From the great sage Bhārgava, a celestial measure exists, and from this, Bṛhaspati’s form is known to be a quarter less. From Bṛhaspati, both Ketu and Vakra are described as being diminished by yet another quarter. In the vast heavens, Budha’s span and disk are also a quarter less than those of Ketu and Vakra. The stars and constellations, too, each possess their own forms, all bearing a likeness to Budha’s, yet with each successive measure, their size is mutually diminished. Above all, there are five celestial circles of stars—measured at five hundred, four hundred, three hundred, two hundred, and one hundred in number. Each of these circles is half a yojana in size, and nothing in the heavens is smaller than these. Rising above these starry realms are the planets, some fierce, some serene and sattvic in nature. Among the planets, certain ones—the solar, Angirasa, and the retrograde—are known to move slowly. Beneath them lie four other great planets: Soma, the Sun, Budha, and Bhārgava, all of which move swiftly through the heavens. As many as there are constellations, so too are there stars, counted in crores—uncountable millions. In this divine order, the Sun moves below all the planets, tracing a vast circle across the sky. Above the Sun’s path moves the Moon; above the Moon is the circle of the constellations; above the constellations, Budha; and above Budha, Bhārgava. Higher still is Vakra, then Bṛhaspati, and above him Śanaiścara, who stands even above the preceptor of the gods. Above Śanaiścara is the exalted circle of the Seven Sages, and above them shines Dhruva, the pole star, with the entire heaven resting above Dhruva. At intervals of two thousand yojanas, and sometimes even hundreds more, each planet is situated above the circle of the constellations. The spaces between these stars and planets are arrayed one above the other, creating a layered order. The planets, the Moon, and the Sun shine forth in the sky with a divine radiance, joined with the constellations and moving in a fixed, harmonious order. Each occupies its own high or low celestial mansion, and when they come together or move apart, people witness their conjunctions simultaneously, for their positions are so arranged and joined. Those who are wise and discerning can understand their conjunctions without confusion. Thus is the arrangement of the earth and the luminaries: continents, oceans, mountains, regions, rivers, and all those who dwell among them are encompassed in this grand design. By the power of the Sun, this whole arrangement is established—a revolving system, with an inner space, compact in the middle, and fixed from Dhruva. All these are vast, circular, and elevated, created by the Lord for the order and conduct of the world. At the dawn of the kalpa, the Self-born established this arrangement with great forethought. This is the order of all that shines with light. This is said to be the universal form of the primordial substance, its very extent. None can truly count the comings and goings of these celestial bodies, nor can any mortal with fleshly eyes perceive all the movements of the luminaries. Now, listen to the tale of the blessed Lord Maheśvara, how he became the destroyer of cities, and how he burned them. The sages, filled with respect, asked: “How did Tripura—the formidable city built by Maya the magician—come to be burned by the god with a single arrow? Tell us, O giver of honor.” Hear, then, how the god destroyed Tripura. Maya, the great magician and father of illusions, an asura by birth, was the creator of this city. Defeated in battle, Maya turned to intense austerity. As he engaged in penance, the Daityas—moved by compassion for him—also undertook severe austerities on his behalf. Among them were Vidyunmali, mighty in strength, and Taraka, powerful in valor. Empowered by the energy of Maya, these two remained at his side and performed austerities together, appearing like the three embodied worlds, or like three blazing fires. The Danavas, burning with the heat of their penance, seemed to scorch the three worlds themselves. In winter, they lay upon water; in summer, they endured the fivefold heat. During the rains and beneath the open sky, they wore away their bodies, subsisting only on fruits, roots, flowers, and water—sustenance dear to those who serve. At other times, they lived on whatever food they could find, clothing themselves in bark smeared with mud, immersing themselves in clear and muddy ponds alike. Thus, their bodies became fleshless and thin, with veins standing out; their radiance seemed swept away by the power of their austerity. All the worlds grew dim, speech became feeble, as the three fires of the Danavas scorched the cosmos. Then, before them, appeared Pitamaha, the grandsire of the world. Seeing him arrive suddenly, those heroic Daityas spoke to him, praising their grandsire. Brahma, seeing the Danavas radiant with the heat of their austerity, spoke with eyes and face full of joy: “I am come, O children, pleased by your austerity, to grant you a boon. Ask for whatever you desire, whatever you wish for—let it be spoken.” Thus addressed, they approached Pitamaha. Visvakarma Maya, his eyes wide with delight, spoke: “O god, once the Daityas were defeated by the gods in the battle of Taraka. Struck down and slain by weapons, they fled, pursued by enmity, trembling in fear. We knew neither refuge nor safety, though we sought shelter. By the power of austerity and devotion to you, I wish to build a fortress that even the gods find impossible to overcome. Grant us, O bestower of boons, a triple fortress for our sake.