Love was offered a seat next to Indra. Love addressed Indra and declared that he would gladly carry out any command. He asked who had become so ambitious as to desire Indra’s throne through severe penance, and boasted that he could make even the strongest ascetic fall victim to his flower-arrows. He asked whom he should disturb from the pursuit of liberation, dharma, or worldly success, saying that his force could overflow all restraint like a river in flood destroying both its banks.
He further assured Indra that even though his arrows were only flowers, with Spring as his ally he could shake the courage of even Lord Shiva, wielder of the mighty Pinaka bow. Compared to Shiva, he said, what were all other archers? His confidence reflected the immense pride of the god of love, who knew the subtle strength of longing over all beings.
Indra replied warmly, calling Love his second great weapon after the thunderbolt. While the Vajra often failed against those strengthened by intense penance, Love’s arrows could penetrate where force could not. Indra explained that the gods desperately needed a commander who could defeat Tarakasura, and that only a son born to Shiva and Parvati could fulfil this destiny. Since Brahma had already foretold that Parvati alone could bear Shiva’s child, Love’s task was clear: awaken Shiva’s heart toward her.
Indra revealed that Parvati was already serving Shiva in the Himalayas at her father Himavan’s request. This, he said, made the mission all the more glorious, for its success would benefit the three worlds. Such achievement, he reminded Love, lies in accomplishing what no one else can do. Spring, Indra added, would surely accompany him without even being asked, just as wind naturally fans a flame.
Accepting the mission with determination, Love set out toward Shiva’s hermitage in the Himalayas. He was accompanied by his wife Charm and his companion Spring, fully aware of the danger but resolved to complete the task even at the cost of his own body.
As soon as Spring entered the hermitage grove, the entire forest changed. Untimely blossoms burst open on ashoka, mango, palasa, priyala, and countless other trees. The sages living in the forest saw the sudden flowering and, with great effort, restrained their senses. All around, the world responded to the season of longing.
Birds and animals turned instinctively toward their mates. Bees drank honey beside their companions from the same flower. The black antelope rubbed his horn lovingly against the trusting doe. Every creature in the grove reflected the universal force of attraction that Love had brought with him.
Yet Shiva remained untouched. Though celestial music from heavenly maidens filled the air, he continued in deep meditation, unmoved by sound, fragrance, or the transformed beauty of the forest. For one who has mastered the self, such obstacles cannot disturb concentration.
At the entrance to the sacred grove stood Nandi, holding his golden staff. With a single gesture he commanded silence. At once the entire forest became still as a painted image: trees ceased their movement, bees fell silent, birds stopped their song, and even the animals froze in place.
Avoiding Nandi’s gaze, Love quietly entered the exact place where Shiva meditated. There he saw the great lord seated on a tiger skin atop a platform of deodar wood, upright in heroic posture, hands resting calmly, eyes fixed upon the tip of his nose. His stillness resembled a motionless cloud, an unbroken reservoir, and a lamp flame protected from all wind.
Shiva’s meditation was so deep that his mind rested wholly within the heart, withdrawn from every outward opening. Seeing this immense stillness, Love himself began to tremble, and his bow nearly slipped from his hands. But at that very moment Parvati arrived, adorned in flowers and clothed in red, accompanied by woodland deities. Her beauty renewed his confidence.
Parvati entered shyly to serve Shiva, and Nandi announced her presence. Shiva, emerging slightly from meditation, allowed her to approach. She bowed, and the flowers in her hair fell at his feet. Blessing her, Shiva declared that she would indeed obtain a husband wholly devoted to her, words that carried deeper truth than anyone present yet realised.
Seizing the perfect moment, Love drew his bowstring and prepared to release his bewildering arrow. As Shiva’s gaze rested upon the bashful Parvati, the slightest stir of awareness moved within him. Instantly he sought the cause, looked around, and saw Love ready to strike.
At once Shiva’s face darkened with wrath. His brows tightened, and from the terrible third eye on his forehead burst a blaze of fire. Before even the gods could plead with him to restrain his anger, the flame leapt forth and reduced Love to ashes.
The shock overwhelmed Charm, who fell unconscious in grief. Shiva, having destroyed Love as Indra might shatter a tree with the thunderbolt, vanished from the place with his attendants, unwilling to remain in the vicinity of women. Parvati stood humiliated and sorrowful, ashamed that neither her beauty nor her father’s hopes had moved the ascetic lord.
Seeing his daughter’s grief and fear, Himavan gently took Parvati back home, carrying her away with the tenderness of an elephant lifting a lotus in its tusks. Thus the third canto closes in tragedy, with desire burned away, yet the deeper destiny of Shiva and Parvati still silently advancing.