In the earliest days of the Treta Yuga, when the wish-fulfilling trees had vanished from the earth, the people found themselves in a world transformed. Their dwellings, once fashioned with the natural bounty of those divine trees, now bore branches set in all directions—some bent low, others lifted high, much like the branches of the vanished trees themselves. The very beams and rafters of their homes were made from what had once been the limbs of those wish-fulfilling trees. But when the pairs of wish-fulfilling trees were destroyed, the people were compelled to consider new ways to earn their livelihood. The trees that had provided all things—even sweet honey—were gone, and with their loss came hardship. Sorrow weighed heavily on them, and they suffered from hunger and thirst. Yet, despite their afflictions, the people strove and eventually found success as the Treta age unfolded. When all other means of sustenance failed, the heavens showed compassion. Abundant rains fell, and the waters gathered in low places, forming streams, channels, and flowing rivers. Where once only small trickles reached the earth, now plentiful water coursed across the land. From the sacred union of earth and water, plants began to arise—fourteen kinds, both wild and cultivated, sprang forth without the need for plowing or sowing. Trees and shrubs blossomed, bearing flowers and fruits in their proper seasons. This wondrous emergence of plant life marked the beginning of the Treta Yuga. With these plants, people found nourishment and survived. Yet, as time passed, desire and greed crept into their hearts. They began to claim rivers, fields, mountains, trees, shrubs, and herbs for themselves, each according to their power and their own sense of what was right. This selfishness brought about a great loss: the medicinal herbs, so vital to their well-being, vanished before their very eyes. Many perished, and the precious herbs were lost to the world. Bewildered and hungry once more, the people turned to Brahma, the supreme lord, seeking refuge and guidance. Understanding the plight of his creation, the blessed and mighty Brahma devised a new way. He took Mount Sumeru as a calf and milked the earth, and from this act, grains appeared upon the surface—seeds of both cultivated and wild plants were produced anew. Thus, the earth yielded seventeen kinds of fruitful herbs: rice, barley, wheat, millet, sesame, priyangu, udara, koradusha, chinaka, mashas, mudgas, masuras, nishpavas, kulatthakas, adhakas, chanakas, and others—these were the ancient cultivated herbs. Among the wild and cultivated plants that arose, fourteen were especially remembered: rice, barley, wheat, millet, sesame, priyangu, kulattha, shyamaka, nivara, yattilla, gavedhuka, kuruvinda, markataka, and venuyava. These were the gifts of the earth, given once more to sustain life. Yet, when these scattered herbs did not sprout again as before, Brahma, the self-born Lord, bestowed upon humanity the skills of agriculture—teaching them the use of their hands and the actions needed to grow and tend crops. From that time, the sown and cultivated herbs came into being, and with agriculture established, the Lord set proper boundaries for fields and duties, according to justice and the qualities of each. Brahma then ordained the duties of the classes and stages of life for all beings, ensuring the protection of dharma and wealth. The place of Prajapati was set for Brahmanas who performed rites, the place of Indra for Kshatriyas who stood firm in battle, the place of Marut for Vaishyas who followed their own dharma, and the place of the Gandharvas for Shudras engaged in service. For the eighty-eight thousand sages who practiced pure celibacy, their place was with their teachers; for the seven sages, it was in the forest; for householders, the place of Prajapati; for renunciants, the abode of Brahma; and for yogis, the immortal realm. Turning to the dwellings of mortals, the Lord described where the Yaksha spirits might reside. Where beds are exposed to sunlight, where fire and water are always present, where lamps are lit by the sun’s rays, and where the house is a vessel of Lakshmi—such a home is not the Yaksha’s abode. Nor is it where sandalwood is sprinkled, the sound of the lute is heard, mirrors are kept, honey and ghee are present, or copper vessels are set aside. But where thorny trees grow, where bean-creepers climb, where a wife is remarried, or where anthills rise—there, Yaksha, is your dwelling. In a house with five men, three women, as many cows, and where darkness and firewood abound, that is also your residence. A house with one goat, two sheep, three cows, five buffaloes, six horses, and seven elephants—Yaksha, quickly drain such a house. Where hoes, sickles, baskets, and pots are strewn about, let that be your refuge. Where women pound on mortars and pestles, where a fig tree grows, where refuse is heaped, and where gossip flows—this, Yaksha, is to your advantage. In homes where grains, cooked or uncooked, are stepped over, or where scriptures are treated disrespectfully, there you may roam as you wish. Where fire is offered in a cooking pot or with the tip of a ladle, in such inauspicious houses, Yaksha, take up your complete residence. Where human bones are found, and the dead remain day and night, there is your abode, as well as the dwelling of other spirits. Where people eat without sharing food and water with their kin, with those of the same lineage and shared offerings, there, Yaksha, dwell among them. But where the lotus and its stalk are not present, where the fragrant cow and the cow that eats only grass are not kept, and where the bulls Bhairava and Vṛṣabha are established—leave that house, for it is not your place. Thus, the order of the world was set: the means of livelihood, the duties of life, and the places of spirits and men—by the wisdom and compassion of Brahma, the self-born Lord.