Then, Śakra—the lord of the gods—summoned the celestial nymph Pramlocā. He addressed her with affection and purpose: “Go, auspicious lady, and secure victory on earth over the sage. Enchant him with your graceful and free delights, and bring him under your sway. Carry out this task, and may all be well for you in the presence of Hṛṣīkeśa.” Pramlocā set forth and entered a beautiful grove nearby, thick with many kinds of trees and entwined with blossoming creepers. The air was fragrant with clusters of mango in bloom, their sweet scent mingling with the essence of nectar. The songs of Gandharvas filled the glade, and the gentle Malaya breeze cooled the atmosphere. By the power of the sage, all harshness and cruelty had vanished from the pools and streams; the place was serene and gentle. In this delightful grove, the lovely-hipped Pramlocā began to sing a song of exquisite sweetness. She sang in the style of the Gandharvas, and soon those celestial musicians, honored by the gods, joined her in harmonious chorus. Pramlocā then took up the flowery bow and fitted its arrows, symbols of love and enchantment. The sage, hearing her sweet song—so enchanting with its fivefold melody—was captivated. Kāma, the god of desire, tirelessly drew his bow, letting the arrows of longing fly. He wandered through the hermitage, his heart content just to gaze upon the scene. When he saw Pramlocā, whose limbs were graceful and lovely, the arrow of desire struck him deeply. Pramlocā, too, with eyes gentle as a doe’s, gazed at the sage Devadatta and felt herself drawn to him. She played, striking a ball with her hand, her eyes restless and charming, her beauty radiant. With every playful and graceful gesture, she further captivated the sage’s mind. She wore a fine garment as her lower cloth, adorned with a girdle of gold, enhancing her allure. Enchanted, the sage approached her and spoke: “Why do you seek out beings like me? Do you hunt deer with the noose of your arms?” He admitted, “In every way, we are under your control; whatever you wish, let it be done.” Then, taking her laughing by the right hand, he enjoyed her delightful company. For many days, as opportunity allowed, they took pleasure in each other’s presence. But suddenly, the sage grew weary and, greatly afflicted, spoke out. Though he understood what had happened, he realized he had fallen from his austerity, overpowered by fate. He reflected: “Such is the talk of fools; but there is a great difference when one truly reflects. A man, merely by seeing a woman, is bewildered and melts away.” Having spoken thus, his mind now withdrawn, he dismissed the celestial maiden. Here, a great obstacle had arisen, causing the loss of his hard-won austerity. Resolute, he declared, “I will undertake severe austerity and dry up this body.” After bathing at the confluence of the Gaṇḍakī and offering due rites to the ancestors and the gods, he slowly proceeded northward. Along the way, he beheld the beautiful hermitage of Bhṛgu. He rested on its banks and contemplated the place of austerity. There, he performed severe penance, longing for a vision of Śiva. In response, Śiva appeared before him in the form of a liṅga, manifest above and below. With a gracious heart, Śiva spoke, “O sage, behold me—Śiva. That which you have previously seen of me in a subtle form—now, seeing us as one, you shall attain perfection.