From the coarse elements, the lotus-born Brahmā found himself abundantly sprinkled in all directions. Alongside him, the wind arising from the sense of smell caused everything to tremble. The great lotus, which had sprung freely from his navel, was shaken, for Lord Bhava had arrived—the beginningless one, the master who brings about the end. Together, Bhava and Brahmā approached the bearer of the bull-banner with hymns. But Brahmā, angered, spoke to Keśava, whose eyes resembled lotuses: “You surely do not know yourself, O lord of the worlds, the all-pervading one. Nor do you know me, Brahmā, the eternal creator of the worlds. Who is this named Śaṅkara, who surpasses both of us?” Hearing these words, Hari replied gently, “Do not speak so, O auspicious one. Do not disparage the great soul. The great lord of yoga, Dharma, is difficult to overcome and bestows boons. He is the cause of this world—the ancient, imperishable person. Indeed, he is the seed of all seeds, the single light that shines forth. Śaṅkara himself plays with toys as a child; he is the imperishable chief principle, the womb, the unmanifest, and the darkness of nature. These names of mine are always productive, but who he is—that Śiva—is seen only by ascetics afflicted with suffering. He is the seed, you are the seed-bearer, and I am the eternal womb.” Thus addressed, Brahmā, the soul of the universe, asked Viṣṇu, “You are the womb, I am the seed; how is Maheśvara the seed-bearer? This subtle, unmanifest doubt of mine you ought to resolve.” Having understood the various origins of Brahmā, Hari answered this supreme question. “There is nothing greater or more secret than this being—the supreme abode of the great, the seat of Śiva for those devoted to the inner self. Thus, the self is established, divided in two ways: Maheśvara is both the unmanifest without parts and the manifest with parts. For him, who knows the workings of māyā and whose nature is inaccessible and profound, the first seed of the linga, similar to you, arose in the beginning. That seed, united with my womb, in the course of time, produced the golden egg within the womb. For ten hundred years, the egg rested in the waters. At the end of a thousand years, it was split by the wind. One shell became the sky, another became the earth; its thick membrane, of great height, is that golden mountain. Then, from that conjunction, the supreme Lord of gods, the blessed Hiraṇyagarbha, was born—he who has four faces. Seeing the world empty, up to the stars, planets, moon, and sun, and meditating, ‘Who am I?’—then, O Kumāras, I came into being. The ascetics, delightful to behold, who were your elder brothers among the sages, at the end of another thousand years, became your sons from that very source. Radiant as fire among worlds, with eyes long as lotus petals, the illustrious Sanatkumāra and Ṛbhu, both of pure celibacy—Sanaka, Sanātana, and Sanandana—were all born at the same time, possessing insight beyond the senses. Born as embodiments of intuitive wisdom, causes of the world’s stability, they do not engage in actions and are free from the threefold afflictions. Life and death, and repeated birth, are joined with little happiness, much suffering, old age, and sorrow. Happiness in heaven is slight, and there is suffering in hell as well. Knowing all this doctrine, one must accept the certainty of fate. Seeing Ṛbhu and Sanatkumāra under your control, your three sons—Sanaka and the others—abandoned the three qualities. They, of great energy, set forth on the path of knowledge; thus, when Sanaka and the others proceeded among those three, you will become deluded by the māyā of Śaṅkara. When the cycle turns, O sinless one, your awareness will be lost. At the end of the cycle, the remaining beings, both subtle and earthly, awaken through the divine māyā of all. Just as this mountain Meru is called the world of the gods, so you should know the greatness of the best of gods. Knowing the true nature of the Lord, and knowing me, lotus-eyed, as Mahādeva—the great being, the bestower of boons and master of beings—with the syllable Oṃ and with Sāman hymns, bowing to the teacher of the world, both you and I, if angered, could burn this world with our breaths. Knowing thus the great yoga, rising up with great power, I, placing you at the forefront, will praise the one whose radiance is like fire. Then, placing Brahmā at the front, he of the Garuḍa banner, with those of the past, future, and present, with names and Vedic meters, uttered this hymn: “Salutations to you, O blessed one, of excellent vows and infinite splendor. Homage to the Lord of the field, to the bearer of seed, to the one with the spear; homage to the one of noble phallus, to the one worthy of worship, to the staff-bearer, to the one of harsh seed. Homage to the eldest, to the best, to the one who is first and foremost; homage to the venerable, to the worshipful, to the one who is born instantly. To the one dwelling in caves, to the Lord of vessels, to the one whose garment is the sky—homage; homage to the Lord of beings, beginning with us. Homage to the Lord of the Vedas, and to the Lord of the Smṛtis; homage to the Lord of actions and gifts, and to the Lord of substances.