In the mountain village, a wondrous scene unfolded. The homes, though emptied of their bees, shone with splendor, their mansions adorned by blooming aśoka trees whose vivid red blossoms colored the air like dye. Everywhere, the trees were lush and moist, their leaves kept ever fresh by the gentle spray of dew-laden winds. Clusters of kadamba buds and the seven-leaved saptacchada grew thickly together, filling the groves with their fragrance and beauty. Blossoming ketaka flowers entwined themselves with masses of creepers, while the broad-leaved canopies echoed with the lively calls of birds. From every window and inner chamber, cool breezes drifted out, and the royal roads gleamed, purified by rows of full lotus ponds. Dense, unbroken foliage shaded the land, making it cool and pure, carpeted with fresh grass, and every flower’s dripping drops reflected the stars above. The dwellings were ever cooled by showers of falling flowers and snow, decorated with wondrous clusters of blossoms, leaves, and lotus plants. Their inner chambers and corridors, like the spaces within a house, hid ancient nooks shrouded by clouds; lightning from those clouds illuminated them, needing no other lamp. In pavilions, the deep, echoing hum of wind resounded through the caves, and palaces were adorned with necklaces of moving chakora birds, parrots, and deer. The wind, heavy with the fragrance of tender shoots and moist earth, gently swayed the playful, trembling leaves. The grounds teemed with playful gatherings of larks and flocks of bees, alive with the mingled, lively calls of cuckoos and kokilas. Rich groves of śāla, tāla, and tamāla trees bordered blue lotus ponds, their banks elegantly curved by winding streams. Homes nestled among swaying creepers and trembling leaves were perfumed by blooming shoots and fragrant lotus stems. Herds of cows gathered by swirling, nectar-filled waters, while the ground was adorned with the beauty of wind-scattered tender blossoms. Rivers, concealed by dense groves of sacred trees, flowed beneath canopies formed by blossoming creepers without gaps. Gardens, fragrant with the nectar of jasmine flowers, attracted swarms of bees so intoxicated by scent that they obscured the clouds above. The palaces rivaled even Indra’s own abode in beauty. Their skies were tinged red by the pollen of lotus clusters, mountain streams rumbled joyfully, and the brilliance of white clouds shone like jasmine flowers. Terraces were adorned with blossoming creepers, where playful cuckoos wandered restlessly. Groups of young women reclined on beds of fresh flowers, their bodies adorned from head to toe with garlands. Everywhere, tender shoots of new growth covered the land, beautiful and fresh. Paths wound through lively thickets of forest creepers, soft young leaves clustered together, and the dwellings were veiled by the drapery of rainclouds. Wide stretches of greenery dispelled the mist, terraces crowded with women adorned like lightning among the clouds, the air sweet with the fragrance of blooming blue lotuses, and herds of cows, their faces turned upward, soothed by the cool breeze. Courtyards were abandoned by timid fawns, while flocks of peacocks, mad with delight, danced in the spray of waterfalls. The wind, intoxicated by fragrance, carried away all scents, and lamps were forgotten in the glow of medicinal herbs. The air was filled with the tumult of many flocks, and the gentle murmur of streams sounded like lively conversation. Cool drops falling from clusters of pearls beautified every tree, creeper, and blade of grass. Who could possibly describe the splendor of these mountain palaces, ever adorned with unfading, blossoming flowers? It was in this village that two goddesses descended, entering bodies that were cool within—like the twin fortunes of enjoyment and liberation entering a tranquil man who knows his own self. In due course, through her practice, Lila became endowed with the ability to perceive the three times—past, present, and future—without stain, her nature pure knowledge alone. Then, by her own innate impulse, Lila recalled all her previous courses of transmigration—her own past births, deaths, and so on. She said, “O goddess, seeing this place, by your grace I remember all that happened here before—every action and circumstance. Here, I was an old woman, with sinewy limbs, thin and dark, a brahmin wife whose hands and belly were roughened by the splitting of dry darbha grass. I was the wife of the head of the household, skilled in churning butter, mother to all the children, and one who delighted guests. Devoted to gods, brahmins, and the virtuous, my limbs were anointed with clarified butter and milk; I cleaned vessels such as gargarī, caru, and kumbha. Constantly engaged with food, salt, a single garment, a water pot, and a storage room, I honored sons-in-law, daughters, brothers, fathers, and mothers. My body, worn down by the routines of the house and the passing of many days and nights, anxiously repeated the same words again and again, without ceasing. Never did questions arise—Who am I? What is this world?—not even in dreams, for the wife of such a deluded and ignorant householder. My sole concern was gathering cow dung and firewood for fuel; I was draped in a faded blanket, my limbs marked by the pressure of carrying heavy loads. I was constantly occupied with removing insects from my ears, hair, and hands, and hurried to fetch wild greens for the household, ever busy with domestic tasks. I fed the cattle with grass wet from the waves of the blue river, and at every moment I marked the house door with sandalwood paste. I was always ready to speak for the sake of the household servants and animals, unwavering in my adherence to rules and boundaries, like the shore that restrains the ocean. I was marked by the swing of an old, leaf-colored earring hanging from one ear, and, like a servant worn by hardship and age, bore the signs of a life filled with toil and fear.” Having spoken thus, Lila wandered in the hollow of the mountain village, and as she moved about, Sarasvati herself appeared before her. Sarasvati spoke: “This flower garden, adorned with clusters of crimson trees, is mine; this blossoming pavilion, shaped like a garden enclosure, is mine. This bank of the lotus pond, entwined with trees and lush grass, is mine; this is the tarṇikā called Karṇikā, whose leaves have been eaten. This poor one, weakened by fat and deprived of water, is mine; today is the eighth day she weeps with tear-filled eyes. Here, O goddess, I have spoken, lived, stayed; here I have slept, passed time, given, and received.” Thus, amidst the splendor of the mountain village, the goddesses remembered their pasts and recognized the beauty and meaning of their present.