Listen, O noble one, to the ancient reckoning of time and the origins of human settlements, as revealed in the sacred tradition. Time itself is woven from the smallest of measures: ten nimeṣas make one kāṣṭhā, and five kāṣṭhās together form a kalā. When thirty kalās pass, a muhūrta is completed, and thirty muhūrtas together make up a full day and night. Thus, for humans, a day and night are counted as thirty muhūrtas, and thirty such days and nights—two fortnights—make a month. A year is formed of six such months, marked by the sun’s southern and northern courses. For the gods, this span is reckoned differently: a single day and night for them is one such year, with the sun’s northern course as their day. Now, hear of the great cycles of time: a chaturyuga, comprising the Kṛta, Tretā, Dvāpara, and Kali yugas, endures for twelve thousand years of the gods. This vast expanse is divided thus: the Kṛta Yuga lasts four thousand divine years, with both its dawn and twilight spanning four hundred years each. The Tretā Yuga endures for three thousand years, its dawn and twilight each three hundred years. The Dvāpara Yuga is two thousand years long, with its dawn and twilight each two hundred years. The Kali Yuga, the last and shortest, endures for one thousand years, with a hundred years each for its dawn and twilight. Thus, the four yugas together encompass twelve thousand divine years. When this is multiplied a thousandfold, it becomes a single day of Brahmā—the Creator. Within this day of Brahmā, there are fourteen Manus, each presiding over a manvantara, a division of that thousandfold span. In each manvantara, the gods, the Seven Sages, Indra, Manu, and the kings who are Manu’s sons are all brought forth together and dissolve at the end, as before. Each manvantara contains seventy-one and a fraction of these four-yuga cycles. In human years, a manvantara endures for thirty crore years, plus sixty-six niyutas, and twenty thousand more—making it slightly more than thirty crore. In divine years, this amounts to eight thousand plus fifty-two thousand years. Fourteen such manvantaras make up a day of Brahmā. At the end of his day, a dissolution called naimittika occurs, when the earth, the atmosphere, and heaven themselves are destroyed, leaving only the Maharloka untouched. Even those dwelling in Maharloka, scorched by the fierce heat, journey to Janaloka. During Brahmā’s night, the three worlds are submerged beneath a single ocean, and Brahmā himself sleeps. His night equals the length of his day, and when it ends, creation arises anew. Thus passes one year of Brahmā, and a hundred such years complete his supreme lifespan. Fifty years is called a parārdha, and now, O best of twice-born, one such parārdha has elapsed. At its close, the great kalpa known as the Padma arose. Now, in the second parārdha, the first kalpa is called the Vārāha. Such are the cycles of creation, O brāhmaṇa, brought forth at the awakening of Brahmā, whose own birth is unmanifest. At the end of each night, as he awakens, these worlds come into being anew in every kalpa. Turning now to the origins of settlements: a place without walls or moats is called a kharvata. There are also branch-towns, domains governed by ministers, and territories under vassals. Villages are those dwellings chiefly inhabited by Shudras, thriving through their own prosperity and agricultural labor, set amidst fields and fertile land. Any dwelling established by people for a particular purpose, distinct from cities and the like, is known as a residence. Within villages, those who are unruly and strong, who roam on others’ land without fields, are called dramīs; they find refuge with the king’s favor. A settlement of cowherds, lacking a marketplace, with their possessions loaded on carts and herds of cows, wherever they choose to dwell, is called a ghoṣa. After establishing cities and other settlements for their own abode, people built homes for pairs of individuals, seeking a place to reside. As before, they constructed their houses near trees, remembering the ways of old. Their dwellings branched out in all directions, just as the branches of a tree do—some bent, some raised. The very branches that once belonged to the wish-fulfilling trees became the beams and rafters of their homes. But when the pairs were destroyed, people had to seek new means of livelihood, for the wish-fulfilling trees and their honey had vanished entirely. Stricken with sorrow, thirst, and hunger, they endured great hardship at the dawn of the Tretā Yuga, but eventually, they found success. When other means failed, abundant rain finally fell, and the waters that flowed into low places became visible. Streams and channels formed, and rivers began to flow, so that the small amounts of water that once reached the earth now greatly increased. From the union of earth and water, plants arose—fourteen kinds, both cultivated and wild, appearing without plowing or sowing. Trees and shrubs bearing flowers and fruits in their seasons were born; this first blossoming of plants occurred at the very beginning of the Tretā Yuga. By means of these plants, people sustained themselves in the Treta Yuga. Yet, with abundance came desire and greed, which suddenly arose among them. They began to claim rivers, fields, mountains, trees, shrubs, and herbs for themselves, each according to their own strength and sense of justice. Thus unfolded the story of time, creation, and the beginnings of human society.