Hosts of adepts, ascetics and yogis (mystics) as well as gods, and Kinnars and anchorites, all pious souls, reside there and adore Shiva, the source of all joy.

Those who are enemies of Vishnu and Mahadeva and have no love for religious discipline can never even in a dream find their way to the place. On the summit of that mountain is an enormous banyan tree, ever young and beautiful in all seasons.

Ever fanned by cool, soft and fragrant breezes, its shade is very refreshing. It is Shiva’s favourite haunt, as the Vedas tell. Once upon a time the Lord went to rest beneath the tree and was much gladdened at heart to see it.

Spreading his tigerskin on the ground with his own hands, the all-merciful Shiva sat down at his ease, his body fair in hue as the jasmine or the moon or the conch-shell, arms of great length, a hermit’s covering, consisting of the bark of trees, wrapped round his loins.

His feet were like a pair of full-blown red lotuses and their toe-nails shed a lustre which dispelled the darkness of faithful hearts. Serpents and ashes served as Tripurari’s (Shiva’s) ornaments, and his face eclipsed all the brilliance of the autumn moon.

With his matted hair for a crown and the Ganga adorning his head, eyes as big as a pair of lotuses, throat dark with poison, and with the crescent moon shining on his forehead, the Lord looked like a treasure-house of beauty.

Seated there, Love’s enemy, Shiva, looked like the sentiment of Tranquillity, incarnate. Then seizing the opportunity, Parvati, who is the great mother Bhavani, approached him.