Standing at a respectful distance, the archer prepared to torment the figure before him. As he watched, he saw Smara—the god of love—descending from the tip of his topknot all the way down to his feet. Then, O Brahmin, a wondrous sight unfolded: Smara began to burn from his feet upward, like a forest fire consuming everything in its path. Unable to withstand this blazing force, Smara cast aside his excellent bow, which broke into five distinct parts. From these fragments, marvels arose: a campaka tree emerged, rich in fragrance and perfect in form; from another piece, the kesara forest known as bakula sprang forth, O sage. Another part gave rise to the lovely pāṭalā tree, adorned with bhringarāja flowers. The jāti plant appeared next, shining with the rays of the moon, clustered in five groups. From the heap of earth, various kinds of mallī plants grew, each beautiful in its own way. Those endowed with jāti, and those personally fashioned by the god himself, also appeared. Fruit-bearing trees sprang up by the thousands, and by the grace of Hara, foods fit for the gods were produced in abundance. For the sake of these flowers, the imperishable one journeyed to Mount Śiśira to perform austerities. There, praised by the gods and worshipped by the foremost celestials, he took up the great bow called Anaṅga. At this point, a Gandharva, smiling, spoke kindly: "Sit here." Even Vasanta, the spirit of spring, was quickly overcome with deep anxiety, O great sage. The blessed one said to Vasanta, "Come here, stay," inviting him closer. Then, from his own thigh, he took a maiden with golden limbs and created her. Kāmadeva, the god of love, wondered in amazement, "Who is she? Is this my beloved Rati?" She possessed a fine nose and a graceful line of lips, her gaze intent and captivating. Her full breasts shone, closely set together like the meeting of noble friends. Her smooth abdomen was adorned with a delicate line of hair. She shone like a swarm of bees moving from the riverbank to a lotus pond, and her beauty was as striking as Mandara mountain bound by a serpent during the churning of the ocean of fortune. Her form gleamed like the filament of a lotus, and her feet were radiant, as if painted with red lac. Overcome with desire, Kāmadeva wondered—how could anyone else resist her charm, O sage? He mused, "Is this, perhaps, the very capital city of the lord of desire established here?" It seemed as though, frightened by the heat of the sun's rays, she had come seeking refuge. Thereupon Mādhava stood, composed in meditation like a sage. Seeing this, the virtuous one smiled and spoke: "Let her be led to the world of the gods; let her be given to Vāsava." And so, he gave her—endowed with beauty and youth—to the thousand-eyed Indra. Then, desire and other emotions arose within the king of the gods, and he was filled with great wonder. The maiden’s influence spread—not only among the gods, but also throughout the netherworlds, among mortals, and in all eight directions. At that time, a Dānava named Prahlāda was anointed king. Kings on earth performed sacrifices according to proper rites; the Vaiśyas tended cattle, and the Śūdras delighted in service. O sage, the gods resumed their activities, each engaged in their respective duties. Finally, he went to the sacred river Narmada to bathe, and also to the holy place called Akulīśvara, completing his journey with reverence and devotion.