When the question arose about Saṃjñā’s whereabouts, Viśvakarman, the divine craftsman and her father, revealed, “She has come to my house, sent here by you.” The radiant Sun, absorbed in deep meditation, perceived Saṃjñā’s presence: she had taken the form of a mare and was performing severe austerities in the distant land of the northern Kurus. The Sun, with his divine insight, understood the purpose behind her penance—it was her wish that her husband might assume a gentler form and an auspicious appearance. Moved by this, the resplendent Sun addressed Viśvakarman, Saṃjñā’s father: “Let my brilliance be diminished today.” Viśvakarman, praised by the gods for his skill and devotion, undertook this task. After a year of dedicated effort, he succeeded in reducing the Sun’s overwhelming radiance. Now, listen as Markandeya continues the tale: “Hear in detail the origin of Sāvarṇi, the eighth Manu, the illustrious son of the Sun, as it is traditionally recounted. By the power of the great Māyā, Sāvarṇi, son of the Sun, became the lord of a Manvantara.” During the previous Svārociṣa Manvantara, there lived a king named Suratha, born in the noble lineage of Citrā, who ruled the whole earth. He governed with care, protecting his subjects as lovingly as if they were his own children. Yet, in time, hostile kings arose—enemies who destroyed his lineage and power. A fierce battle ensued between Suratha, who wielded great authority, and these destroyers of his line. Despite their smaller numbers, Suratha was defeated. Disheartened, he returned to his own city and continued to rule his remaining lands. However, he was soon beset by these powerful enemies. Within his own city, his treasury and army were seized by his ministers, men who were strong but wicked, and by those of evil intent who took advantage of his weakened state. Bereft of his sovereignty, Suratha left his city under the pretext of going hunting. Mounting a horse alone, he journeyed deep into the forest. There, he came upon the tranquil hermitage of the illustrious sage Medhas, a place free from wild beasts and made serene by the sage and his disciples. Suratha remained there for some time, honored by the sage, and wandered about the hermitage. Yet his mind, bound by attachment, continued to dwell on his lost kingdom. He reflected sorrowfully, “The city once protected by my ancestors and myself is now lost. Those servants of mine, whose conduct was wicked, may or may not be ruling it justly. I do not know whether my chief elephant-warrior, brave and proud, now under the power of my enemies, enjoys any pleasures. Those who once received my favor, wealth, and food surely now serve other kings. Because of their wastefulness and improper spending, the treasury, accumulated with such difficulty, will soon be depleted.” As these thoughts troubled him, Suratha, near the sage’s hermitage, came upon a merchant. He asked the man kindly, “Who are you, sir, and why have you come here? Why do you appear so sorrowful and troubled in mind?” The merchant, bowing respectfully, replied, “I am called Samadhi, born into a wealthy family. But my sons and wife, greedy for wealth, have acted unrighteously and cast me out. Deprived of my wealth, my wife, and my sons, I have come to this forest, sorrowful and abandoned by my relatives and friends. Here, I do not know how my sons fare, whether they are well or not, nor do I know about my family or my wife. Are things secure in their home, or not? Are my sons of good conduct or bad?” The king responded, “You have been cast aside by those greedy for wealth—your sons, wife, and others—why does your mind still cling to them with affection?” Samadhi answered, “It is just as you say; your words are true. But what can I do? My mind does not become hard-hearted toward them. Though they, greedy for wealth, have abandoned their affection and rejected me, my heart remains attached to them alone—to my wife, my kin, and my people. I do not understand this, O wise one—even knowing it, I cannot grasp why the heart is drawn with love to relatives, even when they are without virtue. Because of them, I sigh and feel distress; what can I do, that my mind does not become harsh toward those who show me no affection?” Markandeya continued: Then, the two—Samadhi the merchant and Suratha the king—together approached the sage Medhas. Having greeted him as was proper, they sat down and began to converse. The king addressed the sage: “Revered one, I wish to ask you a question—please tell me this: what is it that causes my mind to suffer, being subject to its own impulses? Even after losing my kingdom, I still feel possessiveness toward all its parts; though I know better, I am like one ignorant. And this man, too, has been deceived by his sons, abandoned by his wife and servants, forsaken by his own people—yet his heart remains bound to them. Thus, both he and I are deeply afflicted; though we see the faults in these matters, our minds are drawn by attachment. So what is this, O greatly fortunate one, this delusion that arises even in the wise? Why does this blindness of discernment, this folly, occur in me and in him?” The sage replied: “Knowledge exists in all living beings within the range of their senses, O greatly fortunate one, but the objects of sense appear to each as distinct. Some living beings are blind by day, others are blind by night; some see equally well by day and night.” Thus, the sage began to reveal the mysteries of attachment and delusion to the king and the merchant, guiding them toward deeper understanding.