Long ago, a being of tremendous power and radiance lamented her fall from greatness. She wondered, “When will my smile once again drive away the mighty demons? When, intoxicated, shall I dance wildly in the forest, with my own hips resounding in celebration?” She yearned for the days when her sweet belly was filled with jars of strong liquor, heaps of dead flesh, and bones, abstaining from all else. She dreamed of the time when, having drunk the blood of the vast world, she would become exhausted, and then, after her wild dance, fall into deep sleep, sealed in rest. She recalled the moment when she burned her radiant body in her own funeral fire, embracing the state of ash, marked as if with gold. How far removed, she mused, was her former body—once dark as the collyrium mountain and filling all directions—from its present state, now insignificant as a mouse’s burrow, frail as a blade of grass. She mourned her own choices, observing that the ignorant quickly abandon even gold, mistaking it for clay. Out of desire for triviality, she too had cast aside her radiant form. She cried out, “Alas, vast belly, like the misty caves of Mount Vindhya—why do you not today bring an end to the lions, elephants, and other beasts?” Her arms, once strong, their peaks bent under burdens, their nails shining like the moon, no longer pursued the moon with sacrificial intent. Her chest, beautiful as the slopes of crystal and beryl mountains, no longer held the forest of hair as it once did the dwellings of lions and others. Her eyes, once shining like a forest blazing in the dark night, no longer adorned the quarters with fiery glances. Her shoulder-joint was lost, fallen to the earth, pressed down by time, ground within the hollow of stone. Her moon-like face, with its inner rays, no longer performed enchanting austerity, cooled after being burned by the fire at the end of an age. She grieved, “Where have my great, powerful hands gone today? Have I become a mere needle, shaken by the hoof of a fly?” She lamented her hands, once strong as thunderbolts, bringers of joy, shining like a splendid horse, with hips broad as the Vindhya mountains, pure as a flawless orb. Where was that form, vast as the sky, and where was this new, insignificant body, like a needle’s thread? Where was her mouth, cavernous as a mountain cave, and where was this needle’s eye? Where was the act of eating, heavy with much flesh, and where was this subtle swallowing of a drop of water? She realized, “Ah, this drama of my own destruction is indeed wrought by me alone.” The needle, now endowed with the power of speech, reflected deeply and resolved, “I shall again become an ascetic, quickly regaining that former body.” Withdrawing her mind from birth and death, she journeyed to the very peak of the Himalayas, steadfast in her resolve for austerity. Seeing her needle-form as a creation of her own mind, she, composed of vital air, entered the body that had lost its mind. Perceiving her needle-nature within herself, made of mind and vital air, she reached the summit of the Himalayas. There, in a place devoid of all living beings, on hard, rocky, uneven ground, covered with dust and scorched by a fierce forest fire, she stood upright, alone, on broad ground devoid of grass, appearing in the desert like a dry blade of grass. Relying only on one and a half toes of her subtle foot, she began to perform austerities, with her own awareness as the single support. With the tip of her subtle foot, she blocked the narrowness of the earth’s dust, and with effort, stood upright, raising her foot with difficulty. Binding her foot with effort amid the tightness of dust, sand, and pebbles, she endured darkness, nonviolence, sharpness, a round mouth, and subsisted on air. In the forest, she followed a restless snake, which had risen to see far, swaying and poised at the tip of its tail. The sun’s ray, emerging from the snake’s mouth, became her companion, resembling a needle, guarding only her rear. Even in something small that becomes one’s own, people develop affection; even the sun’s ray, acting as a friend, was attached to the needle-like companion. Her second companion, a hermit woman, was clear and pure; but she herself became tainted by that companion, just as a needle is stained. Her face, wrinkled with a smile as the sun’s rays emerged from the tip of the needle, was later seen to be smiling only because of the dust there. Even when she was seen through the dust, trees, creepers, and others did not tire of longing to behold that ascetic needle. The winds disturbed her, who stood firm with steady steps and a pure disposition, by the sounds issuing from their mouths. They filled her mouth, saying, “We will be born, we will exist, and soon we will be swallowed by her—these pollen grains of flowers.” But the dust, though driven by winds sent by the lord of ascetics, was not swallowed by her, even though it appeared to be taken into her mouth. She did not swallow that dust, being firmly resolved; for when there is inner strength, even light things do not prevail. She would not take in even the pollen that came to her mouth; the wind was astonished, more than at uprooting Mount Meru, for even when covered with mud and filled with great waters, she remained unmoved. Even when shaken by strong winds, frightened by flashes of lightning, tossed by clouds, and disturbed by the roar of thunderclouds, for a thousand years she remained steadfast in her resolve, unmoved like a stone slab, absorbed in meditation. When her outward movements ceased and time had passed, she began to contemplate her own true nature and consciousness. The light of knowledge arose in her, revealing all that is high and low; she became pure, a needle of consciousness, supremely purified. She became aware of what is to be known, through her own intellect; when her misdeeds were exhausted by austerity, the needle pointed to her own essence.