In the heart of the ancient forest, a remarkable kadamba tree stood, its dust-laden form resembling a second Śaṅkara, awe-inspiring to all the sages who beheld it. Laden with fruit and casting a generous shade, the tree’s presence evoked reverence, much like the divine Śaṅkara himself. Its dense, leafy branches formed natural walls, while flower-laden creepers draped themselves like pavilions, giving the tree the appearance of a city suspended in the sky. Flocks of birds crowded its boughs, as if they were its citizens, filling the air with life. The wise one, his heart slowed by the fullness of joy, gazed upon this tree, marveling at its abundance of fruits and tender leaves. It rose before him like a mountain of blossoms. With resolve, he climbed the kadamba tree, the pillar of the forest, rooted firmly in the earth, just as Viṣṇu once ascended the wish-fulfilling tree that emerged alone from the ocean. At the tip of a branch, reaching into the sky, she entered the open space, her mind quick and playful, like a monkey at the end of a branch. Settling herself on a soft, fresh bed of new leaves, she paused to gaze in wonder at the directions around her. Her eyes took in the rows of rivers adorned with lovely banks, mountain peaks rising like the breasts of great hills, clear skies veiled with clouds, and blue lotuses swaying gently. The city below was adorned with blue-green grass, its limbs pale as flowers, and pitchers filled with ocean water, all enhancing its beauty. Villages hummed with the calls of crows, waterfalls resounded like anklets, and blossoming lotuses were held aloft, with fragrant breezes as faces. The sky formed their crown, the earth their feet, forests their lines of hair, wilds their broad hips, and the moon and sun their earrings. Rice fields and sandalwood groves marked their land, with peaks draped in white garments of snow and clouds. The forests, bristling with trees, mirrored the fresh adornment of the ocean’s waters, creating the inner chambers of the world. Garments washed in the waters of spring, saffron rays of the sun, decorations of various flowers, and sandalwood as pale as moonlight adorned the land. Seated on the 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 continuously with flowers. From that time onward, he became renowned in that hermitage of ascetics as Kadamba Dāśūra, a hero steadfast in severe austerity. Seated upon the leaf of a creeper, he gazed at the quarters for a moment, then firmly assumed the lotus posture, withdrawing his mind from all directions. 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. Over time, as his mind became pure, knowledge arising from the grace of the self forcefully entered within. Then, his coverings dissolved and the stains of latent impressions fell away; the sage, free from all impurity, dwelt upon that leaf. Once, on the very creeper before him, he saw a forest goddess with wide eyes, her garment swaying with flowers. Her face resembled 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?" he asked. Thus addressed, the doe-eyed, fair, full-breasted woman spoke charming, innocent words to the sage. She said, "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." She continued, "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. Then, during the festival of love, I saw all my friends—some with children, some without—and because I was childless, I became deeply distressed. With you, the great wish-fulfilling tree for all seekers, standing here, how can I, O Lord, be lamented as childless, as if I were helpless?" She pleaded, "Grant me a son, O blessed one; if not, I will offer my body to the fire here, making an oblation to relieve the burning sorrow of childlessness." The eminent sage, smiling at the slender woman who had spoken thus, compassionately gave her a flower held in his hand and said, "Go, slender-limbed one; within a month you will bear a son worthy of worship, with beautiful eyes, just as a creeper produces a lovely flower. But he will be possessed by the taint of death, for you have requested him with difficulty; therefore, he will be ignorant and hard to obtain." Having spoken thus, the sage dismissed the slender maiden, whose face was bright with happiness as she expressed her desire to serve him. She returned to her own abode, while he remained with himself; and time passed gradually, marked by seasons and years. Then, after a long time, that lotus-eyed woman, having completed twelve years, brought her son to the sage. Having bowed and seated herself before him, her face radiant as the moon, she spoke with gentle words, like a bee to a mango tree.