In that sacred forest, the nāga trees stood adorned with branches heavy with blossoms, their flowers so fragrant that it seemed as if the trees themselves were breathing in each other’s scent. All around, other trees too bore vibrant flowers and the golden filaments of the vānīra, painting the woods with color and fragrance. The karṇikāra trees, resplendent with abundant blossoms, shone in various places, their dark, swaying buds reminiscent of eyes with lively, moving pupils. Rows of trees gathered at the river’s gate, standing in pairs and groups like loving couples, each adorned with splendid blossoms that made them shine. The revered deities of the forest appeared almost embodied in the scene, while here and there, vines gleamed like ornaments, their flowers enhancing the beauty of the woods. In every direction, the trees rose tall and proud, like young moons gracing the sky. Blossoming sarja and arjuna trees illuminated parts of the forest, their presence brightening the landscape. Draped in the silk-like garments of blooming atimukta creepers, the trees seemed clothed as if they were men dressed in fine attire. Embraced by these creepers, they shone like beloveds entwined with their companions, the sal and asoka trees entwined with leaves but not with each other. Their branches, heavy with fruit and flowers, reached out to touch each other, as if old friends had joyfully reunited. Jackfruit, sal, and arjuna trees bent under their loads, their branches intertwined by the playful force of the wind, standing together as if honoring one another with gifts of flowers and fruit. Arranged for beauty, the trees seemed to rise in greeting to any who approached, enclosed by a profusion of blossoms. With the advent of spring, they rivaled men, their peaks adorned and swaying in the wind, weighed down by the splendor of their flowers. Crowned with garlands and tossed by the breeze, the trees appeared to dance joyfully, like men adorned with wreaths in celebration. The vines that climbed their trunks seemed to dance with them, like beloveds in an embrace, while in some places, the trees were covered by their own flowering creepers. The forest canopy sparkled with clusters of white jasmine, glowing at the treetops like stars in the autumn sky. Thoughtfully arranged, the trees shone like crowns, their green leaves tinged with gold, bearing both fruit and flowers. The golden pollen of the blossoms spread in all directions, as if displaying friendship in the company of the virtuous. Bees, intoxicated by nectar, flew here and there, as if proclaiming the victory of the kadamba flower. In the groves, male cuckoos sang with their mates, and in some places, pairs of parrots—resembling the sirisha flower—were seen together. Peacocks with splendid tails, united with their companions, sang varied songs, their voices as melodious as the praises recited by honored brahmins. Even at the edge of the forest, flocks of birds filled the air with resounding calls, dancing and shining as if they were celestial performers. All these birds and animals made the beautiful forest even more delightful, their presence ensuring the woods were always filled with joy. This forest, equal in splendor to the celestial Nandana grove, increased the delight of all who beheld it. The blessed Lotus-born Brahmā gazed upon this supreme forest form, his gentle eyes taking in the sight as if he were drinking in its beauty. The rows of trees, seeing the divine one arrive, seemed to behold him in turn, as if gazing into a mirror. With devotion, the trees announced Brahmā’s arrival and released an abundance of flowers in his honor. The Grandfather graciously accepted their fragrant offering. Then he spoke: “Choose a boon, may you be blessed, O trees.” Thus addressed by the Blessed One, the trees, without hesitation, bowed with joined palms to Virinchin and replied, “If you would grant us a boon, O Lord, lover of those who seek refuge, may you always dwell here, O Blessed One, in this forest. This is our highest wish. Grandfather, we bow to you.” They continued, “If you reside here, O Lord of gods, creator of the universe, grant the highest boon to all those who seek refuge, according to their wishes. Let no other boon, even among millions, be given to us; by your presence, may this place become the greatest of holy sites.” Brahmā replied, “This will be the supreme and most sacred of all places, always endowed with flowers and fruits, ever firm in youthful vigor. You shall be able to move at will, take on forms as you desire, and grant fruits of all kinds to those who seek them. You will fulfill the wishes of men and shine with the success of austerities. Endowed with supreme prosperity, by my grace you shall become so.” Thus, the boon-giving Brahmā favored the trees with his blessings. Having remained in the forest for a thousand years, Brahmā then cast his lotus upon the earth. As the lotus fell, the ground trembled all the way to the netherworld. The oceans, their waves agitated, abandoned their shores in distress; tigers and wild beasts, as if struck by Indra’s thunderbolt, scattered in fear. Thousands of mountain peaks were shattered, and the aerial palaces of gods, siddhas, and the cities of gandharvas were shaken. These abodes moved, wandered, fell, and entered the earth, while pigeon-clouds tumbled from the sky, appearing like clusters of wings. The hosts of luminaries were obscured, the suns became fierce, and by that great sound, all beings were rendered mute, blind, and deaf. The three worlds, with all their moving and unmoving beings, were agitated; the bodies and minds of all gods and demons alike were shaken. In confusion, they wondered, “What is this? What is this?”—but none could understand. Gathering their courage, they all looked toward Brahmā, but he was nowhere to be seen. They asked themselves, “Where has Brahmā gone? Why is the earth trembling, and why do these ominous signs appear?” Thus, the whole cosmos was left in awe and uncertainty at the wondrous acts of the Grandfather.