At the heart of the forest stood a majestic kadamba tree, its base pressed firmly by the powerful knees and broad backs of elephants who rubbed against its trunk. The tree stood unshaken, as steadfast as a great mountain anchored by its own slopes. Its vast branches were alive with flocks of birds, their many-colored wings fluttering through the hollows, making the tree resemble a horned mountain teeming with wondrous beings. The restless tangle of clustered twigs seemed to gesture and sway, as if the forest winds had inspired the vines to dance. Only one free from desire could depart from such a place content, for the tree itself appeared to dance, its garlands of flowers circling like joyous vines. Beloved only by the clinging creepers, the kadamba overflowed with the flavor of love, its own melody sung by the calls of intoxicated bees. From afar, with fresh blossoms, it seemed to welcome the sky-traveling siddhas, greeting them with the cries of cuckoos and the humming of bees. The trees, heavy with fruit and blossoming flowers, appeared to rejoice in their abundance, laughing with the bright radiance of their buds and blooms. Like the celestial pārijāta tree striving upward, the kadamba’s branches and flower clusters reached for the sky, its trunk rising boldly as if to pierce the heavens. Swarms of bees hummed among dense clusters of thick-petaled flowers, making the tree seem to rival Indra himself in splendor, radiant like the thousand eyes of the king of gods. Its shining clusters of flowers, like jeweled serpent hoods, adorned the tree as it rose from the earth, recalling the image of the mighty serpent Śeṣa eager to behold the sky. Dust-laden, the tree’s form was reminiscent of Śaṅkara, and its fruit-laden shade inspired awe in all the sages, just as Śaṅkara does. With dense leafy branches forming natural walls and flower-laden creepers arching into pavilions, the kadamba stood like a city in the sky, its bird-flocks like bustling citizens. Then, a wise one, his mind slowed and softened by joy, gazed upon the tree rich with fruits and tender leaves, a veritable mountain of blossoms. He climbed the kadamba, the pillar of the forest, standing upon the earth as Viṣṇu once ascended the wish-fulfilling tree rising alone from the ocean. There, at the tip of a sky-reaching branch, she entered the open space, as nimble as a monkey’s mind at the end of a branch. Settling herself on a soft, fresh bed of new leaves, she gazed in wonder at the directions around her. She beheld rows of rivers with lovely banks, mountain peaks rising like the breasts of great hills, clear skies veiled with clouds, and blue lotuses swaying in the gentle breeze. The city below was adorned by figures clad in blue-green grass, their limbs pale as flowers, bearing pitchers filled with ocean water. Villages sparkled with blossoming lotuses, fragrant breezes serving as their faces, the calls of crows filling the air, and waterfalls resounding like anklets. The world itself took on the form of a cosmic woman: the sky her crown, the earth her feet, forests her flowing hair, wilds her broad hips, and the sun and moon her earrings. Rice fields and sandalwood groves marked her form, her peaks draped in the white garments of snow and cloud. The forests mirrored the ocean’s fresh adornment, bristling with trees, serving as the world’s inner chambers. Their garments, washed in the waters of spring and adorned with the saffron rays of the sun, were decorated with flowers and smeared with sandalwood as pale as moonlight. Seated on a broad leaf of a creeper in the sky, surrounded by streams of forest vines and breezes, he joyfully beheld the women of the three worlds, each direction adorned with unending flowers. From that time forward, he became renowned in that hermitage of ascetics as Kadamba Dāśūra, a hero steadfast in severe austerity. There, seated upon the leaf of a creeper, he gazed for a moment at the directions, then firmly assumed the lotus posture, withdrawing his mind from all the quarters. Unaware of the highest truth and engaged only in ritual, his mind devoted to offering the fruits of action, he performed a sacrifice. Dwelling in the forest, seated upon the leaf of a creeper in the sky, he performed all sacrificial rites in order, solely with his mind. For ten years, he worshipped the gods mentally with sacrifices involving cows, horses, and humans, offering abundant gifts. As time passed and his mind became pure, knowledge arising from the grace of the self forcefully entered within. Then, with his coverings dissolved and the stains of latent impressions fallen away, the sage, free from all impurity, continued to dwell upon that leaf. One day, on the very creeper before him, he saw a forest goddess with wide eyes, her garment swaying with flowers. Her face was like that of a passionate beloved, her eyes rolling with intoxication, fragrant with blue lotuses, and exceedingly captivating. The sage addressed her, flawless in form and with a bowed face, as a cuckoo might address a flowering forest vine. “Who are you, O lotus-eyed one, whose heart is stirred by love? Why do you, adorned with blossoms, dwell upon this vine as if it were your companion?” Thus addressed, the doe-eyed, fair, full-breasted woman spoke these charming, innocent words to the sage: “Whatever rare things are desired on earth, all these are swiftly obtained by the request of the great. I am the forest goddess in this grove of creepers, adorned by your presence, O Brahman, dwelling in the play of the vines. On the thirteenth day of the bright half of the month of Chaitra, during the festival of love, there was a gathering of the forest goddesses in the Nandana grove. With joyful flowers, buzzing bees, and the adornment of cuckoos and honeybees, I went there, O Lord, to the assembly of the beauties of the three worlds.