In ancient times, the sages remembered the measure called ‘Kiṣku’ as being equal to two ratnis, or forty-two finger-joints. Two thousand bows together made a ‘gavyūti,’ a unit of distance established in those days. By such carefully considered measures and divisions, the settlements of the land were laid out accordingly. Now, let me explain how the fourth artificial fort was determined. At each gate of this fort stood Rucaka, and likewise, the area known as Kumārīpura. Among ten possible sites, Hastasrota was considered the best, and among eight, Navahasta was also included. Of the three principal types of forts—those built upon mountains, those surrounded by water, and those shaped like a bow—this one had a special form. Its diameter was half a yojana, with an additional eighth part added to its length. The fort itself was shaped like a grand fan, with its sides cut or deformed like ears. Upon this foundation, a divine and praiseworthy city was constructed, square in shape and celebrated among all. In the heart of the city, the central area was renowned for being compact and free from forests. From the center outward, half the city’s diameter marked the ‘kheṭa,’ and beyond that lay the ‘pāna.’ The utmost boundary stretched to two krośas, while the field boundaries were marked by four dhanus. The village roads were twenty dhanus wide, and the boundary roads were ten. All the passageways were designed to be unobstructed for the movement of men, horses, chariots, and elephants. The city had three main streets, with side streets branching off, and two secondary lanes as well. The broad path of endurance measured sixty-six units, and the pedestrian path was similarly regarded. Once these thoroughfares and boundaries were established, houses and dwellings began to rise throughout the city. Thus, as the building commenced, the people repeatedly considered and planned each aspect with care. Afterward, others continued this work, some advancing further, others crossing into new areas. Just as branches grow from a tree, these expansions were called ‘shākhās’—the branches of the settlement. Therefore, these became known as ‘shālās,’ and their very nature as ‘shāla’ was thus remembered. For this reason, houses, shālās, and palaces all came to bear these names. There came a time when, along with the honey, the wish-fulfilling trees were destroyed. Then, in the Tretā Yuga, the accomplishment and flourishing of these shālās became manifest. During this period, the waters from rainfall and those seeping into the earth, as well as small trickles that fell elsewhere, nourished the land. From these waters, plants bearing flowers, roots, and fruits, as well as various herbs, sprang forth. Trees and bushes blossomed and bore fruit in their proper seasons. At the dawn of the Tretā Yuga, people sustained themselves with these herbs. Yet, as the inevitable course of time unfolded and the influence of the Tretā Yuga took hold, trees, bushes, and herbs were seized and consumed according to each person’s strength. The beings who dwelt there, born from the mind of Brahmā, were reborn and appeared again in the Tretā Yuga. Shaped by the actions and tendencies of their previous births, they became known for both virtue and vice. Freed from greed and exercising self-control, these beings dwelled among those remembered from earlier times. They performed their actions, and those weaker than themselves followed suit. Yet, as mutual opposition and conflict arose among them, they vanished, slipping away like sand through a tightly clenched fist. Nevertheless, they regained sustenance by gathering fruits, flowers, and roots once more, thus continuing the cycle of life and renewal.