As the sun embarks upon its southern journey, it moves swiftly across the heavens, like an arrow released from the bow, taking up the great wheel of the luminaries and traversing it without pause. When the sun enters the celestial city of Purānta, it assumes the role of Śakra’s lordship, and at that auspicious moment, all the evening planets become visible, and the rising of the sun is observed, O twice-born one. At the end of night, that very sun is found in Sukhavati, and as dawn approaches, it is seen to set once more in Vibha, the universal lord. Just as I have described in Amaravati, where the sun banishes darkness, so too does it journey onward, reaching the cities of Samyamani, Sukha, and Vibha, ever moving like a radiant bird. When it is afternoon in the region of Agneya, it is morning in Nairṛta; and in the harsh region of Vayu, it is late at night, O twice-born. In Īśānya, it is early night. Such is the sun’s course everywhere. When the sun passes through the very center of the sacred land of Puṣkara, listen now to its wondrous path. In the span of a single muhūrta, the sun crosses thirty degrees of the earth. Hear also, O wise one, the measure of distance traversed in that time: it is said to be thirty-one times one hundred thousand yojanas, with an additional fifty thousand—such is the speed of the great-souled Bhāskara. By this reckoning, as the sun reaches the southern region, even there, it questions the Saumya direction during the northern day, wandering in the midst of Puṣkara at the southern solstice. Upon the northern mountain of the mind, the brilliant sun, the lord of all, circles a full hundred times and eighty more, O mighty one. The ancient sages describe both the inner and outer paths for the sun’s movement at the northern and southern solstices; each day, the sun traverses these sacred circles. Just as a potter’s wheel spins rapidly, so too does the sun race along its southern path. Thus, the sun crosses the vast earth in a brief time, passing swiftly through twelve muhūrtas during the southern solstice. In the daytime, the sun moves through thirteen and a half constellations, spending one muhūrta in each; at night, it travels through eighteen constellations in the same manner. Yet, in the northern course, the sun’s motion slows, like the center of the potter’s wheel, which turns gently. During this extended period, the chariot of the sun, established by the Adityas and sages, covers only a small portion of the earth. Even so, the thousand-rayed sun shines upon all, accompanied in front, behind, and below by Gandharvas, Apsaras, chiefs of serpents, and Rākṣasas. When the sun withdraws his ray above, he enters the supreme Brāhmī assembly; at twilight, as the sages abandon the waters, he encounters the night-dwellers. Slaying those who approach, the sun continues on with the Brāhmaṇas, traversing eighteen muhūrtas in the latter part of the northern course. Thus, day is formed, and the sun moves slowly; at night, he passes through twelve and a half constellations in as many muhūrtas, while during the day, he covers eighteen. At the navel of the wheel, the turning slows even further, just as the fixed pole at the center causes the mass of clay to revolve. Those who know the ancient ways declare that a day and night together comprise thirty muhūrtas, as the sun’s circles move between the two extremes. Just as the hub of a potter’s wheel remains unmoving at the center, so too does Uttānapāda revolve with the planets, being chief among them. The sages, masters of astronomy, say that his mind moves with the planets, and by his establishment, the sun stands firmly in his place. With his rays, the sun, aided by the wind, draws up water from everywhere; by the grace of Uttānapāda, this constancy is always maintained. It is by Viṣṇu’s Uttānapāda, and for the sake of the Father, that the sun draws up the waters, which then gradually proceed to the moon. From the moon, the waters descend in turn to the clouds, and the company of water-bearers, driven by the wind, release their bounty. The sun, shining with this gathered essence, sends forth creation upon the earth. There is no destruction of water; it is ever-revolving. For the welfare of all beings, this cycle was established by Śarva: earth, atmosphere, heaven, waters, food, and even immortality itself are bound together in this order. Verily, waters are the life-breath of all worlds, of all beings and realms; what more is there to say? This entire universe, both moving and unmoving, is pervaded by water. The blessed Lord Śiva is established as the ruler of the waters; indeed, the god Bhava is proclaimed as their lord. The entire world is of the nature of Bhava—what wonder is there in this? The divinity of Nārāyaṇa, of Hari, is established by the waters, O Lord. Viṣṇu is the foundation of the worlds, and the waters are his foundation. When all beings, both moving and unmoving, are being scorched, those that become wheat grains rise upward, carried by the wind; thus, they become clouds through the action of fire and wind. This union of smoke, fire, and wind is known as a cloud, and the cloud—whose lord is the thousand-eyed Indra—pours down water. Clouds arising from the smoke of sacrifice always bring benefit to the twice-born; those produced from the smoke of forest fires are beneficial for the forests. Clouds that arise from the smoke of corpses bring misfortune, and those produced from the smoke of sorcery fires, O twice-born, are for the destruction of beings. In this way, by the distinction of smoke, the benefit or harm of the worlds is determined. Therefore, one should cover the smoke produced by sorcery. If a twice-born does not cover the smoke produced by sorcery, he becomes a cause of destruction for the world. O virtuous ones, clouds, the repositories of water, rain for six months here for the benefit of the worlds, by the command of the wind. Thus, the sun, the waters, and the cycles of nature move together in harmony, sustaining all beings and maintaining the order of creation, as established by the divine.