In the land, lotuses spread their sweet fragrance, birds found shelter in their nests, the deer’s horns gleamed sharply, and the waters were impure. Even the villages of cowherds rejoiced in happiness, and the virtuous followed the path of contentment. Indeed, the minds of the virtuous, wherever they turned, gained clarity—just as the moon’s rays shine and illuminate all directions. Taking Sati with him, Shankara approached the lordly mountain, Mandara. There, Shambhu, the glorious Lord, delighted in the company of Satyā. Meanwhile, Daksha, foremost among the progenitors, began preparations for a grand sacrifice. He summoned the Kasyapas and appointed them as members of the assembly, along with Anasuya, Atri, Dhriti, Kaushika, Chandra, and the sage Angiras. All these learned ones, endowed with virtue and accomplished in the Vedas and their branches, were invited and given the duty of guarding the sacrificial enclosure. Daksha entrusted Bhrigu with the consecration of mantras, and Prajapati was appointed as the lord of wealth. Yet, leaving Sati and Shankara aside, Daksha invited all to the sacrifice. The eldest, the best, the most eminent—even the foremost—was not invited. Daksha, knowing Shankara as the Kapalin, deliberately excluded the Lord. Why was Shankara, the trident-wielder, the three-eyed Kapalin, not invited? What actions led the foremost among gods to be known as Kapalin? This is spoken in the Adipurana by Brahma, the one of unmanifest form. When the sun and stars lost their vigor, and wind and fire had vanished, when mountains and trees were submerged and everything was enveloped in a darkness nearly impossible to cross, at the end of that night, the creator established the worlds in the mode of passion. He fashioned both the moving and unmoving beings of this wondrous universe. This creator appeared, displaying the trident, matted hair, and a rosary of seeds—by whom even the gods, Brahma and Shankara, were overcome. A question arose: “Who are you that has come here? By whom were you created? Tell me. Who is your father, or your mother?” Thus began a dispute, and the origin of the newcomer was questioned. He stood holding a balance and a lute, making a clattering sound, his head bowed in dejection, like the moon seized by a planet. Then, the fifth face spoke to Rudra, whose vision was clouded by anger: “You, clothed only with the directions, riding the bull, are the destroyer of worlds.” The unborn Lord, wishing to burn him constantly, gazed at him. He appeared in many forms: white, red, golden-bright, blue, and tawny-haired, radiantly shining. Yet, when water is agitated, bubbles arise—do they possess any real power? With the tip of his nail, Shankara severed the head of the Brahmin who had spoken harshly. That head never falls from the hand of Śaṅkara. A wise man was created, armored and adorned, bearing earrings and a strong body. Four-armed, with a great quiver and a radiance equal to the sun, he stood forth. “You are associated with sin—who seeks to kill one most sinful?” was declared. Filled with shame, Rudra departed and went to the hermitage of Badarikā.