As the story unfolds, the gods themselves, led by Brahmā and Viṣṇu, became aware of a remarkable event: the sage Maṅkaṇaka was dancing with abandon, his movements whirling in every direction. Such was the power and intensity of his dance that even the mighty mountains were shaken from their ancient places, and the orderly rows of clouds in the heavens were thrown into disarray. Great rivers, which usually flowed full and wide, now trickled in narrow streams, while the planets themselves wandered from their destined courses. The three worlds—heaven, earth, and the nether regions—were seized by agitation, trembling as if standing at the brink of destruction. The illustrious gods, deeply concerned, spoke among themselves. Hearing their words, I—assuming the humble form of a Brahmin—approached Maṅkaṇaka, the foremost among Brahmins, and questioned him. “O sage,” I said, “dancing out of passion is not the way of the wise. When a Brahmin falls from the path of austerity, it is a grave matter for the virtuous.” But Maṅkaṇaka replied, “It is precisely because of my dancing that I have become accomplished; of this, there can be no doubt.” Hearing his bold words, I could not help but laugh heartily. In that very moment, a miraculous wonder occurred: pure, white ash, bright as freshly fallen snow, began to emerge from my thumb. I showed it to Maṅkaṇaka, saying, “See, O Brahmin, how abundant ash has come forth from my thumb.” Witnessing this astonishing sign, Maṅkaṇaka, the best of the twice-born, was filled with shame. With joined palms and deep wonder in his heart, he spoke reverently: “Such power as this does not exist for anyone else in the three worlds. For the virtuous, dancing that opposes austerity and brings about its decline is forbidden. Yet, O god, it is through my dance that this has suddenly come upon me.” Moved by his words, I addressed him kindly, “O foremost of Brahmins, with this knowledge in your heart, tell me—what desire of yours shall I fulfill?” The sage replied humbly, “If, O god, you are pleased—compassionate as you are to those who seek refuge—grant me your grace.” Turning to Pārvatī, I spoke with a gracious mind, “There, in the cave, abides the meritorious liṅga, which has arisen through seven aeons. There you will behold the auspicious liṅga, sanctified through the ages. It is a place where sin born of desire and anger, accompanied by greed and delusion, is destroyed.” Hearing these words, the Brahmin sage, accomplished in the Vedas, departed with discipline, bowing again and again in reverence. He journeyed to that very place and beheld the liṅga, supreme in the increase of austerity. Meanwhile, O goddess, the gods themselves spoke from the sky: “By the very sight of this liṅga, the Brahmin has attained a success that is exceedingly difficult to obtain. Whoever, endowed with supreme devotion, beholds the Lord of the Cave—whether on the eighth or the fourteenth day, or who comes here with effort and beholds him—even one who has committed thousands of sins—such a person is freed from all taint. Even those guilty of the gravest transgressions—killing a Brahmin, drinking liquor, theft, or approaching the wife of one’s teacher—or those burdened by inauspicious deeds accumulated over hundreds of millions of births, or afflicted by great sins on earth—are purified by the sight of this liṅga.” Having thus spoken, O Goddess, the divine sage Maṅkaṇaka, the twice-born, said, “This, O Goddess, is the power that destroys sin, as has been described.” Indeed, the liṅga is that which removes all sins and destroys the misdeeds of men.