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Listen, says Brahma to the divine sage Narada. Once the gods had returned to their several realms, Lord Shankara settled into deep meditation, resolved to test the austerities of Parvati. He who yields to those who love him, even Rudra, was stirred from that meditation, astonished by the mountain-king’s daughter and the sheer weight of her penance. Then Hara called to mind the seven sages, Vasishtha and the rest, and the moment he thought of them all seven arrived. Smiling, Shiva said, O seven sages, the mountain-king’s daughter Parvati performs austerities on the peak called Gauri to win me as her husband. Go there at my command, and with love in your hearts test the firmness of her resolve. You are to speak words wholly steeped in guile; harbor no doubt about this.
The test of the seven sages
The seven sages came at once to the place where the Mother of the worlds sat radiant, like austerity itself given a body and brought to perfection. Bowing their heads, they asked, O daughter of the mountain-king, for what do you perform these austerities, and what fruit do you hope to win? Though the matter was hers to keep private, Parvati told them the truth. Great among sages, I received the teaching of the divine sage Narada, and I perform this penance carrying a single wish, that Lord Rudra become my husband. My mind is a bird that flies stubbornly through the sky with no wings at all; only Shankara, the storehouse of mercy, can fulfill this hope.
At this the sages laughed and began to speak words full of guile and falsehood. Daughter of the mountain-king, the divine sage Narada thinks himself a scholar for nothing; with cunning and deceit he casts a spell over the minds of others. He counseled the sons of Daksha in such a way that they never came home again. He laid waste the household of Chitraketu, lord of the Vidyadharas. He made a disciple of Prahlada and so brought great suffering on him from Hiranyakashipu. Fallen under his sway, you too have taken up this cruel penance. Young one, the Rudra for whom you do this is forever indifferent, an enemy of desire; he has no home anywhere, and no one can trace his lineage. Once before he married the virtuous Sati, yet within a few days he could not sustain the union and cast her off. How is any woman to live out her life with such a bridegroom? Turn back and go home. The bridegroom worthy of you is Vishnu, dweller in Vaikuntha, crowned with every virtue, and it is to him that we will see you married.
The Mother of the worlds laughed and said, Great among sages, you have spoken as your own understanding allows, yet my resolve will not loosen. The teaching of the divine sage is the highest good for me, and I will never let it go. Shiva is the supreme Brahman in visible form; he wears the guise of a wandering ascetic only for the sake of his devotees. A taste for ornament belongs to creatures smeared with maya, never to Brahman. If Shiva will not marry me, I will remain unwed forever, and I will never choose another. Though the sun should rise in the west, though Meru should shift from its place, though fire should take on coolness and the lotus bloom on bare stone, even then my resolve cannot break. This I say in truth. Knowing her certainty, the seven sages raised a cry of victory, gave their blessing, and returned to Shiva, and told him the whole account.
The matted-hair brahmin
Now Lord Shankara himself resolved to test the goddess’s penance in person. On the pretext of the test, and to look on her once more, he took the form of a matted-haired ascetic and went into the forest, the form of a very old brahmin ablaze with his own radiance, a staff in one hand and a parasol above him. In the hermitage he saw the goddess seated upon an altar, ringed by her companions, luminous as one pure phase of the moon. Parvati honored the radiant brahmin and asked after his wellbeing with warmth, Who are you, and from where have you come? You light up this whole forest with your splendor.
The brahmin said, I am an old brahmin who wanders as he pleases, pure of mind, given to austerity and to the good of others. But who are you, whose daughter, and why do you perform in this lonely forest a penance rare even for sages? Are you Gayatri, mother of the Vedas, or Lakshmi, or Saraswati? Parvati answered, Best of brahmins, I am neither Gayatri, nor Lakshmi, nor Saraswati. At this time I am Parvati, daughter of Himachala. In an earlier birth I was Sati, daughter of the Prajapati Daksha; one day my father spoke ill of my husband, and in anger I gave up my body through yoga. In this birth too Shiva was mine, yet after he burned Kamadeva to ash he left me and went his way. Scorched by his absence, I came to the bank of the Ganga to perform penance, and though I have practiced it for a long age I have not won my beloved. Now I will enter the fire, since Shiva has not accepted me; but wherever I am born, in that life too I will choose him alone as my husband.
With these words Parvati stepped into the fire before the brahmin’s very eyes, though again and again he tried to stop her. Yet by the power of the ascetic’s penance, the moment she entered, the flame turned as cool as a smear of sandal paste. She stayed within the fire for a breath, and as she began to rise from it, Shiva in his brahmin’s guise laughed and spoke again, Ah, gentle lady, your penance is beyond my understanding. The fire did not burn your body; that is the success of your austerity. Yet even now your wish is unfulfilled; that is its failure. Tell me truly what you long for. Parvati prompted her companion Vijaya to answer. Vijaya said, Holy one, my friend is the daughter of Himachala, famed by the names Parvati and Kali. She desires no one but Shiva, and for three thousand years she has done penance for this alone, to win Pinakapani as her husband. The brahmin laughed and said, In this I sense a jest; if it is true, let Parvati say so herself.
