In that tranquil village, the two radiant goddesses descended, each taking on a cool, serene form. Their arrival was like the twin blessings of enjoyment and liberation settling gently into the heart of a wise person who knows his own true self. Through her devoted practice, Lila attained a remarkable power: her mind, now pure and stainless, could perceive the three divisions of time—past, present, and future—as easily as one sees the palm of one’s hand. Awakened by her own inner impulse, she remembered the long journey of her soul—her countless past births and deaths, and all the varied paths she had traveled. Moved by the goddess’s grace, Lila spoke: “O goddess, in this place, by your blessing, I remember everything that has happened here before—all the deeds and circumstances, each one vivid before my mind’s eye. Once, I was an old woman in this very village: my limbs sinewy, my skin dark and thin, the wife of a brahmin. My hands and belly were roughened by the endless work of splitting dry darbha grass. I was the wife of the head of the household, skilled in churning butter, mother to many children, and a gracious host to all who came to our door. I was devoted to the gods, to brahmins, and to the virtuous. Anointed with clarified butter and milk, I cleaned all the vessels—gargarī, caru, kumbha—keeping the household pure. My days were spent with food and salt, a single garment, a water pot, and the storeroom. I honored sons-in-law, daughters, brothers, fathers, and mothers, always attentive to their needs. My body was worn down by endless household tasks and the passing of many days and nights. I repeated the same anxious words over and over, never ceasing, never questioning: ‘Who am I? What is this world?’—such thoughts never arose in my mind, not even in dreams. My sole concern was gathering cow dung and firewood for fuel; I wore a faded blanket, my limbs marked from carrying heavy loads. Constantly, I picked insects from my ears, hair, and hands, and hurried to fetch wild greens for the kitchen—always busy, always serving. I fed the cattle with grass wet from the blue river’s waves, and at every moment, I marked the house door with sandalwood paste. I was ever ready to speak for the sake of the household’s servants and animals, unwavering in my adherence to rules and boundaries—like the shore restraining the ocean. I wore an old, leaf-colored earring swinging from one ear, and, like a servant worn by hardship and age, I bore the marks of a life filled with toil and fear. Having spoken thus, Lila wandered through the hollow of the mountain village, and as she moved about, Sarasvati herself appeared before her. Lila continued: ‘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, its leaves nibbled away. This poor creature, 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. My eldest son, Sharma, weeps in the house; my cow, grazing in the meadow, is now milking in the wilderness. In the house, prepared for burning, dry and covered with alkaline dust, see this body of mine—called ‘fivefold’—dense and heavy. This kitchen, wrapped in fierce gourd vines, is mine; this place in the kitchen feels like another body of mine. These relatives, their eyes red from weeping, are my bonds in this world; those who wear rudraksha bracelets bring fuel for the fire. The riverbank is ceaselessly struck by clusters of stones and shells, with waves of lofty form touching the creepers’ leaves on the shore. Its edges are scattered with spray, swaying grass, and foam rising from the clash 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. The radiance of blooming kiṃśuka trees shines like coral, and heaps of flowers seem to burst forth in delight. Village children, busy gathering abundant fruit, are carried along by the stream, absorbed in its great, noisy eddies. The banks, ever cool beneath the dense shade of broad-leaved trees, are surrounded by swiftly swirling, water-washed grass. Here is a house pavilion, beautiful with entwined flowering creepers, its windows shaded by overhanging branches. Here my lord resides, whose form is like a particle of living space, the master of the earth encircled by the four oceans. Once, he intensely desired this—with the force of powerful aspiration: ‘May I swiftly become king.’ O Supreme Lady, in just eight days, by that desire, he attained a prosperous kingdom—a reward that usually takes a long time to gain. Here, the vital essence of my husband, the king, remained in my house, situated in space, unseen—like the wind in the sky or fragrance in the air. Here itself, within a space no larger than a thumb, that realm was established as if in the sky; yet my husband’s kingdom stretched for ten million yojanas. We two are space itself, and my husband’s kingdom is also space, O Lady; yet it appears filled with thousands of mountains—what a wonder this illusion is! O Goddess, I now wish to return again to my husband’s side; so come, let us go there—what distance can hinder those who are resolute?’ Having spoken and bowed to the goddess, Lila swiftly entered the pavilion. Together, they soared into the sky, dark as a sword, like birds in flight. The sky appeared as if split by masses of collyrium, beautiful with a gentle, single ocean, resembling the body of Narayana, glowing with the pure luster of a bee’s back.