As Rāvaṇa, the mighty king of the Rākṣasas, sat within his wondrous aerial chariot, Puṣpaka, he grew perplexed and frustrated. For some unknown reason, the chariot would not move at his command. Puzzled, he wondered aloud, “Why does my Puṣpaka not respond to my wish? Could someone atop this mountain be responsible for this obstruction?” At that moment, the wise Marīca, seated beside him, addressed Rāvaṇa with calm insight. “O king,” he said, “the Puṣpaka does not halt without reason. This chariot, once the treasure of Kubera, cannot move without the lord of wealth’s will. It is only natural that it becomes motionless in such circumstances.” Even as Marīca spoke, a remarkable sight appeared before them. A fierce and dark dwarf, tawny-skinned, grotesque and bald, with immense strength and bowed arms, manifested suddenly. It was Nandī, the powerful attendant of Lord Śiva. Approaching from the side, Nandīśvara addressed Rāvaṇa without hesitation, his presence commanding and formidable. “O Ten-headed one,” Nandī declared, “turn back. Śaṅkara, the great Lord, is sporting here on this mountain, surrounded by Suparṇas, Nāgas, Yakṣas, Devas, Gandharvas, and Rākṣasas. This mountain has been made inaccessible to all beings.” Hearing these words, Rāvaṇa’s anger flared; his earrings quivered with his rage. His eyes reddened, he descended from the Puṣpaka, challenging, “Who is this Śaṅkara?” and strode toward the base of the mountain. There, Rāvaṇa beheld Nandī standing near the god, holding a blazing trident, resembling a second Śaṅkara himself. But when Rāvaṇa saw Nandī’s monkey-like face, he scorned him, bursting into laughter like a rain cloud releasing its water. Angered by this mockery, the blessed Nandī, another form of Śaṅkara, addressed Daśānana, the Ten-headed one, who had approached. “Because you have ridiculed me in my monkey form and laughed as if struck by a thunderbolt, those endowed with my form—monkeys equal in strength and brilliance—will arise to destroy your lineage. Fierce and swift, armed with claws and fangs, overflowing with battle-fury and strength, they will rush upon you like mountains. Gathering together, they will humble your excessive pride and arrogance, along with your ministers and sons.” Nandī continued, “But what could I do now to kill you, O night-wanderer? You are not to be slain by me; you have already been destroyed by your own deeds.” As the great-souled Nandī spoke these words, divine drums resounded in the heavens and a shower of flowers fell from the sky. Yet Rāvaṇa, disregarding Nandī’s warning, strode boldly to the mountain and spoke, “Because the movement of Puṣpaka was stopped while I was traveling, I shall uproot this mountain for you, O guardian. By what power does Bhava dwell here like a king? This must be known; he does not perceive the danger present.” Having spoken thus, Rāvaṇa stretched out his mighty arms upon the mountain and began to shake it with all his strength. The mountain trembled under his assault. From this shaking, the hosts of the god were disturbed; even Pārvatī, who was embracing Maheśvara, was shaken. Then, Hara—the foremost of the gods—playfully pressed the mountain with his big toe. Instantly, Rāvaṇa’s arms were crushed downward by the mountain’s weight, astonishing his ministers who witnessed the spectacle. Overwhelmed by pain and anger, Rāvaṇa let out a roar so terrible that the three worlds trembled. His ministers, thinking the world was ending and that a thunderbolt had struck, were terrified. Even the gods, led by Indra, who stood on the heavenly path, were shaken. The oceans churned, the mountains quaked, and Yakṣas, Vidyādharas, and Siddhas all wondered, “What is this?” As Rāvaṇa cried out in agony, his ministers advised him, “Propitiate the great god, Nīlakaṇṭha, the husband of Umā. Apart from him, O Ten-headed one, we see no other refuge. Bow to him with praises and seek his protection. Śaṅkara is compassionate; if pleased, he will grant you favor.” Heeding their words, Rāvaṇa praised the Bull-bannered One, composing hymns and songs and bowing down in reverence. For a thousand years, he lamented and worshipped. At last, the great god was pleased. Standing atop the mountain, Śiva released Rāvaṇa’s arms and spoke to him, “I am pleased with your strength and heroism, O Ten-headed one. The terrible roar you released while pressing the mountain caused fear in the three worlds. Therefore, O king, you shall henceforth be known as Rāvaṇa—the one who makes the worlds cry out. The gods, humans, Yakṣas, and all beings on earth will call you by this name.” Śiva continued, “Go now, O descendant of Pulastya, by whatever path you wish. With my permission, O lord of the Rākṣasas, you may depart.” Thus addressed by Śambhu, the lord of Laṅkā responded, “If you are pleased, O great god, grant me a boon as I request. I have obtained invulnerability from gods, Gandharvas, Dānavas, Rākṣasas, Guhyakas, Nāgas, and all others who are strong. Among humans and gods, only a few are pleasing to me; I have obtained a long life from Brahmā and from you, O Destroyer of Tripura. Now, grant me the remaining span of life I desire, and the weapon as well.” Thus Rāvaṇa spoke, and Śaṅkara listened to his request.