Desire itself is the goddess Śrī, and the Blessed Lord is longing; sacrifice is the Lord, while the offering is Śrī. When the ghee is poured into the sacred fire, it is the goddess herself, and the sacrificial cake is Janārdana, the Lord. The home of the wife, O sage, is none other than Lakṣmī; the eastern line of the altar is Madhusūdana; the altar itself is Lakṣmī, and Hari is the sacrificial post. The fuel for the fire is Śrī, and the sacred grass is the Blessed Lord. The Lord is the very embodiment of the Sāman chant, while the chant itself is the goddess who dwells in the lotus. The sacred utterance svāhā is Lakṣmī, the Lord of the universe is Vāsudeva, and the oblation is the offering. Śaṅkara is the Blessed Lord, and Śaurī is Gaurī-Lakṣmī. O best of Brahmins, know that Keśava is the Sun, and his radiance is the lotus-dwelling goddess. Viṣṇu is the host of ancestors, and Padmā is Svadhā, the giver of eternal nourishment. Heaven is Śrī, and Viṣṇu is the soul of all, vast beyond measure. The moon is Śrīdhara, and his unfailing radiance is Śrī. Steadfastness is Lakṣmī; the activity of the world is Vāyu, and Hari pervades everywhere. O great sage, the ocean is Dvija, Govinda is its shore, Lakṣmī is its very form, Indrāṇī is the goddess, and Madhusūdana is the lord of the gods. Yama is the wielder of the discus himself, Dhumorna is Kamalalaya, Riddhi is Śrī, Śrīdhara is the god, and Dhaneshvara is himself. Gaurī is the greatly fortunate Lakṣmī, Keśava is Varuṇa, Śrī is Devasena, and Hari is the commander of the divine army. Avastambha is the wielder of the mace, and Śakti is Lakṣmī. Kashtha is Lakṣmī, Nimesha is the Lord, Muhurta is the Lord, and all this is Time itself. Jyotsnā, the moonlight, is Lakṣmī, the lamp is Hari, the lord of all. Lakṣmī is the mother of the world in the form of a creeper, and Viṣṇu is the tree. Vibhāvarī, the night, is Śrī; Divasa, the day, is the god who holds the discus and mace. Viṣṇu is the bestower of boons, and the bride is the goddess who dwells in the lotus forest. The Blessed One is present as a river, and Śrī too abides in the form of a river; the banner is Pundarīkākṣa, and the flag is Kamalalaya. Thirst is Lakṣmī, and the Lord of the world is supreme Nārāyaṇa; desire and passion are Lakṣmī and Govinda as well. What more need be said? In short, among gods, animals, and humans, the masculine name is Bhagavān Hari, and the feminine name is Śrī. Nothing exists beyond these two. Now, O Maitreya, listen as I recount what you have asked, the story connected with Śrī, as I have heard it. Once, the sage Durvāsas, a portion of Śaṅkara, wandered upon the earth. He saw a divine garland, radiant and fragrant, held by a celestial Vidyādhari maiden. Its scent perfumed the entire sandalwood forest, making it highly sought after by all the forest-dwellers. Durvāsas, bearing the vow and appearance of a madman, beheld the beautiful garland and asked the Vidyādhara maiden for it. The slender-waisted woman, with large eyes, respectfully gave him the garland, bowing in reverence. Taking the garland, the sage placed it upon his own head and continued his wandering, appearing wild and unrestrained. In his wanderings, Durvāsas came upon the lord of the three worlds, Indra, the husband of Śachi, who was approaching with the gods, riding upon Airāvata, his great elephant, and appearing intoxicated. Durvāsas, still in his guise of madness, took the garland from his head and offered it to Indra, king of the immortals. Indra accepted the garland from the sage and, rather than honoring it, placed it upon Airāvata’s head. There, it shone like the Ganges upon Mount Kailāsa. But Airāvata, blinded by intoxication and attracted by the sweet scent, seized the garland with his trunk, smelled it, and tossed it to the ground. Witnessing this, Durvāsas was filled with anger at the lord of the gods. His eyes blazing, he spoke harsh words to Indra: “O Indra, intoxicated by power, wicked in mind, swollen with pride, you do not honor the garland I gave you—a symbol of fortune. You did not thank me nor bow before me; your cheeks were puffed with delight, and you did not even place the garland upon your head. Because you do not value this garland, O fool, the fortune of the three worlds will depart from you. “You consider me as equal or inferior to other Brahmins; thus, out of pride, you have shown disrespect. Because you have cast to the ground the garland I gave, the three worlds will become bereft of prosperity for you. You, O king of the gods, have slighted me out of excessive pride, though all beings, moving and unmoving, fear the anger of a sage. I will not forgive; why speak further, O Indra? You will not appease me with words.” Alarmed, Indra quickly dismounted from Airāvata and sought to pacify the sinless Durvāsas with deep reverence. But Durvāsas, unmoved, replied to the thousand-eyed king: “I am neither compassionate nor gentle, nor does forgiveness dwell in me. Know me, O Indra, to be Durvāsas, different from other sages. You have become vain through the favor of Gautama and other gentle sages, but I am the very essence of impatience. Because you have grown arrogant from their praises, you now disrespect me. In the three worlds, who, seeing my blazing matted locks and furrowed brow, has not been seized by fear? I will not forgive; do not speak further, Indra. Your words will not appease me.” Thus, the curse of Durvāsas fell upon Indra, and the fortune of the three worlds was destined to depart.