O Goddess, from the moment of the hair-grasping until the moment of the curse, I shall never reveal to you my decision; go wherever you wish. Thus spoken to, Saṃjñā, feeling ashamed, departed to her father’s house and remained there for a thousand years. Though her father repeatedly urged her to return to her husband, Saṃjñā transformed herself into a mare and journeyed to the northern lands of the Kurus. There, that virtuous lady engaged in severe austerities without taking any food, O best of the twice-born. While Saṃjñā stayed with her father, Chāyā, ever mindful of her promise, remained in her stead. Assuming the very form of Saṃjñā, Chāyā approached Bhāskara, the Sun. The blessed Sun, believing her to be his true wife, lived with Chāyā. In this way, he begot upon Chāyā two sons and a daughter. Yet Saṃjñā, from afar, made these children mortal and earthly. Chāyā did not show the same affection to her own children as she did to the earlier offspring. Manu forgave her for this, but Yama did not. Greatly troubled by the treatment he received from both his mother and father, afflicted in many ways and suffering deeply, Yama, in a moment of childish anger and compelled by fate, threatened his mother with his foot, though he did not strike her. Because you have threatened your father’s wife, most venerable, with your foot, she declared, therefore this foot of yours shall fall—without doubt. Yama, his mind greatly disturbed by this curse, went to his father Manu and told him everything, for he was righteous. “O lord,” he said, “our mother does not show us equal affection; she forsakes the elder and wishes to show devotion to the younger. My foot was only raised against her, not placed upon her body. Whether from childishness or confusion, please forgive this, father. I have been cursed by my mother in anger, though I am her son; therefore, O best of ascetics, I do not consider her my true mother. By your grace, O protector of the earth, may my foot not fall today because of my mother’s curse. Please consider this.” Manu replied, “Without doubt, my son, there must be a great reason why anger entered you, who know and practice righteousness. There is a remedy for all curses, but for a curse pronounced by one’s mother, there is nowhere any reversal. It is not possible to make your mother’s words false; yet, out of affection for you as my son, I will grant you a favor. Worms will consume the flesh of your foot and then depart to the earth; in this way, your mother’s words will be fulfilled, and yet you shall be protected.” Meanwhile, the Sun turned to Chāyā and questioned her: “For what reason, among your children who are equal, have you shown greater affection to one? Surely, you are not their true mother; some other identity has come to you. Even among children without virtue, a mother does not curse her child.” Fearing the consequences of the curse, Chāyā sought to avoid it and revealed the truth to the Sun. Hearing this, the Sun went to his father-in-law. The father-in-law, after properly honoring the Sun—who was burning with anger—spoke to him with gentle, soothing words: “This form of yours, pervaded by excessive radiance, is extremely difficult to bear. Unable to endure it, Saṃjñā wanders in the forest, practicing austerities. Today you will see your virtuous wife, performing great penance in the forest for the sake of your form. I have heard Brahmā’s words about restraining your radiance; today, O lord of the day, I will fashion a pleasing form for you.” The blessed Sun agreed, and spoke to Tvaṣṭṛ. Thereafter, the form of Vivasvat became more refined. Viśvakarman, with Vivasvat’s permission in Śākadvīpa, began the process of diminishing that radiance by means of a whirling motion. The brilliance was so intense that, despite the whirling of all the worlds, it rose up, touching the earth, ocean, mountains, and sky. O sages, the entire sky, along with the moon, planets, and stars, was cast downward, agitated and disturbed. All the oceans churned, and the great mountains, with their ridges and bases shattered, were split apart. O best of sages, all the fixed supports and abodes—whose bonds were held by the Sun’s rays—broke and fell down. Thousands of great clouds, tossed by the force of the whirling wind, scattered, resounding with terrifying noise. The earth, sky, and underworld, bewildered by the whirling brilliance, became exceedingly agitated. Seeing the three worlds in turmoil and whirling, the divine sages and gods, together with Brahmā, praised the radiant Sun: “You are the primordial god of the gods, born for the welfare of the world; at the times of creation, preservation, and dissolution, you exist in threefold distinction. May there be well-being for you, O Lord of the universe, Sun who brings both heat and rain.” Then Indra and the other gods praised him as he was being depicted. “Victory to you, O Lord, Master of the universe! Victory to you, Lord of all the worlds!” The seven sages, led by Vasiṣṭha and Atri, also offered their praises. They honored him with various hymns, uttering words of blessing and auspiciousness, with the foremost Vedic declarations, and the Vālakhilya sages joined in their praise. Agni and the other gods, filled with joy, praised the radiant one as his new form was being fashioned. “O Lord, you are the liberation of those who seek freedom, and the supreme object of meditation for those who contemplate. You are the path for all beings who revolve in the cycle of action; you are to be worshipped, O Lord of the gods. May there be peace for us, O Lord of the worlds.