O bodiless one, from whom did this wondrous speech arise? My curiosity is immense. For the sake of Ṛtadhvaja’s daughter, a horse was swiftly released into the world. But what was the purpose behind King Kuvalayāśva and his prince? The maiden in question was Madālasā, a treasure of beauty, radiant like moonlight—Madālasā herself. Yet, slender Madālasā was carried off by Pātālaketu, and for her sake, that excellent horse was bestowed. Just as Śacī gazed upon Mahendra, lord of the gods, so too did the king’s son behold the doe-eyed maiden. What, then, did the wise son of Hiraṇyākṣa do next? That extremely wicked-minded slayer of the gods’ army became enraged. Emerging from the underworld, he began to roam the earth. As he wandered, he saw Gaurī, the daughter of the mountain, standing among her companions, auspicious in form. He beheld her, beautiful in every limb, the mountain king’s daughter, in the forest. He wondered, “Whose is this beautiful woman, lovely in every limb, who wanders in the forest? What use is my life if it remains fruitless? Therefore, shame on my beauty—what is the use of it if it remains unfulfilled? Whoever unites me with that black-haired, doe-eyed woman—” Covering his ears with his hands and shaking his head, he declared, “She is the wife of the lord of the worlds, Śaṅkara, wielder of the trident. She is another’s wife, O lord—do not sink into the underworld! Let your enemies commit the sin of approaching another’s wife.” Seeing the army devoted to the cow of the Brāhmaṇas—true, wholesome, and beneficial to all the world—he reflected, “It is better to be impotent than to approach another’s wife; it is better to beg for alms than to enjoy another’s wealth, even once.” Saying, “She is the mother of enemies,” he fled. Nandī, unshakable, with uplifted thunderbolt in hand, forcefully blocked them. Struck swiftly by the thunderbolt, they fled in fear to the ten directions. Yet he struck Nandi with a club and caused him to fall. Out of fear of that wicked one, Śatarūpā became Gaurī. Just as a wild, intoxicated elephant wanders in the forest, its gaze unsteady among the herd of females, so too did he wander. There is nothing astonishing here; these four never truly see at all. Though Andhaka saw Girijā, he did not truly perceive her. Then that evil-minded one was rejected by the goddess, who was like a hundred thunderbolts. Seeing Andhaka fallen, Śatarūpā shone like the night. When the leaders of the Daityas and Dānavas saw Andhaka fallen, they rallied. Hearing the sound of their charge, the lord of the Gaṇas stood firm. Seizing the thunderbolt, the mighty lord of the Gaṇas was like Maghavan. And the goddess addressed her own forms, saying, “Go as you wish. Your dwelling shall be in gardens and forests. Go among the trees and plants, bowing in turn to Ambikā.” Seeing his own forces defeated, Andhaka swiftly fled to the underworld. Struck by the arrows of love, remembering Gaurī, he could not sleep at night, overcome by the power of desire. Tell me, then, how Andhaka was fought; you ought to speak of this to me.