Moved by devotion, a seeker approached the radiant Lord Sūrya and humbly requested his favor, saying, “If I am worthy of your grace, please show me your kindness. I will diminish your overwhelming brilliance and place you, O Sun, within a machine, so that your presence may be accessible.” The devotee continued, “I shall transform your form, O Lord, into a source of joy for all the worlds.” Hearing these words, the Sun, though bewildered, agreed to the request. He separated a portion of his radiance, and from this divine light were fashioned the mighty discus of Viṣṇu, the trident of Rudra, and the thunderbolt of Indra. Tvaṣṭṛ, the celestial artisan, then created an incomparable form, a destroyer of Daityas and Dānavas, composed of a thousand rays—except for the feet, which were especially great. Yet, no one could bear to look upon the Sun’s feet again; even to this day, it is forbidden to depict them. Whoever dares to do so is considered most sinful, doomed to a condemned state, afflicted with leprosy, and known among people as one who suffers. Therefore, those who seek virtue, desire, or wealth must never, anywhere, create images or shrines depicting the feet of the wise Lord of gods. Thereafter, the blessed Sun, king of the immortals, descended to the earthly world, his heart overcome by longing for Saṃjñā’s face. Assuming the form of a radiant horse, he approached Saṃjñā, who, agitated and fearful, was deeply disturbed. Suspecting something foreign in what was emitted from her nostrils, it is said that from her seed, the twin gods, the Aśvins, were born. Because they emerged from her nostrils, they are known as the Nāsaṭyās, the twin gods at the tip of the nose. In time, the goddess realized this and was filled with supreme satisfaction. With joy, the Sun ascended to heaven in a celestial chariot, accompanied by his wife. Even now, Sāvarṇi Manu performs austerities on Mount Meru. Through the power of his penance, Śani became equal among the planets, while Yamunā and Tapatī were restored to their river forms. Viṣṭhi, fierce in nature, became established as Time itself, and Manu Vaivasvata had ten mighty sons. Among these sons, Ila was the first, established through a special offering. Then came Ikṣvāku, Kuśanābha, Ariṣṭa, and Dhṛṣṭa, followed by Nariṣyanta, Karūṣa, the mighty Śaryāti, Pṛṣadhra, and Nābhāga—some divine, some human. Manu, after anointing his righteous son Ila as king, departed once more to the sacred forest of Puṣkara to undertake austere practices. Then, to fulfill Manu’s purpose, Brahmā, the bestower of boons, appeared and said, “Choose a boon, O descendant of Manu, whatever you desire; may it bring you auspiciousness.” Manu replied to the lotus-eyed, lotus-born Lord, “May all the kings upon earth in my lineage be joined with righteousness. May they be sovereigns, O master, by your grace.” Brahmā replied, “So be it,” and vanished from sight. Manu then returned to Ayodhyā and ruled as before. One day, his son Ila mounted his chariot and set out to accomplish his purpose, traversing the earth, visiting all its islands, and subduing its lords. Drawn by destiny, Ila entered Śiva’s sacred grove, the great Śaravaṇa, famous for its wish-fulfilling creepers. There, Lord Soma, adorned with the crescent moon, delights; and in ancient times, an agreement had been made there with Umā: “Whatever bearing a masculine name enters this forest shall become feminine, all within a circle of ten yojanas.” Unaware of this agreement, King Ila entered Śaravaṇa and was suddenly transformed into a woman, changed in an instant like a mare. All memories and achievements of his former male form vanished in the new female body, and she became known as Ilā, a woman of full, high, dense breasts. She was radiant, with prominent hips and thighs, eyes wide as lotus petals, a slender form, a face like the full moon, playful and dark-eyed. Her arms were long and full, her hair curled and dark, her body fine and beautiful, her speech gentle and soft. Her complexion was both dark and fair, her nails slender and copper-colored, her brows arched like a bow, and she walked with the grace of a swan. Wandering in the forest, the radiant Ilā pondered, “Who is my father or brother? Who here will be my protector? To whom am I given as wife? How many years have I spent on earth?” As she reflected thus, she was seen by Budha, the son of Soma, who was accompanied by women. Captivated by Ilā’s beauty, Budha, afflicted by desire, sought her affection. Distinguished in appearance, shaven-headed, carrying a water-pot and book, dressed with a bamboo staff, sacred thread, and spade, Budha appeared in the form of a twice-born, with a topknot, sacred thread, and earrings, surrounded by young students seeking alms, carrying sticks, flowers, kusa grass, and water. At the proper time, Budha summoned Ilā to a pavilion beneath the trees, secluded within the forest. Suddenly, with agitation and a tone of reproach, he said, “Having abandoned the service of the sacred fire, where have you gone from my dwelling? Now your time for recreation is passing, O broad-hipped one; come, come! Why are you so anxious, and for what reason? This is the evening hour for recreation here; after applying ointment, adorn my house with flowers.” Ilā replied, “O possessor of austerity, I have forgotten everything—myself, you as my husband, and my family. Tell me, blameless one.