For tens of thousands of years, a devoted soul worshipped Mahadeva, the great Lord, seeking his favor. Pleased by such unwavering devotion, Mahadeva appeared before him and offered a boon, as the trident-bearers witnessed. The devotee, with reverence, asked for three things: guardianship over the world, rulership of the realm of the ancestors, and the oversight of all actions, both righteous and unrighteous, within creation. Thus, by the grace of the trident-wielding Lord, he was granted all these: the guardianship of the world, lordship over the ancestors, and the examination of righteousness and unrighteousness. Meanwhile, Vivasvan, the radiant Sun, became aware of the actions of Samjna, his wife. Troubled and angered, he went to Tvastr, the divine artisan, and explained everything. Tvastr, addressing Vivasvan with soothing words, acknowledged the Sun's greatness, saying that his brilliance dispelled even the deepest darkness. He explained, “Assuming the form of a mare, she came to me; I restrained her, and so did you, O Sun. Because she came to me without recognition, you are not fit to enter my abode.” Hearing this, Samjna, blameless, departed for the desert land, taking the form of a mare and settling upon the earth. Tvastr then requested the Sun’s favor: “If I am worthy of your grace, I will remove your excessive radiance, placing it in a device. I will make your form delightful to the worlds, O Lord.” Thus, Ravi, the Sun, circled Tvastr, who separated the Sun’s radiance and fashioned powerful weapons: the discus for Vishnu, the trident for Rudra, and a thunderbolt greater than Indra’s own. Tvastr crafted an incomparable form for the Sun, with a thousand rays for the destruction of demons and danavas, except for the feet, which remained great and untouched. Unable to bear the sight of the Sun’s feet, Tvastr decreed that in images, none should ever fashion the feet of the Sun. Whoever does so, he warned, would fall into a sinful and condemned state, afflicted with leprosy and sorrow in this world. Therefore, those who desire righteousness, pleasure, or wealth should never depict the feet of the wise Lord of gods in any temple or painting. At this time, the blessed king of the immortals descended to the earthly realm, seized by desire, longing for the Sun’s face. Saṃjñā, enveloped in great brilliance and assuming the form of a horse, was overcome with agitation and fear in her mind. From her nostrils was emitted a seed, which she suspected to be from another; from that seed, the Ashvins, divine twins, were born. Because they were twins, they are called the Dasras; since they emerged from the nostrils, they are known as the Nāsatyas. After a long time, the god realized this and attained supreme satisfaction. Saṃjñā ascended to heaven in a celestial chariot, joyful with her husband. Even now, Sāvarṇi Manu dwells on Mount Meru, rich in austerity, and by the power of his penance, Shani attained equality among the planets. Yamunā and Tapatī became rivers once again, and Viṣṭi, of terrible nature, remains established as Time. Manu, son of Vivasvat, had ten mighty sons; Ila was the first, born from a sacrifice for a son. The others were Ikṣvāku, Kuśanābha, Ariṣṭa, Dhṛṣṭa, Nariṣyanta, Karūṣa, Śaryāti, Pṛṣadhra, and Nābhāga—all mighty and divine-human. Manu, righteous and wise, installed his eldest son Ila as king, then departed for ascetic practice in the great forest of Indra. For the conquest of the directions, Ila set out across the earth, traversing all continents and subduing the lords of the land. He arrived at the sacred grove of Śiva, drawn by horses, resplendent and filled with wish-fulfilling trees and vines, known as the great Śaravaṇa. There, Śambhu, Lord of gods adorned with the crescent moon, delights; and there, long ago, an agreement was made with Umā: “Whatever male enters this forest will become female throughout the entire region of ten yojanas.” Unaware of this agreement, King Ila entered Śaravaṇa and, upon entering, immediately became a woman, losing all his masculinity. All his manhood was taken, and the astonished king assumed a woman’s form, with full, high, rounded breasts, raised hips and thighs, eyes extended like lotus petals, and a face radiant like the full moon. Her arms were long and elevated, her hair dark and curled, her body fine-haired, her teeth beautiful, her speech gentle yet deep. Her complexion was a blend of dusky and fair hues, her movement graceful as a swan or elephant, her brows arched like a bow, and her slender fingers tipped with coppery nails. As she wandered in the forest, the radiant woman pondered: “Who is my father or brother? Who here is my mother? To whom am I given as wife? How long will I remain on earth?” While she reflected thus, Soma’s son, Budha, saw her among her companions. Ilā, her mind captivated by beauty and radiant in form, was desired by Budha, who longed for her and made efforts to win her. Distinguished in appearance, bearing a staff, water-pot, and book, adorned with many sacred threads made from bamboo rods, Budha appeared in the form of a twice-born, with a topknot, earrings, and proper students carrying fuel, flowers, and sacred grass with water. Searching in the forest, he did not call out to Ilā, remaining outside the grove, concealed among the trees. Suddenly, with agitation, he spoke to her as if reproaching: “Having abandoned the tending of the sacred fire, where have you gone from my dwelling?