The house, once vibrant and full, was now struck by the loss of its lord. It had become like an ancient forest whose trees stood withered, their leaves faded, faces dimmed by the nearness of death. The atmosphere was as harsh as a land abandoned by rain, blanketed in dust and sorrow. Amidst this gloom, a beautiful woman, through long dedication and pure knowledge, awakened within herself a true resolve and desire, shining with the grace of a goddess. With a gentle thought, she decided, “Let my relatives see me now, appearing as an ordinary woman.” And so, the household members witnessed the pair of women together, radiant like Lakshmi and Gauri, illuminating their abode with divine brilliance. From head to toe, the two women were adorned with fresh, exquisite garlands, resembling the joyful woodland of springtime goddesses. Their presence filled the entire village, rich with medicinal plants, with elixirs that cooled, delighted, and comforted, as if two moons had risen together. Their long, vine-like hair and restless eyes scattered clusters of jasmine mixed with blue lotuses, and the golden radiance of their bodies flowed like rivers, transforming the forest into a shimmering golden realm. With natural grace and playful beauty, Lakshmi’s form appeared to dance across the waves of her own ocean of loveliness. Her arms moved like vines, her hands glowing red, scattering a new golden forest of wish-fulfilling trees. Her feet, soft as tender flower buds and fresh leaves, untouched by the ground, resembled garlands of blooming lotus petals as she walked again. By the nectar of her gaze, she brought forth young shoots among the groves of dried palm and tamala trees, whose moonlike radiance had faded. Then, offering salutations to the forest goddesses and a handful of flowers, Jyeshtha Sharma departed with his household. He placed the offering at their feet, like a shower of icy dew upon the lotuses of a pond. “May the forest goddesses be victorious, who have come to remove our suffering,” he prayed, “for the noble act mostly for the protection of others.” The goddesses responded with affection toward the Brahmin couple, pillars of their lineage, hosts to all guests, and the foundation of the twice-born community. That day, their parents left the house, along with sons, cattle, and kin, departing for heaven. For those left behind, the three worlds felt empty. Birds perched upon trees scattered every moment, and in the empty house, grieving for the dead, they lamented with sweet voices. The mountain wailed, overwhelmed by confused echoes from its caves and thick streams of tears flowing like rivers. Waterfalls, their garments loosened and breasts exposed, cried out as they collapsed, their hot sighs scattering them, wandering in utter emaciation in all directions. The village, battered and wounded, harsh with pitiful cries and devoted to fasting, stood miserable, intent on death. Each day, drops of dew-like tears fell, hot from the clustered eyes of the trees. The streets, deserted by peaceful people, whitened with salt, widowed, joyless, and emptied of heart, had become desolate. Vines, battered by hot winds, rain, and tears, chattered with the cries of cuckoos and bees, striking themselves with leafy hands. Waterfalls, scorched by heat, fell from great crevices onto rocky ground, as if to shatter themselves into a hundred pieces. Houses, deprived of conversation and fortune, mute and scattered in intent, filled with blind darkness, became dense and impenetrable. From flower clusters in the garden, as bees lamented, arose a foul odor, replacing their former sweet fragrance. The mango trees’ companions, the vines, lost their savor day by day; slender creepers with shrinking bud-like eyes faded away. Streams, eager to cast themselves into the ocean, moved restlessly, their waters murmuring as they flowed. The ponds remained unmoved, counting even the slightest tremor as excessive restlessness, delighting in their own stillness. Surely, the sky that day was filled with the songs of kinnaras, gandharvas, vidyadharas, and celestial maidens, adorned by the arrival of their father. Therefore, the family prayed that these goddesses would bring relief from sorrow, for the sight of the great is never without fruit. The woman spoke thus to her son, touching his head with her hand, as a lotus bends to touch its root-knot with a tender leaf. By her touch, he cast off the distress and misfortune that bound him, as a mountain sheds the heat of summer when monsoon clouds gather. Upon seeing the two goddesses, all the people of the house became prosperous and free from sorrow, as one who drinks the nectar of immortality. Yet, by her playful act, the mother did not grant a meeting or even mention of her son, Jyeṣṭhaśarma. Why was this withheld? One who is awakened by knowledge of earth and the other elements perceives the aggregate of earth and so on, assuming individuality from that mass, just as space appears as something else. The unreal appears as real due to awareness of earth and the rest, just as a child does not see a ghost because he is unaware of it. Just as the state of being earth and so on appears, but earth and the rest may vanish in an instant—so too, in a dream, due to dream-knowledge, and clearly even while awake. When awakened by the element of space, one experiences only space; likewise, when the elements are agitated, even a wall seems to have the activity of space. Thus, in this moment of sorrow and divine presence, the family was reminded of the deeper truths of perception and reality, even as their grief was soothed by the goddesses’ compassion and grace.