In that wondrous region, the landscape was rich and vibrant, alive with groves of śāla, tāla, and tamāla trees. Blue lotus ponds bordered its edges, their banks gracefully curved by the winding patterns of streams. Everywhere, the air was perfumed by the fragrance of blooming creepers and lotus stems. The ground was adorned with tender blossoms scattered by the wind, and herds of cows gathered near waters swirling with nectar. Dense groves of sacred trees concealed rivers, their canopies formed by blossoming creepers so thick that not a gap could be found. Gardens overflowed with the sweet scent of jasmine, and bees, intoxicated by the fragrance, swarmed in such numbers that they seemed to obscure the clouds above. Majestic palaces rose in this land, their beauty rivaling even Indra’s abode. The skies were tinged red by the pollen of lotus clusters, and the joyful rumbling of mountain streams echoed all around. White clouds shone with a brilliance like jasmine flowers, and terraces were adorned with blossoming creepers. Playful cuckoos wandered restlessly, while groups of young women reclined on beds of fresh flowers, their bodies adorned from head to toe with garlands. Everywhere, the 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. Greenery spread wide, dispelling the mist, and terraces were crowded with women adorned like lightning among the clouds. The air was sweet with the fragrance of blooming blue lotuses, and herds of cows, their faces turned upward, were soothed by the cool breeze. In the courtyards, timid fawns had fled, and flocks of peacocks, mad with delight, danced in the spray of waterfalls. The wind, intoxicated by fragrance, carried away all scents, and the lamps were forgotten in the glow of medicinal herbs. The air was filled with the tumult of many flocks, the gentle murmur of streams mingling with lively conversation. Cool drops falling from clusters of pearls beautified every tree, creeper, and blade of grass. Such was the splendor of the mountain palaces, ever adorned with unfading, blossoming flowers—who could possibly describe their magnificence? There, in that village, the two goddesses descended, entering bodies cool within, like the twin fortunes of enjoyment and liberation entering a tranquil man who knows his own self. In time, through that 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, she recalled all her previous courses of transmigration—her own past births, deaths, and so forth. She spoke: “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, sinewy, thin, and dark, a brahmin wife with hands and belly roughened by splitting dry darbha grass. I was the wife of the head of the household, skilled in churning for 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—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. With my body worn down by household routines and the passing of many days and nights, I anxiously repeated the same words again and again, never ceasing. Questions such as ‘Who am I? What is this world?’ never arose, 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. Constantly occupied with removing insects from my ears, hair, and hands, I 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. Always ready to speak for the sake of household servants and animals, unwavering in adherence to rules and boundaries, I was 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, I bore the signs of a life filled with toil and fear.” Having spoken thus, she wandered in the hollow of the mountain village. As she moved about, Sarasvati herself appeared before her. Sarasvati declared, “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. This eldest son of mine, named Sharma, weeps in the house; this cow of mine, grazing in the meadow, is milking in the wilderness. In the house, settled for burning, dry and covered with alkaline dust, see this body of mine, called ‘fivefold,’ dense and heavy. This kitchen, wrapped with fierce gourd vines like thirsts, is mine; this place in the kitchen is like another body of mine. These relatives, their eyes reddened from weeping, are bonds in this world; those who wear rudraksha bracelets bring fuel for the fire. Ceaselessly struck by clusters of stones and shells, with waves of lofty form touching the leaves of creepers on the shore, its edges are scattered with spray, swaying grassy patches, and foam rising from the collision of stones, fruits, and shells. The midday sun’s rays, like frost, make it glisten, while the banks are lined with trees eager to offer clusters of blossoming flowers. With the radiance of blooming kiṃśuka trees shining like coral, and heaps of flowers bursting forth in delight, children from the village, busy with gathering abundant fruit, are carried along by the village stream, absorbed in its great, noisy eddies. Surrounded by swiftly swirling, water-washed banks, ever cool beneath the dense shade of broad-leaved trees, the village lives and breathes in this sacred, vivid landscape.” Thus, the goddesses wandered and remembered, their hearts and minds awakened to the beauty, the toil, and the deep bonds of the world they beheld.