Bathed in the golden saffron rays of the sun and adorned with the sandalwood-like beams of the moon, she shone in the sky like a celestial maiden. Her radiance mingled with the coolness brought by the wind, and her song seemed to fill the heavens. The wind, weary from its long journey across the earth—an earth marked by the seven continents and oceans—finally found rest upon the summit of the foremost mountain. Its vast form seemed to fill the endless directions, settling like a swarm of bees in the sky. Upon this lofty peak, deep within the great forest atop the mountain, the wind beheld at the center a needle-like form rising upward, crowned as if with a tuft. There, practicing austerity upon one foot, enduring the heat for a long time, always fasting, was an ascetic woman. Her skin and belly had shriveled into a lump from her relentless discipline. With a single, wide-open mouth, she would inhale the wind and release it, never letting it leave her heart, performing this act constantly. Dry and battered by fierce sun rays, worn by the forest winds, unmoving from her place, she was bathed by the gentle beams of the moon. Her mind, established by a single atom of passion, perceived fulfillment and allowed no other desire to enter. She was like one who offers water in the wilderness, or whose hair has grown wild after a long time, or whose breath sits upon the head like a tangled mass of locks. Seeing this needle-like ascetic, the wind, astonished and awe-struck, bowed before her, observing her conduct with reverence and even fear. He wished to ask her: “O great ascetic needle, for what purpose do you perform these austerities?” Yet he was unable to speak, overwhelmed by her radiant energy. Marveling at her great austerity, the wind could only contemplate her and then departed into the sky. Leaping over the path of clouds, passing beyond the currents of wind, and placing the hosts of siddhas below, he approached the path of the sun. Ascending from his wanderings, he finally reached the inner city of Indra. Purandara, Indra himself, embraced the wind for the merit of having witnessed the needle. When questioned, the wind began to recount his journey to Sahadeva’s retinue and to Indra, the lord of the abode. He spoke: “In Jambudvīpa, there is a great mountain named Himavat, lofty and vast, whose son-in-law is the blessed one who bears the crescent moon. On its northern high peak dwells a most beautiful ascetic woman, Sūcī by name, engaged in severe austerities.” He continued, “Why say much? To overcome hunger caused by wind and such, she has closed the cavity of her stomach, compressing it tightly. To calm contraction and for warmth, she has opened her mouth and, by inhaling dust particles, has blocked the cold wind and hunger. By her intense austerity, abandoning the nature of cold and taking on the nature of fire, she has become difficult even for the gods to approach. So let us all quickly go to the grandsire; know that her severe austerity is for the sake of a boon, which may bring misfortune.” Thus urged by the wind, Indra, along with the assembly of gods, went to the world of Brahmā and sought out the lord. Sūcī declared, “I am going to the summit of Himavat to receive a boon from Brahmā.” When Brahmā agreed, Indra returned to heaven. In due course, Sūcī became purified, scorched by her own ascetic heat, dwelling in the abode of immortals. Her eyes shone like sunbeams from the eye of the needle, and with her own clear shadow, she observed with wonder the ever-changing world, from beginning to end. With a silken needle, she surpassed Mount Meru in steadiness, and like an old woman, she was skilled in immersing herself at the beginning and end of the day. At midday, fearing the heat, she would enter her mother’s interior; at other times, out of respect, she would watch from a distance with reverence. When watched by that eye, she would plunge her body into the heat; in distress, people forgot the proper respect due to dignity. With the shadow-needle, the ascetic-needle, and herself as the third, the triangle was sanctified by asceticism, made equal to Varanasi. By that triangle, bordered by three-colored moats, even the winds and dust attained supreme liberation. Having realized the ultimate cause, one is born through self-awareness and reflection; according to one’s own contemplation and reasoning, here truly the supreme teacher is the Self—there is no other, O Raghava. Then, after a thousand years, her grandfather arrived and spoke from the sky: “Take a boon, daughter.” Sūcī, possessing only the subtle faculty of life and lacking the organs of action, said nothing to him, but simply reflected inwardly. She thought: “I am fulfilled and free from doubt; what would I do with a boon? I will rest, attain final peace, and simply sit in happiness. All that is to be known has been known; the net of doubts is quieted; my own discernment has blossomed—what need is there for anything else? Just as I am established here, so I shall remain; having abandoned the subtlety of truth and untruth, what use have I for anything else? For all this time, I was troubled by lack of discernment, like a young girl bound by her own imagination. Now, I am at peace through my own contemplation; what purpose would imagined desirable or undesirable things serve for me?” Thus, seeing Sūcī, endowed with resolve and devoid of the organs of action, standing silent, the blessed one observed her state. Brahmā, with a mind free from passion and clear, spoke again: “Daughter, choose a boon for yourself and remain on earth for some time. After enjoying pleasures, you will then attain the supreme state; this is the firm decree of destiny, whose nature is unbroken continuity.