O Lord, the eldest son approached his father, the Sun, with a troubled heart and spoke: “O god, our mother does not show us equal affection. Abandoning the elder, she wishes to favor the younger, showering her devotion upon him. My foot was only raised against her and never placed upon her body; whether it was out of childishness or confusion, please forgive this, my lord. Father, in her anger, my mother has cursed me, though I am her own son. For this reason, O best of ascetics, I cannot consider her my mother any longer. By your grace, O protector of the earth, may my foot not fall as a result of my mother’s curse today—please consider this.” The Sun, compassionate and wise, replied, “My son, there must have been a great reason for this, by which anger entered you, who know and practice righteousness. There are remedies for all curses, but if one is cursed by their mother, there is nowhere any reversal of such a curse. It is not possible to make your mother’s words false. Yet, out of my affection for you as my son, I will grant you a favor. Worms will take the flesh of your foot and depart to the earth—thus her words are fulfilled in truth, and you shall be protected.” Turning to Chāyā, the Sun asked, “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 who lack qualities, a mother does not give a curse.” Chāyā, fearful of the curse she had uttered, sought to avoid it and confessed the truth to the Sun. Hearing her words, the Sun went at once to his father-in-law. The father-in-law welcomed the Sun with due honor, even as the Sun, burning with anger, stood before him. With soothing words, he explained, “This form of yours, pervaded by excessive radiance, is extremely difficult to bear. Unable to endure it, Saṃjñā, your wife, wanders in the forest, practicing austerities. Today you will see her, your virtuous wife, performing great penance in the forest for your sake. I have heard Brahmā’s words regarding the restraint of your radiance. Today, O lord of the day, I will fashion a pleasing form for you.” The blessed Sun agreed, saying, “So be it.” Thereafter, Viśvakarman, the divine artisan, received permission from Vivasvat in Śākadvīpa and began the process to diminish the Sun’s radiance by means of a whirling motion. As Viśvakarman set to his task, the brilliant radiance, not subdued even by the whirling of all the worlds, ascended the earth, ocean, mountain, and sky. The entire sky, along with the moon, planets, and stars, was cast downward, becoming agitated and disturbed. All the oceans were churned, and the great mountains, with their ridges and bases shattered, split apart. All the fixed supports and abodes, held together by the Sun’s rays, broke and fell. Thousands of great clouds, tossed by the force of the whirling wind, scattered in all directions, resounding with terrifying noise. The earth, sky, and underworld, bewildered by the whirling brilliance, became exceedingly agitated. Seeing the three worlds in turmoil, the divine sages and gods, together with Brahmā, praised the radiant one, the Sun. They extolled him, saying, “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, Lord of the universe, O Sun who brings heat and rain.” Indra and the other gods joined in their praise as the Sun was being depicted in his new form. “Victory to you, O Lord, Master of the universe! Victory to you, Lord of all the worlds!” cried the seven sages, led by Vasiṣṭha and Atri. They praised the Sun with various hymns, uttering words of blessing and auspiciousness, with the foremost Vedic declarations. The Vālakhilya sages also offered their praise. Agni and the other gods, filled with joy, praised the radiant one: “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. May there always be peace for those who walk on two legs, and peace for those with four legs.” The hosts of Vidyādharas, Yakṣas, Rākṣasas, and serpents—all of them, with hands joined in reverence and heads bowed, saluted the Sun and spoke various words, pleasing to the mind and ear: “May your radiance be bearable for the beings you have brought forth.” Then Hāhā, Hūhū, Nārada, and Tumburu, skilled in the music of the Gandharvas, began to sing to the Sun, adept in the three modes—Ṣaḍja, Madhyama, and Gāndhāra. With modulations, rhythms, and harmonious combinations that brought delight, Viśvācī, Ghṛtācī, Urvaśī, and Tilottamā, along with Menakā, Sahajanyā, and Rambhā—the foremost among Apsarases—danced before the Lord of the worlds as the Sun was being depicted. They performed many expressive gestures of emotion, mood, and grace, singing as they danced. Then there sounded lutes, flutes, and other instruments; drums, cymbals, mridangas, paṭahas, and anakas, divine kettledrums and conches, by the hundreds and thousands, resounded. With Gandharvas and hosts of Apsarases singing and dancing, and the sounds of all kinds of instruments, the atmosphere was filled with joyous tumult. Finally, with hands joined in reverence and bodies bowed in devotion, all the gods bowed to the thousand-rayed Sun as he was being depicted, offering him their worship and adoration.