Shiva slanders Shiva
Then Parvati said, Best of brahmins, what my friend has told you is true; in thought, in word, and in deed I have chosen Shiva as my husband. I know the prize is hard to win, and still I do penance in the conviction of my heart. Hearing this, the brahmin rose to leave, and Parvati bowed and said, Best of brahmins, stay, and tell me what is for my good. So the brahmin paused and said, Goddess, I know Mahadeva in every way, and therefore I tell you the plain truth, listen. Mahadeva, whose banner bears the bull, keeps ash smeared over his whole body; matted locks crown his head, a tiger’s hide serves him for a loincloth and an elephant’s skin for a shawl. In his hand is a beggar’s skull-bowl, snakes coil about his limbs, he grows strong on the poison he has swallowed, his eyes are ugly and fearsome, and he has as many as ten arms. When, where, and from whom he was born has to this day never come to light; he keeps forever apart from home and household, stark naked, and takes ghosts and goblins for company. For what reason would you take such a one for your husband?
You are a jewel among women, and your father is king of all the mountains. Why then would you take, in place of a gold coin, a piece of glass just as large? To leave fine sandal and smear your limbs with mud, to trade the blaze of the sun for the glimmer of a firefly, to give up a treasury of gems to gain a lump of iron, this is no worthy wish. Set your eyes, wide as opened lotuses, beside those three ugly eyes of his; the sandal paste on your limbs beside the ash of the funeral pyre on his; the lovely necklace at your throat beside the garland of human skulls at his. If he had any wealth, why would he go about sky-clad? For a mount he has one old bull, and nothing else. Of the qualities a bride looks for, he possesses not a single one. Even Kamadeva, dearest to you, was burned to ash by him. It was for this that Daksha did not invite his daughter Sati to his yajna, because she was the wife of a skull-bearing beggar; he called every god and left out Shambhu alone, and it was from that insult that Sati gave up her very life. In him no caste can be seen, no learning, no wisdom; fiends are his helpers and poison sits in his throat. This match holds no appeal for me; turn your mind away from that worthless thing. After that, do as you wish; I have nothing more to say.
Parvati’s reply
At this Parvati grew angry in her heart at the man who slandered her lord, and she said, Old father, until now I took you for some wise and holy soul who had come my way, but now your true metal shows through. You told me you knew Shiva; had that been true, you would not speak words against all reason. Maheshwara sometimes puts on a wondrous guise by the power of his play, yet in truth he is the supreme Brahman, the Highest Self made visible. Shiva is Brahman without attributes, who has taken on attributes for a purpose; when every quality is his own nature, what caste or lineage could he have? At the dawn of the kalpa it was Shambhu who granted the whole of the Vedas to Vishnu the moment he was born. By worship of him the soul conquers death, and for this his name Mrityunjaya, conqueror of death, is famed through the three worlds. By his grace alone Vishnu gained his Vishnu-hood, Brahma his Brahma-hood, and the gods their godhood.
For him before whom the eight siddhis stand with heads bowed, what thing could be hard to win? The ash that the gods take up when it falls from his body and set upon their own heads, how could that be impure? The touch of Shiva’s limbs makes even an impure thing pure. Whoever slanders Shiva without knowing his truth sees the merit gathered across a whole lifetime burned to ash. Here you have slandered Mahadeva, and I have honored you, so I too have taken on a share of the sin. Then, angrier still, she said, You wicked man, you claimed to know Shankara, yet surely you have never known that eternal Shiva. Say of Rudra whatever you will; that ever-changeless Shiva is still the god I most desire. Even Brahma and Vishnu cannot be the equal of Hara, and lesser gods still less, for they are forever subject to time. Having weighed this with a clear mind, it is for that Lord of all that I do penance in the forest.
Having said so much, Parvati turned back to her meditation on Shiva. The moment the brahmin rose to say something more, Parvati, who would hear no more of his slander, said to her companion Vijaya, Friend, take pains to stop this base brahmin; he will only slander Shiva again. The one who slanders takes on a share of the sin, and so does the one who listens. We ought not even to look at his face; come, let us go this very moment to some other place, so that no chance is left to speak again with this ignorant man.
The vision face to face
The instant Parvati lifted her foot to go elsewhere, Lord Shiva appeared in his own true form and caught his beloved by the hand. He gave her his darshan in the very form she had held in meditation, that same beautiful form. Parvati, overcome with shyness, lowered her face.
Shiva said, Beloved, where would you go, leaving me behind? Never again will I forsake you. I am pleased; ask for a boon, for there is nothing I would withhold from you. Goddess, from this day I am your servant, bought at the price of your austerities; without you a single moment passes like an age. Set aside your shyness, for you are my eternal wife. Following the play of the world, I who am your own tested you again and again in many ways; forgive me this fault. In all three worlds I see no other so full of love as you; I am wholly in your keeping. You are my wife and I am your bridegroom; and now, before long, I will take you to my dwelling, the noble mountain Kailasa.
At these words from the God of gods, Parvati was flooded with joy. All the hardship her penance had bred fell away, all her weariness lifted; for once a creature gains the fruit of its labor, every earlier toil is undone. Then she asked her lord, standing close beside her, to hold their wedding in due form at the house of Himalaya, but that is the next story.
Source: Shiva Purana (Gita Press, abridged Shiva Purana edition), Rudra Samhita (Parvati Khanda)