When the appointed time of one era concludes, another period stirs and awakens for the universe. Of all the countless kalpas—vast cycles of time—that have already passed, only those yet to come are still beyond, lying in the future. Among these cycles, the present kalpa is the very first and is now unfolding. When a thousand yugas—great ages—have elapsed, it is destined to be protected by the lords of men. In the beginning, when all creation was dissolved, gentle winds swept through the void, and nothing at all could be perceived. Then, from the depths of stillness, the all-pervading Brahmā emerged—he of a thousand eyes and a thousand feet. This Brahmā, also known as Nārāyaṇa, came into being and, upon the cosmic waters, entered a deep and mysterious sleep. About Nārāyaṇa, the wise recite a sacred verse—for all paths are said to be his, and thus he is eternally remembered as Nārāyaṇa. From a golden vessel, he created anew, this act signifying his attainment of the supreme state of Brahmanhood. At the time of dissolution, his presence was like that of a firefly in the night, flickering here and there amidst the darkness. By subtle inference and without confusion, he discerned the support of the earth. Then, the great soul, with the power of his mind alone, conceived a divine form. He pondered, “In what form, having created it, shall I lift the earth from the waters?” He resolved to manifest a form visible to all beings, composed of sacred speech, and known as Brahman. This form resembled a dark, rain-laden cloud and resounded with a voice like thunder. He shone with the brilliance of lightning and fire, radiating with the splendor of the sun. His hips were broad and prominent, marked with the sacred signs of the bull. For the purpose of raising the earth, he entered into the netherworld. His tongue blazed like fire, his hair was like darbha grass, his head embodied Brahma, and he was adorned with profound austerity. His body stretched along the eastern line, resplendent and decorated with the marks of various initiations. He radiated the glow of ritual commencement and was adorned with the sacred ring of Pravargya. Accompanied by his illusory consort, he stood tall and unmovable, like a mountain peak. His fragrance was that of clarified butter; his mouth was shaped like a ladle, and his voice rang out with the melodies of the Sāman hymns. His nails represented expiations, his form was fierce, his knees were sacrificial animals, and he himself was the great sacrifice. He was the inner sound of the sacrificial music, yet he was without flesh or blood. Desiring to recover the earth, which was concealed beneath fire, he drew near to Prajāpati. With careful distinction, he separated the elements and arranged the mountains upon the earth. Those mountains, once melted by fire, became scattered across the land. Wherever each was placed, there a mountain arose. Again and again, at the beginning of each cosmic cycle, Viśvakarman divided these mountains. He repeatedly arranged the four worlds, beginning with Bhū, the earthly realm. Brahmā, the self-born Lord, then desired to create the many forms of living beings. As he contemplated creation, it came forth by the power of his deliberate thought. Yet at first, what emerged was darkness, confusion, great delusion, deep gloom, and what is known as blind ignorance. The creation unfolded in a fivefold form, for those who meditate and possess pride. There was no illumination, neither outwardly nor inwardly, and consciousness was absent. From that state, beings with concealed selves—known as the principal trees—were declared. Their minds, unable to perceive, regarded this condition as the very origin of their birth. And because this state turned sideways, it is remembered as having a transverse current.