Let us contemplate Skambha, the mysterious pillar and foundation of all that exists, and seek to understand the divine presence that pervades the universe. The sages inquire: Who is that god whose mouth is Brahman itself, whose tongue is sweet as honey, whose intellect shines as Virāj? From whom the sacred Ṛc verses have arisen, from whom the Yajus have emerged, whose hairs are the Sāman chants, whose mouth is Atharvan and Angiras—who is this Skambha, the source of all sacred utterances? Yet, people often mistake the unsubstantial branch for the highest, while others, less discerning, take this branch as real and worship it, not knowing the true essence. In Skambha, the Ādityas, Rudras, and Vasus are established; in him, the past and the future, all worlds find their place. The thirty-three gods guard a treasure belonging to Skambha, but who among mortals knows this treasure, so carefully protected by the gods? Where those gods who know Brahman worship the eldest Brahman, one who knows them directly becomes the true knower of Brahman. The Bṛhants, gods born from the non-existent, are said to be a limb of Skambha; likewise, the ancient is another limb, for Skambha, generating offspring, turned away the ancient. Within Skambha, the thirty-three gods divided the body among his limbs, and those who know Brahman understand these gods. The golden germ, revered as the highest and unexcelled, was first poured out into the world by Skambha. In Skambha reside the worlds, austerity, and the established order; the sage declares, “Skambha, I know you directly—within you, Indra, all is established.” Likewise, in Indra are the worlds, austerity, and order; “Indra, I know you directly—in Skambha all is set firm.” Before all, he called out the name by its name, from the sun and dawn; when the Unborn first came into being, he attained sovereignty of sound, beyond which nothing higher exists. To him belong the earth, the broad midspace, and the womb; he made the sky his head—this eldest Brahman is worthy of homage. His eye is the sun, his moon ever renewed, his mouth is fire—to this eldest Brahman, homage. His breath is the wind, inhalation and exhalation are Angiras, the directions his wisdom—again, homage to the eldest Brahman. Skambha upheld heaven and earth, the wide atmosphere, and the six broad regions; he entered this entire world of beings. Born from toil and heat, equal throughout all worlds, he made Soma alone—homage to this eldest Brahman. The sages ponder: How does the wind not settle? How does the mind not delight? Why do the waters, seeking truth, never settle at any time? In the midst of the world, the great lord stands established in austerity, upon the surface of the waters; all the gods rest upon him, like branches around the trunk of a tree. To him, with hands, feet, speech, ears, and eyes, the gods always offer tribute. Declare that measured, immeasurable Skambha—who is he? From him, darkness is driven away, destroyed by evil; in him are all the lights, the three, in the Lord of creatures. He who knows the golden reed standing in the waters is the secret Lord of creatures. Some weave the loom—two youthful ones approach, spinning six rays; one stretches the threads forward and sets them, another does not remove them nor reach their end. Of those two dancing around, the sage does not know which is beyond; one praises this, the other bears it above in heaven. These rays have supported the sky, made melodies—all for the wind. He who sustains all that was and will be, and who alone is lord of heaven—to this eldest Brahman, homage. By Skambha are all things supported: heaven and earth stand firm, Skambha is all that breathes, blinks, and moves. Three offspring moved forth; others entered the sun from all sides. The vast one stood, the measure of the realm, and entered the golden mares. There is a wheel with twelve spokes, three hubs—who can understand this mystery? Three hundred and sixty pegs are struck, sixty fixed and unmoving. Know this, O Savitar: six are born together, one is single-born; in him they wish to rest, the single-born. Manifest, yet hidden in the secret, the ancient, the great place; there, all is established, moves, breathes, and is sustained. A single wheel revolves with a single rim, a thousand spokes, moving forward and backward; with half of it, it generated the whole world of beings—where did its other half go? Drawn by five, the foremost of these is carried; the yokes are fastened in succession; its course is unseen, not having gone, nor is its going seen—one is not nearer, the other not farther. The ladle is crosswise, its base above; in it is placed glory, of manifold forms; there sat together the seven sages, guardians of its greatness. That which is yoked in front, behind, on all sides, and everywhere—by which the sacrifice is extended forward—which one is the sacred verse? Whatever moves, flies, or stands still, whatever breathes or does not breathe, whatever blinks or becomes—this earth, of manifold forms, he upholds; by coming together, it becomes one alone. Endless, stretched out in many places, infinite, yet bounded on all sides—he, the guardian of heaven, moves about, searching, the wise one, both what has been and what will be. The Lord of creatures moves within the womb, unseen, yet born in many forms; with half of him, he generated the whole world of beings—of his other half, which sign is that? He bears the water upward, as if with a vessel to be drawn; all see him with their eyes, but not all know him with their mind. Thus, Skambha is the unseen foundation, the eldest Brahman, the pillar upholding all worlds, the secret source of all, manifest and hidden, praised and pondered by sages and gods alike.