Listen, O gentle one, to the wondrous tale of the power and mystery woven into the fabric of women and the workings of Kāma, the god of love. It is said that women are truly immortal and blessed, the very essence and cause of worldly life. Because of these excellent women, the world itself has come under control, and autonomy has taken root, all due to the honor and respect bestowed upon them. Yet such is their potency that even the gods, including mighty Indra, find in women a source of fear. When their influence is ignored or misused, defeat arises, and a terrible helplessness prevails. Once, Brahmā addressed Manmatha, the god of love, and then dismissed him. United with his consort Rati and accompanied by delight, Manobhava—the banner marked with the fish—set forth on his mission. With his arrows of desire, he subdued scholars, ascetics, heroes, wise men, and even those who had mastered their senses. Not only mortals, but spirits, ghosts, piśācas, yakṣas, gandharvas, and kinnaras fell under his sway. For my sake, Manmatha exerted every effort, pondering again and again, “Who but I can agitate that great god?” With this resolve, he came to the place where I was absorbed in deep austerity. There, Kāma beheld me: my matted locks piled high like a mountain peak, seated upright, my gaze unwavering at the tip of my nose. Through the opening of my hand, Madana entered into my heart. In that moment, even the steady flame of divine contemplation—samādhi, the direct vision of the ultimate goal—was disturbed. I became truly mad, overtaken by the distortion born of Madana. Within my own heart, I saw Manmatha, the bringer of what is unwholesome. If such a force enters a yogin, he may fall from his path, even to a non-human birth. Yet, as I was tormented, so too was Madana. At the root of a mango tree, he became a companion of the spring, the season of love. There, his playful arrow reached my heart. The spark from my eye flared so fiercely that the denizens of heaven cried out in alarm. When Kāma was thus burned by the fire of my anger, his beloved Rati was plunged into sorrow. She lamented, “Alas, lord! Alas, my very life! Alas, master, why do you abandon me?” As she wept in agony, a bodiless voice, by the grace of the God of gods and Śiva, spoke words of comfort. In that moment, O goddess, I too was entreated. For with Kāma gone, creation itself on earth had come to a halt. Moved by compassion, I addressed the grieving Rati. “Do not despair,” I said. “By my favor, I shall restore life to your beloved, though his body was burned. Henceforth, he shall move among beings as Ananga, the bodiless one. Out of compassion for the gods, I have made him so.” Thus, even Ananga, filled with devotion, went forth. By the satisfied liṅga, it was declared: “Kāma, you shall obtain your desire. You will be born again in the womb of Rukmiṇī, through her union with Kṛṣṇa. Because you, Ananga, have pleased me in your mind, those who see you, Kandarpa, and are endowed with supreme devotion, will be blessed. They shall enjoy long life and beauty; they will possess sovereignty, supreme enjoyments, and women adorned with divine qualities.” Furthermore, those who see me with devotion on the thirteenth day of the bright half of Caitra, along with yakṣas, lords of the gaṇas, siddhas, and those served by accomplished gandharvas, will also be blessed. Thus unfolds the tale of Kāma’s burning and restoration, the immortal power of women, and the blessings bestowed upon the devoted.