifth day, O god, it was destined that his death would also occur. Thus unfolds the tale, O king, as it was told.