Hear now, O beautiful and bright-eyed lady, the circumstances in which I heard the story that delivers one from the cycle of births and deaths. You first became incarnate in the house of Daksha and the name you then bore was Sati.

At a sacrifice performed by Daksha you were subjected to contumely and in a fit of passion yielded up your life. My servants then wrecked the sacrifice – but you know the whole episode already.

Then I was sorely troubled at heart, for your loss had left me disconsolate, my beloved. I wandered among beauteous woods and mountains and rivers and lakes, seeing sights but indifferent to their beauty.

Far away, to the north of Mount Sumeru, there is a most magnificent purple mountain with many a majestic peak of gold, four of which were so lovely that my soul was enraptured.

On each stood one spreading tree, a banyan, a pipala, a pakara and a mango. On the top of the mountain sparkled a beautiful lake, with jewelled flights of steps, which it was a delight to behold.

Its water was cool, limpid and sweet, its lotuses abundant and many-coloured. Flocks of swans uttered their melodious notes and bees softly murmured.

On that splendid mountain dwelt that bird (Kakabhushundi), indestructible aeon. All the virtues and vices that are born of Maya (the cosmic illusion), together with ignorance and lust and other errors of judgement.